Vacation

16. Greetings

Jack turned onto the small dirt road to the right that led to the camp.

More signs.

And—

Then, in case anyone forgot why they were here…

The two-lane dirt road was well-maintained, no big ruts or boulders. Any brush at the sides was cut well back.

“I’m excited,” Christie said.

“Me, too,” Jack said.

He was getting good at saying things he didn’t quite believe.

If only I could ease the hell up.

What happened at the rest stop could have happened anywhere.

That’s what he told himself.

Then, through the thick stands of pine and dead deciduous trees, Jack saw the outer fence of the camp.

No small fence either. Twelve feet, maybe more. Certainly bigger than the one that girded their complex at home. And two turrets, looking less forbidding than those on the highway, painted a dark cocoa brown with a dark pine green roof.

More like little elf cottages than security turrets.

Did they color-coordinate the nice people with their guns inside the elf cottages?

Jack imagined that by now their arrival had been picked up by the camp’s cameras and whatever motion-detection systems it had in place. Maybe a license check had already been run.

The turret elves reporting their progress.

“Is this it?” Simon said, leaning forward.

The road curved to the right, then the left.

A sign indicated a speed bump, then another, in the traditional Adirondack colors of brown and green. PREPARE TO SLOW DOWN.

Jack eased off the gas.

“Wow,” Simon said.

Wow at what? Jack wondered. The giant fence, the elf turrets, the big sign where log chunks spelled out PATERVILLE FAMILY CAMP, with deer antlers on either side?

Antlers? Don’t tell me they have deer here.

Weren’t deer a thing of the past?

Probably extinct.

A gate opened and, passing the fence, Jack saw a smiling man waiting inside a small booth meters ahead. Only a small candy-cane-striped barrier blocked their way.

Jack stopped the car.

The man’s grin broadened as he walked over.

The gate closed behind Jack.

He glanced back quickly at that.

“Go on,” Christie said. “Say ‘hi.’ Find out where we’re supposed to go.”

Right, Jack thought.

The gate forgotten, he opened his window.

“Welcome to Paterville Camp, folks. And you must be… the Murphy family?”

The man radiated his smile evenly over the four of them in the car. Jack smiled back. “That would be us.”

“Great. We’ve been expecting you. Now”—the man leaned close with some papers in his hand—“here’s your car tag. Just put that on the dash. And your cabin number. And a map of the Paterville grounds. Your cabin’s right here.”

“Where’s the lake?” Simon blurted.

“Oh, real close. You kids are gonna love it. You need to check in at the Great Lodge to get your keys, arrange credit. And that”—his smile broadened—“is about it.”

“Thanks,” Jack said.

The man made a small nod and backed away.

“You folks enjoy your stay.”

The small candy-striped wooden barrier rose, and Jack pulled away.

“Look! There it is! The lake—just like in the picture!”

Simon announced each discovery as they drove deeper into the grounds.

Ahead, a cluster of rustic cottages, then to the left a small hill led down to a beautiful lake, shimmering in the late afternoon sun. Behind it, mountains, like guards circling the lake.

And not only that, he saw other families. Kids walking around, others sitting on the beach by the lake. Like an image from a past that had long ago vanished.

Amazing, he thought. That such a place could exist.

He came to a circle near the main building, the Great Lodge. In front, parking spaces under a protective overhang, all done in that mix of dark brown timbers and green roofing.

He pulled into a space and killed the engine. “I’ll go check in.”

“I wanna come,” Simon said.

“I don’t want to just sit here,” Kate said.

“Guess we all go,” Christie said. “Let the adventure begin!”

They got out of their car and walked into the lodge.

The Great Lodge’s lobby ceiling rose up to a second story. Massive murals of all the animals that once filled this area covered the walls. Guests sat in oversized leather chairs, talking, some reading by lamps with bases made from twisted branches.

To the left, Jack saw the dining hall, its twin doors closed. To the right, a gift store. A registration desk ahead and a corridor past it with a sign that indicated TO ADMINISTRATIVE OFFICES.

One of the women at the desk, dressed casually in a crisp tan shirt with a red kerchief at her neck, looked up and smiled. Jack came forward.

“Hi, I’m—”

But before he got the words out, a short, barrel-chested man with a neatly trimmed mustache came from the nearby corridor.

He was talking to a woman easily a foot taller than him. Dark hair down to her shoulders. A gingham shirt tied at the waist, showing a slice of her midsection. Cutoffs. And in that quick glimpse, legs that went on forever.

Hard not to stare.

The man stopped talking as soon as he saw Jack and his family.

“And then we need— Oh. Hey! Hel-lo!” He looked around at Jack and his family. “The Murphys, right?”

Guess they were expecting us, Jack thought.

“Yes.”

“Great! Welcome to the Paterville Family Camp!”

The man walked over to them.

“I’m Ed Lowe, camp director and the founder of Paterville.”

