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“Devoid of masked killers,” I say.
“That’s a plus, I suppose.”
“But I’m rooming with three teenage girls.”
“Definitely not in your wheelhouse,” Marc says. “What are they like?”
“I would describe them as sassy, but that term is probably out-of-date.”
“Sassynever goes out of style. It’s like blue jeans. Or vodka. Is that a bunk bed?”
“It is indeed,” I say. “It’s about as comfortable as it looks.”
Marc’s expression changes from pouting to horrified. “Oh dear. I apologize for convincing you to go back there.”
“You didn’t convince me,” I say. “You just nudged me a little closer.”
“I wouldn’t have nudged if I’d known bunk beds would be involved.” His image sputters a moment. When he moves his head, an afterimage follows in a stream of pixels.
“You’re breaking up,” I say, when in reality it’s me. The signal has dropped from one bar to none. On the screen, Marc’s face isfrozen, nothing but an abstract blur. Yet I can still hear him. His voice cuts in and out, letting me catch only every other word.
“You... out... bored... okay?”
The phone gives up the ghost, and the call dies. My screen goes blank. Replacing Marc’s face is my own reflection. I stare at it, shocked at how tired I look. Worse than tired. Haggard. No wonder Miranda made that crack about my age. I look positively ancient compared with them.
It makes me wonder what the other girls of Dogwood would look like today. Allison would probably still be cute and petite like her mother, who I saw a few years ago in a revival ofSweeney Todd. I spent the whole show wondering how much she thought of her daughter, if there’s a picture of Allison in her dressing room, if seeing it made her sad.
I suspect Natalie would have remained physically formidable, thanks to sports in college.
And Vivian? I’m certain she’d be the same. Slim. Stylish. A beauty that bordered on haughtiness. I imagine her taking one look at present-day me and saying,We need to talk about your hair. And your wardrobe.
I shove the phone back in my pocket and open my suitcase. Quickly, I change into a pair of shorts and one of the official camp polos that arrived in the mail two weeks ago. The rest go into my assigned trunk by the door. It’s the same trunk from my previous stay here. I can tell from the grayish stain that mars the satin lining.
I close the trunk and run my hands across the lid, feeling the bumps and grooves of all the names that have been carved into the hickory. Another memory prods my thoughts. Me on my first morning at camp, kneeling before this very trunk with a dull pocketknife in my hand.
Carve your name,Allison urged.
Every girl does it,Natalie added.It’s tradition.
I followed that tradition and carved my name. Two letters in all caps white against the dark wood.
EM
Vivian stood behind me as I did it, her voice soft and encouraging in my ear.Make your mark. Let future generations know you were here. That you existed.
I look to the other side of the cabin, at the two trunks resting by the door. Natalie’s and Allison’s. Their names have faded with time, barely distinguishable from all the others carved around them. I then move to the trunk next to mine. Vivian’s. She had carved her name in the center of the lid, larger than all the others.
VIV
I crack open her trunk, even though I know it’s Miranda’s now and that inside aren’t Vivian’s clothes and crafts and bottle of Obsession she swore covered the scent of bug spray. In their place are Miranda’s clothes—an assortment of too-tight shorts and lacy bras and panties utterly inappropriate for camp. In a corner sits a surprisingly high stack of paperbacks.Gone Girl,Rosemary’s Baby, a few Agatha Christie mysteries.
But the lining inside the lid is the same. Burgundy satin. Just like mine. The only difference, other than the gray stain, is a six-inch tear in the fabric. It sits on the left side of the lid, running vertically, the edges feathery.
Vivian’s hiding place, used to store the pendant necklace she took off only when she slept. A heart-shaped locket hung from it. Gold with a small emerald inlaid in its center.
I know of the hiding place only because I saw Vivian use it on the first full day of camp. I was at my own trunk, searching for my toothbrush, when she knelt in front of hers. She unclasped the necklace and held it for a moment in her cupped hands.
That’s pretty,I said.An heirloom?