How will Gabriel and Scarlett react when they discover I had a connection to the camp and didn’t say anything?
Of course, as it turns out, my husband had secrets of his own, but right now I don’t know which is worse: my childhood secret, or the one that led to us losing our marriage.
At 10p.m., I decide it’s time. The dining halls will be empty and I hope the kitchen staff are finished with the cleanup and gone for the night.
Nervous that the search might be fruitless, I find I can’t get myself to move, not for another hour.
Finally, I get dressed and rush out of my room and down the path to the dining hall.
The grounds are deserted, except for a guard who is hunched on the steps outside the Green Studio, smoking a cigarette. He does not even look up when I walk by, so I continue, following the path until I reach the glass doors of the dining hall.
The sliding doors have not been locked, and I’m able to slip inside unnoticed.
There’s no one inside and everything is in its place with tables straightened and chairs waiting for the next shift.
The kitchen is behind a swinging door that creaks open with a gentle push. The air still carries the aromas of the last dinner, mingling with those of industrial lemon cleaner. Through the light of the moon that spills through the windows, I catch the sparkle of the stainless steel appliances and surfaces that have been scrubbed clean.
I’m not surprised to find the place empty of people. When Mrs. Potter was running the camp, she treated her staff the way she treated the kids, with care. Made sure they did not work more than they had to and encouraged them to go home to their families.
That’s the kind of person she was, and all her employees loved her. I’d like to think the way they are treated hasn’t changed.
I pause to listen, but only the steady hum of the refrigerators fills the space.
I move through the kitchen at a measured pace, trying not to hurry, walking like I belong, until I reach the door leading to the other side of the camp.
I emerge into a long, carpeted hallway with doors lining both walls. A few are marked Staff Only. Others are unmarked.
I continue down the hallway, which is lit by occasional faint lamps, then I turn left, and walk through a sliding glass door that I remember from my childhood. I’m right, not much has changed on this side. The second door to my left is still the office.
I try the door and to my surprise it swings open.
The office space is unrecognizable. It has been given a total makeover.
Gone is the heavy brown desk that was always overflowing with paperwork and coffee mugs. The moss-green couch that sagged a little in the middle and smelled faintly of dust is also nowhere to be seen, along with the carved wooden coffee tablewith old coffee stains that Mrs. Potter said once belonged to her grandmother.
The walls are stark white now, no longer a moody gray, and show off framed abstract photos rather than the black and white images of the camp through the years that Mrs. Potter used to add to every year.
One wall, which had a large clock hanging on it, is gone entirely, replaced by tall windows that look out onto the dark grounds.
A long mahogany conference table stands in front of the windows, surrounded by ten identical high-backed, padded chairs.
But the eye-catcher is the sparkling rectangular glass desk in the center, two cream leather chairs in front of it and a white one behind it, reserved for the boss.
Megan is sitting in it, smiling at me as if she’s been waiting.
TWENTY-SEVEN
“Judy?” Megan says, holding her pen above an open file. “You’re still up? I didn’t think I’d see you again today.”
“Yes, I couldn’t sleep.”
“I can understand why.” She closes the folder in front of her, stands and steps around the desk to come to me, wraps an arm around my shoulders. “This place must bring up a lot of memories.” She glances back at the desk. “I was just finishing a budget review. I’m happy to take a little break. Why don’t we sit?”
She walks to the conference table and lowers herself into a chair, then rises again, moving to a small glass-front fridge against the wall.
“Oh, yes. Let’s have one of these.” She reaches inside a small glass dome over a silver tray.
Inside are four perfect cupcakes decorated in yellow buttercream and fine sprinkles.
