“He does, and so do we. No child comes here and leaves unchanged.” She pops a red grape into her mouth, while looking at the teens. “People trust this place. After what happened six months ago, they doubled security and locked gates leading to the beach after dark. It really reassured us.”
Quinn stands and, humming, drifts to a nearby tea station. “Want some? It’s a blend of chamomile and something else,” she asks over her shoulder. “It’s refreshing.”
“Sure,” I accept, my mouth feeling dry at the thought that my daughter wanted to escape from me. Was I really such a terrible mother?
Quinn returns with two cups and places one in front of me. The scent is herbal, faintly sweet.
“Thank you.” I take a long sip before I realize how thirsty I am. It’s delicious.
Quinn sips hers, eyes unfocused, almost dreamy. “It’s soothing, isn’t it?”
I nod, letting the warm liquid coat my throat. I push back my chair and drift toward the fruit display. My fingers itch for something to do besides clutching this cup.
As I select slices of pineapple and pear, my eyes drift toward a narrow side window at the far end of the dining hall. Through gaps in the hanging plants that partially obscure the view, a woman appears—her hair a shade of blonde so pale it borders on white, and something about her strikes me as hauntingly familiar.
There is something about her posture, the way she stands ramrod straight with her chin tilted slightly up. My bodyrecognizes her before my mind can form the thought, and a gasp steals my next breath. No, it can’t be.
She shifts slightly, and sunlight catches the edge of her profile.
I sink into the nearest chair, memories flooding back with physical force: whispered secrets after curfew, our ritual of counting ceiling cracks, pinky promises sworn in darkness.
She turns and it feels like she’s staring straight at me, or through me.
There’s no mistaking her.
Megan Hale. My roommate from when I was a child.
Gabriel and Scarlett aren’t the only ones with secrets. They have no idea I’ve stayed here before.
Years ago, I was one of those less fortunate, sponsored kids. Here for months, at Saltspray Cove Youth Camp, with Megan.
TWENTY-FIVE
I don’t remember walking back to my room. What I do remember is the sound of my own loud and uneven breaths, scraping in and out of my chest. I remember fumbling with the door handle, my hands clumsy, before I finally got inside and shut the door behind me.
Now, the once spacious room feels smaller, like it shrank in size since I left earlier to go to lunch. The walls definitely feel closer than they did before, and the ceiling lower.
I press my palms to my thighs and bend forward, dragging in air, while my vision pulses at the edges.
Megan Hale. She’s still here?
So many questions fight for space in my mind, jumbled and out of order.
Does she remember me? Does she know I’m Sadie’s mother?
I know she wouldn’t recognize my name on the guest list. She never knew my adopted surname. On paper, I could be anyone.
Getting to my feet, I pace for a while, rolling the garnet pendant gently between my fingers. Then I stop and pull my phone from the hidden pocket of my handbag. Switching it back on, I find a stack of missed calls and messages from both Gabriel and Scarlett. I read a few of Gabriel’s.
Are you okay?
Have you spoken to anyone?
Did you find her?
Judy, you promised you’d check in.
Liar. I promised no such thing. Teeth gritted, I type with stiff fingers.