Jack introduced Christie and the kids, who all shook the man’s hand.

Ed seemed to focus on the kids. “You kids are going have so much fun here. So much to do.” His eyes went from Simon to Kate. “No matter how old you are.” Then to Christie. “And I guarantee some great downtime for the parents. Grown-ups love it as much as the kids.”

It was as if the guy was still selling the camp. But his good humor had planted smiles on Christie’s and the kids’ faces.

“Here you go, Mr. Murphy,” the woman behind the desk said. “Your keys. One for each of you. Opens your cabin. They’re also your camp IDs, so hold onto them.”

The way she said that stuck for a moment. Hold onto them.

Looked like despite all the smiles and handshakes, they took their security seriously here.

Jack took the keys. As he did, he noticed the woman standing near Ed watching him.

He had to force himself not to look back.

As if sensing Jack’s balancing act, Ed turned to the woman, “Shana, why don’t you bring the Murphys’ luggage over to their cabin?”

“I can do—” Jack started.

“No. Don’t worry. Shana is our jill-of-all-trades here. It’s a quiet day—and while she gets your stuff, I can give you folks a quick tour.”

Shana came close to Jack. He picked up a whiff of exotic perfume on her. Just a hint. Something you might only smell if you got real close.

Jack felt Christie’s eyes on him.

“Car open?” Shana said. “Luggage in the trunk?”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “But I—”

“No problemo,” Shana said slowly.

Jack handed her the keys.

She started walking away.

Ed moved close. “Now for that tour, hm?”

All eyes seemed to be on their tour director.

But Jack stole a quick glance at Shana as she walked away.

She was looking right back at him.

Standing by the lake, Ed looked up to the sky.

“Hm, it was sunny just minutes ago. Looks like a few clouds slipped over those mountains. Weather can change mighty quickly here.”

Jack held Christie’s hand.

“I love it,” she said.

“The lake? Yeah. Our prize, to be sure. Beautiful, clear water. You can even drink it. And back there—”

He turned around and pointed at the lifeguard stand.

“—always a lifeguard on duty from nine to sunset.” To the kids. “No swimming before or after that.”

Jack noticed Kate shielding her eyes.

As she checked out the lifeguard.

Time does fly, Jack thought. Something he might need to keep a watch on here.

Ed turned back to them. “Water’s cold, though. Fed by those mountains. But on a hot day, it just doesn’t get any better.” Then, a step closer to Jack, his voice lower: “Same water feeds our wells and underground streams. It’s why we can grow things.”

“You’ve had no blight? I saw the trees—”

“Oh, some things won’t grow, for sure. But I guess we’re isolated enough that a lot of crops still grow here just fine. For now.”

“Good.”

Ed slapped his hands together. “On with the tour. This way!”

“Down there, got our big playing field. Lot of fun family games, softball, old-fashioned things like sack races. And to the right, a game room—”

“With video games?” Simon asked. “Really?”

“You bet. Oldies but goodies. And Ping-Pong, pool, even that football game, you know, with—”

“Foosball,” Jack added.

“Yes, foosball. Now, past there, we have the nature trails. Nothing too big since we need to keep everything and everyone well within the camp’s confines. Still, good safe places for a little walk or to explore.”

Ed turned around and started walking back to the main lodge.

But Jack had noticed a road up on a hill, past the parking area, nearly hidden by the trees.

“What’s over there? By the cars. That road?”

Ed barely tossed a glance back. “Our service road. Maintenance buildings. Laundry. Storage. Landscaping and so on. Nothing fun.”

Ed pointed ahead.

“You’ve seen the Great Lodge. We all eat together in the big dining hall. Sometimes there are special announcements, sometimes we play some games. Like I said, good food and good fun—and good people.”

Already, Jack thought, the dark streets of Red Hook were starting to look better.

As beautiful as it all was, this was alien terrain for him. And they were caged in.

With this much-too-jolly Ed Lowe as the keeper.

Still, Christie seemed wide-eyed at it. The kids looked like they loved it.

And Jack kept thinking of Ed’s assistant. Shana.

Funny how guys work, he thought.

Probably never see her again.

I’m only human. And male.

“Okay, let’s see your digs. Cabin seven. Great view from there. Come on!”

“If I may…” Ed took the key from Christie.

He opened the door and they walked in.

The cabin was a picture from a hundred years ago. Homemade furniture, a woven rug, a 1950s-style Formica kitchen table. Small hallway leading to bedrooms.

“No TV at all?” Kate asked.

“Sorry, miss. No stations operating anywhere near us. Get some radio, shortwave and all.”

“And no phones?” Christie asked.

As in: how isolated are we?

“Well, the workers here like to joke that if we get a good wind off Mt. Hope you can always yell.”

Ed laughed.

What a card.

“And truth is, Mrs. Murphy, we’re kind of self-contained here. Can’t say phones would be of much use.”

Jack noticed that Kate stood there, scanning the rustic cottage, the lake, the woods—all so unfamiliar to her.

