Dressed in a pale linen blouse and delicate silver jewelry that blinks with the light, she looks elegant and polished and quietly put together like most people in this town.
“I thought that was you.” She squeezes my arm gently. “I was worried you might never return to Saltspray Cove.”
“Georgia, hi.” I try to keep my voice neutral. “It’s nice to see you.”
I’ve known Georgia for years since Sadie and I were such regulars here. She gestures at the chair opposite mine. “May I?”
I nod and she lowers herself carefully into it. “I never got a chance to speak to you when…I’m so sorry, Judy.” Her voice lowers and I see a sparkle in her eyes. “About Sadie.”
“Thank you, Georgia.”
She folds her hands on the table. “I miss seeing her in here. I don’t think I’ve ever met a child that loved books as much as she did.”
I nod, unable to speak for a moment. “She loved coming here,” I manage finally.
“Yes,” the librarian says quietly, her red lips curling in a bittersweet smile. “She did. When she came alone, sometimes she stayed right up to the minute we closed.”
We sit there for a moment in shared grief.
I swallow and wipe a tear from my cheek. “I…don’t want to believe she’s gone.”
“Is that why you came back?”
I shake my head. “We wanted to throw petals in the ocean, a sort of funeral.”
“Well, that sounds beautiful.” Georgia’s hand covers mine for a second before she draws it back. “Saltspray Cove, especially the camp, will never forget her. I heard they tightened security since then. They even have more cameras on the beach and a clear division set up to separate the camp’s private beach from the public beach. I suppose it doesn’t help now, but…” She trails off and then sighs. “The new improvements were all over the papers.”
The papers. I lean forward. “Do you have some back issues in the archives?” I ask. “From that time?”
“You would like to see them? Wouldn’t that be too painful for you?”
“Maybe, but I’m just trying to understand what happened, to find closure.”
Georgia rises from her chair. “Follow me. We keep all the archives in local history.” She leads me down a narrow aisle between tall shelves, her slim gold Rolex catching the light. “Everything’s yours to browse,” she adds, her voice softening. “Just let me know if you need anything else.”
“I appreciate it. Thanks, Georgia.”
Before she walks away, she puts a hand on my arm. “I’m sorry again for your loss.”
She leaves me with stacks of newspapers. I sit on a sleek brown leather couch and start skimming through the articles, searching for any mention of the camp.
local teen’s drowning prompts safety review at saltspray cove youth camp
saltspray cove youth camp beachfront access restricted following tragedy
saltspray cove youth camp installs new security cameras
When the papers aren’t writing about my daughter’s death, they fill the pages with regular camp news. There are stories about fundraising galas with wealthy donors, new cabin permits, and rumors about possible changes in camp leadership.
None of it tells me what I want to hear. If my daughter is alive.
As I walk to the car, I open Instagram and head straight to Lucille’s profile. Without thinking, I start typing her a message.
Hi Lucille,
You don’t know me, but I’m Sadie Sutton’s mother. Sadie was at Saltspray the same week as you last July.
I hope it’s okay that I’m reaching out. I’m trying to understand her final days. If you spoke to her at all or noticed anything that seemed unusual about her behavior before she disappeared, I would be grateful to hear from you, but please don’t feel pressured to respond.
