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Housed in the main floor of a historic stone building, Mom’s Cookin’ Diner was known for hand-breaded chicken-fried steak, homemade lemonade and apple pie.

Not much had changed inside in the years Carrie had been away.

It still had the white-and-black-checked floor, red-vinyl swivel stools at the counter, and roomy booths. The air smelled of cooked bacon and coffee. The walls were covered in framed yellowing news pages about historic events, including a “yes, it’s real” wanted poster of Bonnie and Clyde.

The lunch rush long over, the place was quiet, except for a Patsy Cline song drifting from the kitchen amid running water and the clatter of dishes. A man with keys dangling from his belt sat alone at the counter working on his cheeseburger while scrolling his phone. An older couple was having pie in a booth near the window.

Opal Wells had only just sat down in a booth in a far corner when Carrie arrived. She stood, greeting her with a hug.

“Thanks for coming. I’m sorry I missed visiting you with Lacey and Grace.”

“That’s okay,” Carrie said as they sat. “How’re you, Dex and the kids?”

“Doing fine. Junie just lost her first tooth.”

“Oh, my.”

“And you? Emily and Luke?”

“We’re good.”

Touching Carrie’s hand, Opal’s expression turned serious. “How’s your dad doing?”

“He says he’s not feeling any discomfort.”

“Well, that’s a blessing. All things considered.”

A server emerged, hair piled high, butterfly tattoo on her neck. “What can I get you ladies?”

“Just coffee, thanks,” Carrie said.

“Same for me.”

“Okey doke.”

The server left, and Carrie leaned closer, lowering her voice, struggling not to betray her unease at her friend’s request.

“Opal, why were you so anxious to meet? What do you have that I should see?”

Opal looked at her, taking a moment, as if deciding how to answer. No one was near them, but she spoke softly.

“Okay, I know that when it happened, with you, Abby and Erin in the woods, you couldn’t remember much.”

Carrie nodded, tensing a little.

“And since you moved back, you’ve been trying to recall things—I know that from reading the Chron .”

The server returned, setting their coffees down with creamers and sweeteners on the side. “Anything else?”

“That’s it for now, thanks,” Opal said, waiting for her to leave before resuming. “I debated whether to come to you with this. I wrestled with it before deciding.”

“What is it?”

Opal reached into her bag and took out the slender Franklin book, placing it on the table.

“Our project,” Carrie said with a measure of relief. So that was it. Unfolding the note, she smiled at Mr. Fuentes’s comments and their grade.

“That was my first A-plus. You got a lot of them, but it was a big deal for me, so you let me keep it at my house.”

Carrie began turning the pages.

“My mom put it away. It got lost. No one really ever saw it again, until the other day. I found it tucked in her things while I was cleaning.”

“We did a good job.” Carrie admired the pages. “It looks great.” She shook her head. “Look at our notes we made after. We were picky.”

“Go to the section on Poor Richard’s Almanack —remember the quotes?”

Scanning the list of Franklin’s brief insights and thoughts, Carrie now knew that Franklin had gleaned many from earlier writers and philosophers. Taking her time, she began reading through them.

“Look at this one.” Opal tapped a nail to the quote with a yellow sticky note beside it, made loose by aging. “Your favorite.”

Carrie read: “‘Three may keep a secret, if two of them are dead.’”

Carrie blinked at it; the way someone might blink before realizing the speck on the horizon is actually a freight train bearing down on them.

“Carrie—” Opal’s tone was hushed “—I don’t know what to do about this because of the timing. I mean, you wrote this note just before—”

Carrie read the note, neatly printed in blue ink with an arrow pointing to Franklin’s words: I love this one!

Opal leaned a bit closer. “What did you mean, that you loved this quote?”

Carrie gave her head a shake. “I don’t remember.”

“Carrie.” Opal’s voice was now a whisper. “Three of you went into Wild Pines, and two are dead. You wrote that you loved this quote at that time. Why?”

The blood drained from Carrie’s face. Swallowing, she waved her hand.

“I don’t know. It was a stupid coincidence, I guess. I don’t remember. I’m not even sure I wrote that note.”

Their eyes met over the book.

“It’s your note, Carrie.”

Opal turned the book, flipped to other yellow sticky notes, some curling from time. “Mine are in black cursive; yours are lighter, blue printing.”

“What’s your point with this?”

“This quote, your favorite, was the one I was trying to remember,” Opal said. “When I found it, it started bothering me. Like something in all of this was left out.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I mean, at the time, I told police I was one hundred percent certain you would never hurt Abby and Erin. I told the reporter from the Chron the same thing when she came to my house.”

Opal paused.

The freight train was getting closer.

“Of course, I couldn’t tell police back then about this quote you loved, because I couldn’t find the book. I never told the reporter either.”

“What are you getting at, Opal?”

“I was with you in the cafeteria. Most all of us were at the Halloween dance, then the murders. Then I find the quote you liked around that time. You know, it’s the timing.” Opal’s eyes were glistening.

“What’re you planning to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Who have you told about this?”

“No one but you.”

“Opal, listen to me. Hyde confessed to killing Abby and Erin, and trying to kill me, too. He’s dead. It’s over. Why’re you trying to make some connection to me and a silly note I wrote in high school?”

Opal shook her head, eyes narrowing, her voice dropping to a tremulous whisper.

“Abby and Erin had a vileness about them. Maybe deep down, some people were thinking, in their secret heart of hearts, that maybe…” Opal’s voice got smaller “…maybe they got what they deserved.”

Carrie’s jaw dropped. She scanned around them for assurance that no one had heard, keeping her voice soft.

“Oh, God. No, Opal! Don’t say that. That’s not true.”

“You know it is.”

“Opal, listen, please,” Carrie said. “I think you’re overthinking this, making too much of it. There is no point to this. It’s over. Maybe you should let me keep the book.”

“No. I’ll keep it.” Opal slid it to her side of the table, shoved it into her bag, then stood to leave. “I’m so sorry about all of this. I’m very troubled.”

“Opal, please.”

“You’re my friend, Carrie, and I felt you needed to know about this, to help you remember, maybe.”

“Yes, but it’s a coincidence, a sad, stupid coincidence.”

“Maybe. But, Carrie, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“Just let it go.”

“Carrie, it’s hard for me to keep things inside, especially the truth .”

“Opal, please, you can’t know the truth because—”

Watching Opal walk out of the diner, Carrie suddenly felt the impact of the train, the earth shaking, the booth seat under her dropping, then her stomach morphing into a cinder block pulling her insides down into a bottomless chasm.