Should be an interesting week.

“Well, I guess I’ll let you folks settle in. Unpack.” Ed looked at his watch. “Whoa, dinner in two hours. Maybe time for a quick swim, eh?”

“Good idea, and thanks.”

Ed started out.

Jack turned to Christie, and then with a slight tilt of his head he followed Ed out, catching up a few steps behind him.

“Ed—one more thing.”

“Yes? What’s that?”

Jack looked around. From this area just outside the cabin, he had a good view of much of the camp, from the lake area to the Great Lodge and all the way to the playing fields.

Even a peek at the service road.

“Just got a question. Didn’t want the kids to hear. I mean…” Jack looked Ed right in the eyes. “Ever have any problems here?”

“Problems? You mean, like the septic backing up?”

Another joke, but Jack didn’t smile this time.

“No. With what’s outside the fences. With the Can Heads.”

Ed nodded. “Jack, something happen to you folks on the way here?”

“At a rest stop. A break-in. One Can Head. I took care of it.”

“That’s what you do back home, right? Being a cop and all?”

“Yeah. And I was hoping to get away from that. Which is why I asked.”

“You’ve seen a lot, hm?”

Jack paused before answering.

“Enough.”

“Listen, Jack, Paterville has amazing security. Since you’re a police officer, you’ve probably noticed it. And that’s only what you can see. The fence is fully electric, and the turrets see everything. We got other things all around—motion detectors at the perimeter, cameras checking the woods outside.”

“I imagine you do.”

“And yes, they’re out there. But that’s where they will stay. So, I hope you can forget that stuff that you’ve dealt with in the city. You and your family can have a real good time here, Jack.” Ed put a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “You just got to relax and enjoy yourself. We’ve thought of everything.”

Jack nodded.

Then, over Ed’s shoulder, halfway to the lodge, he saw Shana watching them. The camp director seemed to notice as well.

“Hey, gotta dash. See you at dinner.”

“Sure.”

Jack went back inside the cottage.

17. Tom and Sharon

Christie wriggled her toes in the sand. Not quite the beach sand of her childhood summers at the Jersey shore. Grittier, coarser.

But still, after everything—wonderful.

She looked over at Jack.

“You look like the lifeguard.”

“Hmm?”

They both sat on the sand, not caring that it would stick to their pants. It felt so good to be here.

“The way you—I don’t know—scan the waterfront. No, I got it. You’re the sheriff in Jaws.”

He laughed. A good sound.

“Gonna need a bigger boat.”

Christie pointed at a scattering of rowboats and canoes over by the dock to the right of the swimming area.

“That’s as big as they get here, I’m afraid.” A beat. Then, more seriously: “Gorgeous, isn’t it?”

“Oh yeah. Sure.”

The sun was slipping behind the mountains. Dusk would come early. The lake captured the last hour of golden sunlight, the water sparkling as if alive with lights. Squealing kids of all ages ran in and out of the icy lake water.

It was cold—Christie had confirmed that.

Simon had been brave, running into the water, then spinning around when fully wet and running out again. It may have been the biggest smile she had ever seen on him.

And that felt good.

And Kate?

Kate went in just up to her calves. She wore a striped one-piece, though she had pleaded to get a bikini. Christie vetoed that.

She wondered if she did that because she knew Jack would have said, quite simply, take it back.

Then: “That’s some assistant Ed Lowe has, hm?”

Jack nodded. “Yeah. Guess so.”

“She seemed to check you out.”

Jack turned to Christie and grinned. “Maybe she’s part of security.”

“Or maybe she’s here to keep the dads happy.”

Jack laughed.

A little too casual. Jack was a guy. He’d have to be crazy to not have taken in Shana.

Probably never see her again, Christie thought.

After all, this was supposed to be their vacation as well. For the two of them.

And we need it.

Something to let us recharge before we go back to life at home.

Home. She’d like to forget about that life for a while.

“Guess we should head back. Change for dinner.”

Jack nodded and stood up.

Christie did as well. She didn’t want to leave, but there would be other afternoons, other sunsets, other days ahead filled with the shimmering water and the squeals.

“Kate, Simon, come on!” she shouted.

The kids both turned to her as if her voice came from miles away.

“Can’t we stay just a little bit more?”

Simon looked to both of his parents for a reprieve.

Christie noticed Kate seemed a bit distracted. Jack looked as well, following Kate’s gaze.

To one of the lifeguard chairs.

No, she’s way too young for that.

Kate—just out of eighth grade.

She knew her girlfriends talked about boys.

But there was no real socializing.

Kate turned away from the lifeguard chair.

“Mom, there are lifeguards. It’s safe. Can I stay?”

Christie hesitated.

“And I can watch Simon, too. You guys always take so long to get ready. Can we stay just a little while longer?”

“I don’t need watching,” Simon added. Then, as if remembering the point of the argument, added, “Can we stay just a little bit more?”

