The Last Time I Lied(16)

We move on, Mindy playing tour guide, giving a running commentary about various family heirlooms. A portrait of Buchanan Harris that, I swear, might have been painted by John Singer Sargent, elicits a solemn “That’s worth a fortune.”

Soon we’re at the back deck, which spans the entire width of the Lodge. Wooden boxes crammed with flowers line the twig-work railing. Scattered around the deck are several small tables and the obligatory Adirondack chairs, all painted as red as the front door. Two of the chairs are occupied by Franny and Lottie.

Both are dressed in the same khaki shorts and camp polo ensemble as Chet and Mindy. Franny surveys Lake Midnight from the heightened view provided by the deck. Lottie, meanwhile, taps the screen of an iPad, looking up when Mindy and I step outside.

“Emma,” she says, her face brightening as she pulls me into what feels like my fifth hug of the day. “You have no idea how nice it is to see you back here.”

“It is,” Franny agrees. “It’s wonderful.”

Unlike Lottie, she doesn’t get up from her chair to greet me. I’m surprised, until I notice her wan and tired appearance. It’s the first time I’ve seen her since our lunch meeting months ago, and the change is startling. I had assumed being back at her beloved Lake Midnight would make her robust and hearty. Instead, it’s the opposite. She looks, for lack of a better word, old.

Franny catches me staring and says, “There’s worry in your eyes, my dear. Don’t think I can’t see it. But fear not. I’m just tired from all this activity. I’d forgotten how exhausting the first day of camp can be. Not a moment to spare, it seems. I’ll be right as rain tomorrow.”

“You need to rest,” Lottie says.

“And that’s what I’m doing,” Franny replies, somewhat testily.

I clear my throat. “You needed to see me about something?”

“Yes. I’m afraid there’s a bit of a problem.”

Franny frowns slightly. It’s an echo of the half frown she gave me upon my first arrival at camp, when the family Volvo finally pulled up to the Lodge at the cusp of eleven. Franny greeted us with the same expression I see now. I wasn’t expecting you, she said. When you didn’t arrive with the others, I thought you had canceled.

“A problem?” I say, trepidation thickening my voice.

“That sounds so dramatic, doesn’t it?” Franny says. “I suppose it’s more of a complication.”

“About what?”

“Where to put you.”

“Oh,” I say, which I’m sure is what I said when Franny told me something similar fifteen years ago.

Back then, my lateness was to blame. They had already gotten all the girls settled into their cabins, grouped together that morning by age. Since there was no more room available with girls my own age, I was forced to bunk with ones who were several years older. That’s how I ended up with Vivian, Natalie, and Allison, intimidated by their additional years of life experience, their acne-free complexions, their fully formed bodies.

Now Franny tells me it’s the opposite problem.

“My intention was to give the instructors some privacy. Let you have a nice cabin all to yourselves. But there was a bit of a mix-up with planning, and we find ourselves with more girls than we initially expected.”

“Fifteen more,” Lottie says, unprompted.

“Which means all our instructors will have to share lodgings with some of the campers.”

“Why can’t the instructors bunk together?”

“I asked her the same thing, Emma,” Lottie says.

“That’s a fine idea in theory,” Franny tells us. “But there are five of you and only four bunks in each cabin. One person would have to bunk with the campers anyway. Which wouldn’t be remotely fair to that single person.”

“Couldn’t we stay in the Lodge instead?”

“The Lodge is for family only,” Mindy pipes up from the corner of railing where she’s been watching our conversation. She gives her ring finger a wiggle, drawing attention to the fat engagement ring circling it. The message isn’t subtle, but it’s clear. She’s one of them. I’m not.

“What Mindy means,” Franny says, “is that although I’d be thrilled to have all of you stay here with us, there simply isn’t enough room. This house can be deceiving. From the outside, it looks plenty big. But the reality is that there aren’t enough bedrooms to spare. Especially for all five instructors. And you know I can’t play favorites. I do apologize.”

“It’s fine,” I say, when in fact it isn’t. I’m a twenty-eight-year-old woman being forced to spend the next six weeks living with strangers half my age. Definitely not what I signed up for. But there appears to be no way around it.

“It’s not fine,” Franny says. “It’s an awkward situation, and I’m so sorry to be putting you into it. I wouldn’t blame you one bit if you decided to get back in the car and demand to be driven directly home.”

I’d be tempted to do just that if I had a home to return to. But the artist subletting the loft is probably moving in at this very minute, everything booked and paid for until the middle of August. It is what it is, as Marc likes to say.

“Can I at least choose my cabin?”

“Most of the campers are settling in now, but I think we can accommodate your request. What did you have in mind?”