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I do the math. Three of the five people absent from the photo are Sasha, Miranda, and Krystal, for obvious reasons. I’m another, because at that moment I was being led by Franny from the chilly water of Lake Midnight. The fifth missing person is Becca, the person taking the photo.
“I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”
“Only one person in the entire camp didn’t come to see what was going on,” Becca replies. “Don’t you think that’s strange?”
I snatch the camera from her hands and bring the display screen closer to my face, trying to identify who might be missing. I recognize nearly all the girls, either from the painting lessons or justroaming around camp. I spot Roberta and Paige, caught in the middle of exchanging worried looks. I see Kim, Danica, and the other three counselors. Each of them huddle with the girls from their respective cabins. Behind them is Casey, identifiable by her red hair.
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 theHarris-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.