A look from Jack. The decision deferred to her.

“Okay. Fifteen minutes, then back to the cabin for quick showers. I don’t think you want to miss dinner.”

Simon had already spun around to resume his in-and-out game with the cool water. Kate stood there and put on the dutiful face of she-who-watches-her-brother.

Close to the lifeguard. Nothing to worry about.

“Okay then,” Jack said. “Let’s go get ready. Remember—fifteen minutes.”

Christie looked at the mirror, checking herself in a green polo shirt and capris. Too informal? she wondered. But then again this was a camp. People probably showed up in shorts and T’s.

Jack came out of the shower dripping; in minutes, he appeared in the living room in shorts, golf shirt, and sandals. Pretty informal.

Christie was tempted to say something. But here was someone who dressed every day in his blue uniform, every detail in place. If this was Jack relaxing, she’d take it.

“Kids back?”

“No. I’ll go and—”

A knock at the door.

“Company?” Jack said.

He opened the door. A man and a woman stood there.

“Hi,” the man—tall, strongly built—said. “We’re your neighbors. The Blairs. Cabin next door.” He stuck out his hand. “Tom.”

The woman, short and a bit mousy-looking, did the same with Christie. “Sharon. Hope we’re not bothering you or anything…”

Christie smiled. “No. Just getting ready for dinner.” Then, feeling the oddness of leaving the couple out on the small porch, she said, “Come on in.”

The couple came into the cabin.

“Nice,” Tom said. “Little different arrangement than ours. You like it?”

“Just fine,” Jack said.

Sharon—her dark hair cut into a bob, wearing a summery print dress—turned to Christie. “We’ve been here for almost a week. We love it. So, if you two have any questions, ask away.”

“It’s a great place,” Tom added. “A real getaway.”

“Looks nice so far,” Jack said.

“Kids?” Christie asked.

Tom grinned. “Oh, yeah—our two boys. Jim and Sam. The ‘maniacs,’ we call them. They’ve been running wild in this place, loving it. In fact, we just signed up for two more days. Money’s a bit tight, but hell, who knows when we’ll be able to come back.”

Those words seemed to make Sharon thoughtful.

“So different here. You know?”

“You mean, the lake… the mountains?” Christie said.

“The whole feel of the place. Everyone just enjoying themselves. Like a world we all thought we lost.”

She guessed that Jack was sizing them up.

That’s what he did, size people up.

What’s their story, their life?

She had told him it was a bad habit.

Maybe with this couple he could let his guard down. People used to have friends.

It would be nice to have some friends.

“Hey,” Tom said, as if trying to sound spontaneous, “why don’t we all sit together for dinner? Your first meal at the camp.”

Sharon added, “They have these big tables. Very homey!”

Christie looked at Jack. Never exactly Mr. Social.

Then the kids burst in through the door. Simon and Kate laughing, Simon racing ahead as Kate tried to catch him.

“Our two,” Christie said. “Simon, Kate. Hey, quick showers, guys. Then dinner.”

“I’m starving!” Simon said before vanishing into the other bedroom.

“So, see you at dinner?” Tom said, looking from Jack to Christie.

“Sure. It’ll be a pleasure,” she answered.

The couple smiled. This wasn’t something she’d ever do, Christie knew, not back home. Knock on someone’s door.

“Great. We’ll save you places.”

After they left, Jack walked to the window, pulled a curtain aside, and watched the Blairs make their way over to the Grand Lodge.

Then he came close to Christie.

“Meet the neighbors, hm?”

“Seemed nice.”

“Yeah. And I guess we can pick their brains about the place.”

Simon came out of the bathroom, his still-wet hair sticking up at odd angles.

Christie turned to him.

“Come here, mister.”

When the hair had been tamed by a brush, and Kate finally appeared wearing cargo shorts and a collared shirt, looking suddenly very much like her dad, they left the cottage for their first dinner in the Great Lodge.

18. Dinner

Jack took the bowl of food from Tom Blair, and scooped some onto his plate. Looking like a mixture of chili and refried beans, it didn’t look bad.

Simon weighed in with his verdict. “What is this stuff? It’s good!”

Jack took a taste. Not bad, but—

“Yeah,” Tom said, “the food’s really not all they crack it up to be in the brochure. But it’s got taste, and there’s plenty of it.”

“Tastes better than what we usually make do with,” Jack said. “Kate, what do you think?”

Kate kept spooning it in, as if trying to make up her mind. “It’s… okay.”

He turned back to their new Paterville neighbors. Jim and Sam Blair, older than Simon by a year or two, had already finished their plates.

Guess you get hungry up here…

“So, you’ve arranged to stay longer, hm?”

“Yep,” Tom said, looking around at the Great Lodge and all the full tables of people scarfing down the Paterville dinner. A small laugh. “Don’t think my family would let me leave. They… we like it here.”

Jack noticed a slight hesitation.

