The Last Time I Lied(92)

I click to the previous photo, seeing me and Franny in the lake, Theo on the grass, Chet and Mindy up at the Lodge.

The only person missing is Lottie.

“Now you see it?” Becca says.

“Are you sure she’s not there?” I scan the photo again, looking in vain for any sign of Lottie behind Chet and Mindy. There isn’t one.

“Positive. Which begs this question: Why?”

Nothing I can think of makes sense. My screams were loud enough to bring the entire camp to the lakeshore, which makes it impossible for Lottie not to have heard them. Yes, there’s a chance her absence is completely innocuous. Maybe she’s a heavy sleeper. Or she was in the shower, its spray drowning out the sound of my screams.

But then I think about my bracelet. It feels like it’s still wrapped around my left wrist. A phantom sensation. The last time I remember being aware of its presence was when I was in the Lodge, searching the study.

With Lottie.

Maybe it fell off. Or maybe she took it while I was engrossed by all those old photographs of Camp Nightingale.

I consider Vivian’s diary, which by this point has become a kind of Rosetta Stone for trying to decipher what was happening fifteen years ago. Vivian mentioned Lottie, but only in passing. Just that one sentence about how Lottie caught her in the Lodge study and then told Franny about it. I didn’t give it much attention, mostly because I had Franny’s dirty little secret distracting me.

But now I wonder if that brief mention has greater meaning, especially in light of my own encounter with Lottie in the study. She spoke at length about her family’s decades of service with the Harris-White clan. That suggests an unusual amount of devotion, passed down through generations. Just how devoted of an employee could Lottie be?

Enough to take action if she knew Vivian was close to learning what Franny’s dark secret could be? Then do it again after realizing I’m on the verge of doing the same thing, only this time as some twisted kind of warning?

“Maybe,” I say, “Lottie wasn’t there because she already knew what was happening.”





FIFTEEN YEARS AGO


After lashing out at Theo, I spent the rest of the day weeping in my bottom bunk. I cried so hard that by the time night fell, my pillow was soaked with tears. The pillowcase, salty and damp, stuck to my cheek when I looked up as the cabin door opened. It was Lottie, solemnly bearing a tray of food from the mess hall. Pizza. Side salad. Bottle of Snapple.

“You need to eat something, honey,” she said.

“I’m not hungry,” I told her, when in truth I was famished. Pain gnawed at my gut, reminding me that I’d barely eaten since the girls left the cabin.

“Starving yourself won’t help anyone,” Lottie said as she placed the tray on my hickory trunk. “You need a good meal to be ready for when your friends return.”

“Do you really think they’re coming back?”

“Of course they will.”

“Then I won’t eat until they do.”

Lottie gave me a patient smile. “I’ll leave the tray here in case you change your mind.”

Once she was gone, I approached the tray, sniffing at the food like a feral cat. Ignoring the salad, I went straight for the pizza. I managed two bites before the pain in my gut worsened. It was sharper than hunger, shooting from my stomach into my heart.

Guilt.

That I’d said that horrible thing to Vivian right before she left.

That I’d locked the door before they returned.

That all day I’d told myself I simply provided an answer to that state trooper’s innocent question. But deep down I knew the score. By saying Theo’s name, I had accused him of harming Vivian, Natalie, and Allison. All because he picked Vivian over me.

Not that such an outcome had ever really been in doubt. I was a scrawny, flat-chested nothing. Of course Theo chose her. And now I assumed he and everyone else in camp hated me. I couldn’t blame them. I hated myself more.

Which is why I was surprised when Franny came to Dogwood later in the night.

She had spent the previous night there. Not wanting me to be alone, she crept in with a sleeping bag, some snacks, and a pile of board games. When it was time to sleep, Franny unrolled the sleeping bag on the floor next to my bunk. That’s where she slept, lulling me to sleep by singing Beatles songs in a soft, gentle voice.

Now she was back, the bag of snacks and games in one hand and her rolled-up sleeping bag in the other.

“I just got off the phone with your parents,” she announced. “They’ll be here tomorrow morning to take you home. So let’s make your last night here a restful one.”

I stared at her from my tear-stained pillow, confused. “You’re staying here tonight, too?”

“Of course, my dear. It’s not good to be here all by yourself.”

She dropped the sleeping bag onto the floor and began to unroll it.

“You don’t have to sleep on the floor again.”

“Oh, but I do,” Franny said. “We must keep the beds free for when your friends return any minute now.”

I imagined Vivian, Natalie, and Allison flinging open the door and tramping inside, dirty and exhausted but very much alive. We got lost, Vivian would say. Because Allison here doesn’t know how to read a compass. It was such a comforting thought that I glanced at the door, expecting them to do just that. When they didn’t, I started to cry again, adding a few more drops to the pillowcase.