My heart races as I slow the car, taking it all in. The manicured lawns and perfect landscaping seems like it’s meant to calm parents, to make them believe nothing bad could happen in a place this tidy.
In six months, the place hasn’t changed completely. It just looks like someone improved what was already here.
But now, there’s also a small security booth with a uniformed guard inside.
When he sees me pull up, he steps out and adjusts his cap as he walks over. He looks to be about thirty, with sun-browned skin and dark curls showing under the brim.
His uniform fits his broad shoulders, but he moves in an easy, relaxed way. He might be meant to look intimidating, but there’s nothing stiff about the way he carries himself.
When he gets close enough, I notice a thin pale scar on his temple that disappears into his hairline.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” His voice is low and steady, warmer than I expected.
I get out of the car before I lose my nerve.
“My name is Judy. My daughter stayed here six months ago. Sadie Sutton?”
He looks at me politely and types something into a tablet. When he looks up, his brow furrows. “You’re not on the approved list,” he says, but his tone isn’t exactly unkind. “I’m afraid only registered guests are allowed on campus.”
“I just want to have a look around and talk to someone in charge about an important matter.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. That won’t be possible.”
I look past the guard and see teenagers moving in groups across the grounds. They all wear matching pastel T-shirts with the Saltspray Camp logo over their hearts and identical blue jeans. They seem relaxed, calm, and happy.
Another group sits cross-legged under a spotless white pergola, smiling and nodding at a young counselor. Nearby, two other girls lie on their backs in the grass, looking up at the sky, completely at ease. Rested. Content. Safe.
Things my daughter wasn’t.
How could a place that looks so perfect and controlled have failed to keep my child safe?
I wet my dry lips and try again to convince the guard. “My family has connections here. I only need a moment with the director.”
The guard’s expression changes slightly as a second uniformed man with a tighter expression and thick eyebrows appears next to him. After I make the same request to him, he gives the same answer, and I snap at him, demanding to see the director immediately.
“I’ll need to ask you to leave the property now, ma’am. We put our residents’ security above everything else.”
I nod. Stepping back before they can escort me, I get into my car and start the engine.
As I pull away, I throw one last glimpse at the children, searching for Sadie.
Finally, cold floods my veins as I drive back down the road and allow the trees to close in again, to swallow the camp—or center—from view.
Whatever this place is now, whatever it’s become, it won’t keep me from finding an answer to my question, the only question that matters.
Where’s my daughter?
After leaving the camp, instead of going back to the apartment, I stroll around downtown Saltspray Cove.
This place should feel like an escape. But it doesn’t, not anymore.
I actually came here as a teenager, but it was less affluent than it is now. When I left with my family, it was late at night. I remember streetlights blurring past the car window, and the town fading away before I could memorize it.
After that, Saltspray Cove lived only in my imagination. I didn’t come back until my honeymoon with Gabriel. One of our gifts was a honeymoon package at a hotel in Saltspray Cove. There was no card or name, just an envelope with a reservation at the Grand Cove five-star hotel.
Those two weeks were perfect—champagne on balconies overlooking the water, walks on the beach, slow mornings in white sheets.
A year later, Gabriel surprised me with keys to our new holiday apartment.