“You, though? Had enough of Paterville?”

Tom smiled. “No. It’s great.”

There was a loud, ear-piercing squeak from the loudspeakers.

Jack turned to see Ed Lowe standing at a podium.

“Hello… campers!”

Then, as if coached, the families answered Lowe:

“Hel-lo!”

“Hope you’ve had a great day at the camp today. Looks like even better weather tomorrow. Now, I don’t want you to keep you from that good camp food, but how about a Paterville welcome to our newcomers!”

“Hel-lo, newcomers!”

“Oh, you can do better than that!”

And they did.

Jack caught Christie looking at him, perhaps sensing his discomfort. Corny wasn’t quite the word for it.

Maybe vacations were supposed to be like this.

Jack grinned at Christie.

“And a quick reminder, tonight we have a bonfire down by the lakefront—and tomorrow is the big fireworks show!”

Lowe made a big wave at the tables, and a smile.

“Now back to your eats.”

Jack started to turn away—

When he saw Lowe’s assistant, Shana, come out from the side, holding papers. She looked at the crowd, no smiles from her.

Serious woman, Jack thought.

Tom leaned close from across the wooden table.

“Met Shana? She’s… something, hm?”

Jack kept watching Lowe and Shana. She handed Lowe the papers. He turned to her and then took a few steps away from the microphone, his back to the diners.

From the other side of the room, a burly man, tall with thick arms and an even thicker neck, came into the room carrying a heavy metal tray and brought it over to a serving area.

Jack turned back to Tom.

“Who’s that guy? Big fella.”

“That? He’s Dunphy. The cook. Or at least the main cook. Brings the food himself.”

Lowe noticed Dunphy and left Shana standing to the side while he walked over to the cook.

Jack was looking to see how things ran here, who was in charge. All the little gears that have to fall into place to make something like this work.

Finally, he turned back to the table.

He caught a look from Christie… probably thinking that he was ogling Lowe’s jill-of-all-trades.

Definitely some of that going on.

Jack smiled. Caught! Then went back to the meal. The stuff, whatever it was, got cold fast and now didn’t seem as appetizing.

Maybe I’ll be hungrier tomorrow, he thought. After a full day in the mountains.

The two couples walked out of the lodge together.

Jack and Tom walked together, Christie and Sharon close behind. Kate brought up the rear. Simon ran up to her, with the Blairs’ two boys in tow.

“Dad, Mom—we’re gonna play hide-and-seek down by the sports field. That okay?”

Jack looked at Christie.

“Um, I guess.”

Christie gave it her seal of approval.

“Yes. But stay close. No scouting around.”

Tom made a small laugh. “Don’t worry, Jack. They do a good job of keeping the kids where they’re supposed to be. We let our two just roam around till bedtime. Couldn’t be safer.”

“Okay, Simon. Come back to the lake for the bonfire before dark,” Jack said.

A quick nod, and his son vanished.

He looked back at Kate, who still didn’t seem to have embraced this place.

Hope she settles in.

“Jack—meet you down there?” Tom said.

Jack looked back at Christie talking with Sharon.

The Blairs seemed like nice enough people.

Why not, Jack thought. After all, this is a vacation.

Soon they were back at the cabins.

Simon did what Sam and Jim told him to. He folded his arms in front of him, and rested his head against a tree, eyes shut, and counted. But not a normal count.

One Mississippi… two Mississippi… three…

Never did that back home. Never played this game.

The other two kids hiding while he counted.

He reached twenty and lifted his head from the tree.

A bit of stickiness had attached itself to his arms when he put them against the tree.

Sap. That’s what it’s called, Simon knew.

He looked around for Sam and Jim.

In the time it took him to count, it seemed to have turned darker here. The tall trees blotted out the light from the sky. And though they had led Simon down to this area, telling him how great it was for hiding, now Simon couldn’t see where they had come from.

Where was the lake? The cabins? Which way… was the way back?

He wanted to call out to them.

Say: Where are you?

But that would be giving up the game. Being a baby. These were big kids. Be fun to play with them even though he was a full year younger.

Instead of shouting where are you?, he said: “Coming to find you guys!”

Simon took a step in one direction. The leaves and dry pine needles at his feet made a soft crunching sound. Another step.

Was he going back the way they had come, or to where they were hiding, or some other way?

Step… step… step…

He kept turning his head, looking for signs of movement. But all was still here in the woods.

Kate walked out of the back bedroom. “Dad, I’m going to walk down to the lake now.”

Jack looked up from a wall map of Paterville and the nearby mountains. A geological map showing elevation, trails risers, the peaks.

“That okay?” he said to Christie.

“Sure. Go on, Kate.”

His daughter smiled. Maybe the ice was melting. A good thing. “Back before dark, ’kay?”

“Will do, Dad.”

When she shut the door behind her, Christie turned to Jack.

“Guess we’re giving them both some room? Feels strange.”

