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Not what I did to Theo.
What I did to the girls.
The realization keeps me pinned to the flimsy chair, even after everyone starts to leave. Before exiting, Theo looks at me with concern, his cheeks flushed enough to make his scar stand out.
“Are you okay?” he says.
“No.”
I picture Vivian, Natalie, and Allison as paint marks on one of my canvases, waiting for me to cover them up. One of the reasons I came back here is because I couldn’t keep doing that. Because I thought that if I learned more about what happened to them, my conscience would be clean.
But now I can’t foresee spending an entire six weeks here. Whoever’s been watching me will continue to do so, stepping up the reminders bit by bit. Trapped birds and paint on the door, I fear, are only the beginning. If there are answers to be found, I have to do it quickly.
“I need to get out of here. Just for a little bit.”
“Where do you want to go?” Theo says.
I think of Vivian’s diary and the call letters of a book.
“Town,” I say.
FIFTEEN YEARS AGO
The radio, like the rest of the truck, had seen better days. The little music that did fizz from the speakers sounded tinny and pockmarked with static. Not that it mattered. The only radio station Vivian and I could find played nothing but country music, the steel guitar and fiddle twang accompanying our journey out of Camp Nightingale.
“So why are we doing this again?” Theo asked as the truck passed under the camp’s entrance arch.
“Because I’m in need of some hygiene products,” Vivian said. “Personal, lady ones.”
“That’s more than I need to know.” Theo shook his head, amused in spite of himself. “What about you, Em?”
“I’m just along for the ride.”
And I was. Quite unexpectedly. I had been waiting for the others outside the mess hall, the pollen from Vivian’s forget-me-nots still dusting my fingertips, when Natalie and Allison arrived.
“Vivian needs you,” Allison said.
“Why?”
“She didn’t say.”
“Where is she?”
Natalie jerked her head toward the arts and crafts building on her way inside. “Over there.”
That’s where I found Vivian, Theo, and the mint-green pickup.Vivian was already inside, drumming her fingers against the sill of the open window. Theo leaned against the driver’s-side door, his arms crossed.
“Hey there, latecomer,” he said. “Hop in.”
I squeezed between the two of them, their bodies warm against me as the truck bucked along the pothole-riddled road. Theo’s legs continually bumped mine, as did his arm whenever he turned the steering wheel. Downy hairs from his forearm tickled my skin. The sensation made my stomach flutter and heart ache, as if they were being filled beyond capacity, becoming too large for my scrawny frame.
It stayed that way the entire drive into town, which had no discernible name but could have been any small town anywhere in the country. There was a main drag; quaint storefronts; red, white, and blue bunting on porches. We passed a town green with its generic war memorial and a sign promising a parade the next morning and fireworks at night.
Theo parked the truck, and Vivian and I quickly hopped out, stretching our legs, pretending the journey was uncomfortable, a burden. Better that than to have let Theo think I enjoyed his accidental touches.
Properly stretched, Vivian started to cross the street, heading toward an old-timey drugstore on the corner. “I’ll see you losers in an hour,” she said.
“Anhour?” Theo said.