“We want them to enjoy this place, right? Some independence… might be good.”

“My,” Christie said with a smile, “what a little bit of vacation does to turn the police officer around. I’m glad.”

“Just catch me in a few days.”

“Should we head down to the bonfire?”

“You go on. I’ll be right there. I need to move the car. It’s parked out front, but they say they want all the cars in the back parking lot. Let me do that, and I’ll see you there.”

Jack grabbed the car keys off a countertop near the kitchen and followed Christie out the door.

Simon froze.

Darker still. And now the air chilled his bare arms and legs. The trees, which had very brown trunks before, had turned gray and dark. The branches overhead didn’t look green at all.

They have to be nearby, Simon thought.

They wouldn’t just leave me here.

Just ditch me.

More steps—so hard to force his feet to move.

He looked past the shadowy tree trunks and saw… something else.

Something shiny.

Maybe part of the camp.

It made him turn in that direction. As he came closer he saw that it was the giant fence, hidden from the camp by the trees. Simon now knew he was very far away from where he was supposed to be.

He started to turn.

Then a voice—deep, rough—said, “Hey, you!”

Jack got up to the Great Lodge and, through a side window, saw all the diners gone, only workers cleaning tables.

Where do they stay? he wondered. Must be another part of the camp where they had staff cabins. Maybe came here for the season, then went back to whatever small towns they came from.

The entry hall glowed invitingly. People sitting on the massive leather couches and chairs, talking, reading.

His car was the only one still parked in the check-in area.

Not much light spilled onto the spaces in front of the lodge entrance.

He dug out his keys.

“Everything okay?”

Someone in the darkness. He hadn’t even noticed… standing there… coming close.

The person took a few steps closer and Jack recognized the smell. That hint of perfume.

Shana.

“Just need to move my car. Y’know, to the parking area.”

Of course she knew, Jack thought. She works here.

“Someone from the lodge would have been more than glad to move it for you, Mr. Murphy.”

That sounded too weird. “Jack.”

“In fact—Jack—I’d be glad to take it over.”

She stuck out a hand. The light backlit Shana so she was all shape, no color.

“That’s okay. Want to check some things. I can do it.”

“Sure you can.”

Odd comment.

A taunt.

“Anything else you need help with tonight… Jack?”

“Nope. All good. Bonfire night, right?”

A pause, as if perhaps Shana too realized the absurdity of Jack going from cop to card player.

“Have fun, then. Good night.”

“You, too.”

The dark shape turned and walked away, not into the entrance hall but down a path to the side.

Jack unlocked the car and got in.

19. Dusk

Christie walked down the path leading to the lakeshore. Twilight, and Kate stood at the water’s edge, looking at the now-dark lake.

But it was her position that was interesting.

Only feet away from the lifeguard stand.

One lifeguard was still on duty with twilight bringing a gray and silvery look to the water, the yellow sand now turning dark as well.

The lifeguard, sixteen, maybe seventeen, bronzed by the summer, looked at his watch and jumped down to the sand.

Christie watched the next few moments with a mix of concern, fear, and fascination. Almost as if she was spying.

The lifeguard in a white polo shirt, collar up. Grabbing his backpack, he looked up and saw Kate.

Christie wanted to whisper, Move on… she’s only thirteen.

But she watched the boy grin, a nod in Kate’s direction, and then start up from the beach.

For a moment, Christie remembered what it was like to be young.

The boy walked past Christie, who hoped she wasn’t radiating an “I’m the mom” vibe.

Her motherly spying over, she continued down to the water.

Jack got out of the Explorer. The lot sat in the dark with only two tall lights at opposite corners of the sea of cars.

Guess they don’t want people going on any joyrides at night.

Standing there, he looked at those two lights, the small milky pools each made.

Near the light to the right, he saw the narrow roadway leading up.

The service road.

Jack wondered what the rest of this operation, this camp, was like.

He looked up.

Any security cameras here?

None that he could see, but it would make sense. Didn’t every public space have security cameras?

Whatever cameras they had here—if they had any at all—were well hidden.

He slammed the door and went to the back of the SUV.

The electronic key popped open the back.

Now empty, save for blankets, a map book. A New York State Atlas. The Mid-Atlantic Region.

He pushed them aside and lifted up the covering over the storage area.

So dark here.

There was a flashlight in the glove compartment.

But then if they had security cameras here, they might also see.

A chance he’d have to take.

He went and got the light.

Christie walked over to Kate, and smiled.

“You okay?”

“Sure, Mom. Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

Conversation with a thirteen-year-old could be tricky. Questions invited questions back. Questions in general—never welcome.

“Good. Nice here, hm?”

“S’okay. I like the lake.”

Kate turned back to the water.

“Me, too. We’ll get a full day down here tomorrow. Swim, use the boats. I think you’ll have fun.”

Kate nodded, neither confirming nor denying the possibility.

Christie stood there. She thought of all those years ago, before the Can Heads, when she and Jack first thought about having kids.

When she decided that she wouldn’t be a working mom, like her own mother. That she’d leave her teaching job.

She’d raise her kids.

Jack liked the idea as well.

Though there would never be a lot of money, there’d be enough.

And when the great famine started, the worldwide drought—whatever the hell it was that changed things forever—the decision made even more sense. Christie taught the kids—and life closed in.

In a world with Can Heads, being home seemed like the only sensible thing.

Kate turned to her, as if sensing that Christie had drifted.

“Where’s Simon? Dad?”

“Guess Simon’s still playing with those kids. He’ll be here soon. Your dad’s parking the car.”

Kate nodded.

Together they waited.

“Stop right there, kid.”

Simon didn’t move. The man’s voice sounded mean, the way he barked at him.

Had he done something wrong, was he in trouble?

The man came between Simon and the fence.

Simon couldn’t see much, but the man held a gun. He could see that. And he was tall… big.

Bigger than Dad, Simon thought.

“I’m sorry,” Simon said, not really knowing what he was apologizing for.

The man took another step.

“You’re not supposed to be over here. There are no trails over here. You’re supposed to stay on the trails, kid.”

Simon nodded, then realizing that his head movement wouldn’t be seen, he said, “Yes. I—”

Simon wanted to explain about the other kids, the bigger kids who got him to play here, to play hide-and-seek. That brought him here, to this man, to the fence.

He didn’t mean to go somewhere he shouldn’t.

For a moment, the man didn’t say anything.

“Now you just turn around, son. And walk back. That way.”

Simon made a pointing gesture somewhere over his shoulder.

“Over that way? There?”

“Yeah. Nice and straight. You’ll come to one of the paths. Make a left on it. Keep walking.”

“Okay. I’ll do that.”

Simon wanted to ask, Will you tell my parents?

But instead he started to turn, feeling the man with the gun, this guard, looking at him.

He walked as straight as he could.

Step after step.

Nice and straight.

Almost all the light faded here.

And the other kids? Had they run away when they saw the guard? Or had Simon gotten so lost that they had never been around here at all?

He blinked.

Hoping he could tell when he reached the path.

He made promises to himself. Going to stay only on the paths. And maybe he wouldn’t play with those bigger kids. He’d stay close to his family, their cabin.

The crunchy covering of the forest changed. A path. Barely able to be seen, but he could feel the smooth flat dirt of a trail.

Simon turned left.

“Hey, where’s Jack?”

Tom and Sharon had walked close to Christie, near the warm glow of the bonfire.

“Oh, he’s coming, Tom.” Then: “Think the kids are okay? It’s getting dark…”

Tom nodded. “Sure. But I’ll go find the hide-and-seekers and bring ’em back alive!”

He walked away.

Christie stood alone with Sharon.

“So, where do you guys live?” Christie asked.

“Yonkers. Know it? Quieter than the city. If you know what I mean. You?”

“Staten Island. Same thing. Quiet. Isolated.”

Quiet. A new code word.

Meaning no break-ins. No attacks. With the flames flickering, reflected on the water—that world seemed so far away.

“Good for the kids there. I know that’s what’s important to Tom.”

“Got to think about your kids.”

Sharon turned to her. “Well, yes. But they’re not my kids.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Tom—his wife died a few years back. She died when the drought came. Some illness. They didn’t understand.”

“Did it have anything to do with what happened? To the crops, the farms?”

“The doctors didn’t know. I was her friend. And I, well, I helped him through things. Just a friend. At first. But then… we got married.” The woman, now seen in an entirely different light by Christie, took a breath. “Seemed to make sense. Now, they’re mine. They know that. Tom knows that. That’s how I feel. They’re my kids now.”

“Good for you.”

Silence. Then: “The boys, your boys—they seem happy.”

“I hope so. It’s hard. But I try my best.”

Tom’s voice rang out: “Got them. Safe and sound.”

Christie turned to see the two Blair kids walking side by side, and then off on his own, yards away, Simon.

Christie’s instincts told her something had happened.

But that could wait for later.

Back at the open trunk, Jack aimed the light at the storage compartment key hole.

He saw something—stray marks around the hole. Small scratches.

All the marks of someone trying to break in.

I would have seen those marks before.

Jack turned to look over his shoulder. If there were cameras, they would pick up his light, his bending over the compartment. The hesitation.

But as soon as he had the thought—someone tried to get in here. Maybe someone did get in here—he pushed it away.

Who knew if the marks had been there, made by his key trying to find its way in.

And if there were cameras?

He hunched over the compartment as he put the key in and unlocked it. The metal cover popped up.

Jack held the flashlight in his hand as he opened the lid.

He tried to shield what lay below with his body.

The armory. His indulgence to his concerns and fear… and his paranoia.

He sure as hell couldn’t tell where legitimate concern ended and paranoia began.

Everything looked in place. The guns neatly nested in the foam. Boxes of shells on the side. The small, timed explosives. A larger flashlight.

Crazy, he thought, to be traveling with this.

But then he thought, Crazier not to.

Then back to his paranoia: If someone had gotten in here, saw this, what would they think?

Or had they only tried to get in?

Jack shook his head. No way he could answer that one, no possible way.

He turned around.

Sensing someone looking at him. His flashlight made a random pool of light in front of him.

The sound of the insects, cicadas—so rhythmic, so loud—could drown out a lot of sounds. How did they survive here?

No such summer sounds back home. They were long gone.

He took a breath, then went back to the compartment. All the goodies safe and sound. He shut the lid and heard it snap into locked position. He turned off the flashlight and put it in his back pocket

As he walked away, back to the main area of the camp, he pressed the electronic key and heard a chirp as all the SUV’s doors locked.

It was fully dark when he got down to the lake.

20. Night

“What—no marshmallows?”

Jack walked down to Christie and the Blairs. He looked at all the Paterville families gathered by the lakeside. Off to the left, the roaring fire sent glowing embers flying up to a clear night sky. Already, stars could be seen, way more than in the murky skies over Staten Island.

Tom laughed. “Marshmallows. Wouldn’t that be sweet.”

Jack spotted Simon sitting on the sand close to Christie. Too close, he thought.

Digging in the sand. Not playing with the Blair kids. Jack’s antennae went up. Something happen there?

And Kate?

He looked around and spotted her, a dark shape but recognizable to a parent, standing by the fire while some young guys fed the blaze pieces of wood.

“The fire’s nice enough,” Jack said.

Tom came closer, lowered his voice. “You know, we could blow it off. Head back to the cabins. Have a drink?”

“Drink?”

Tom grinned. “Doesn’t taste great but packs a wallop.”

Didn’t sound bad to Jack. He nodded. “Okay. Let me see if Christie and the kids are all okay.”

He went over to Christie.

“Tom and I going to go up to the cabin and talk.”

“Talk?”

Jack leaned close. “He has something to drink.”

As Jack said the words, he thought, How long has it been since I sat quietly, just talked to another guy? Shared a drink?

“You okay with that?”

Christie nodded. “Sure. If it’s drinkable—save me some?”

Jack laughed. “I will.” Back in the day, she liked her glass of white wine. Rare stuff now.

“Yeah,” he said. “I will.”

Jack was about to add, If Simon goes near the fire, keep an eye out.

As if Christie wouldn’t watch him like a hawk.

“All right. See you later.”

He turned back from the shoreline and joined Tom for the walk to the cabins.

Kate looked at the fire. The red glow painted the bodies of those tending the fire, the boys poking it, feeding in piece after piece of wood.

She stood so close to the blaze that the heat felt as if was toasting her face. The streaming flames reflected in the lake; the water so flat like a black mirror.

She caught one of the guys working the fire look right at her—and he smiled.

The same lifeguard, she thought. The same guy she had seen today. Skin all tanned, his hair bleached blond.

The boys where they lived, the boys her age, seemed so stupid, so immature.

This older boy was different.

She smiled back, and then quickly lowered her eyes down to the fire, right into the heart of the burning wooden coals sparking like reddish-yellow jewels.

“Go on. Take a hit of that.”

Jack brought the coffee cup up to his lips, first giving the substance a smell.

Alcohol.

The government hadn’t exactly banned the sale of it, but with anything that could be used for food or fuel, booze became both hard to find and amazingly expensive.

“And it’s okay to drink this?”

“Been having it every night. Under the stars. It’s a beautiful thing.”

Tom extended his cup for a toasting clink. Jack knocked his cup into Tom’s.

“Down the hatch,” he said. The smell: gasoline. The taste: well… maybe this was what gasoline tasted like.

“Whoa. Nobody light any matches around us.”

“The cook brews it up. Somehow. The kitchen workers can get you a bottle. Supposedly Ed Lowe doesn’t know about it. Keeping this place all about family fun and stuff.”

Jack took another sip, suddenly less eye-popping than the first.

“I’m guessing… a little bit goes a long way?”

“Got that right.”

Then, quiet. The sound of singing began to echo from the lake below. The bonfire’s glow flickered in and out of the dense trees that shielded the cabins.

Jack turned to Tom. “So, Tom—what do you do?”

He tried to keep the cop-tone out of his voice.

“Do—or did? I used to work at a research center run by NYU in the city. Now I work at one of those government supply centers. Handing out food when we have it. Place is a zoo.”

“What kind of research?”

The question seemed to make Tom hesitate.

“Lots of things. You’ve heard of GM food? Genetically modified? My lab experimented with that a lot. All government funded. Modifying strings of DNA, playing with—oh, I’m just boring you.”

“Not at all.”

Tom didn’t continue.

The sounds rolling up from the lake were undecipherable. Voices, laughs, a squeal. The fire casting a reddish-yellow glow over the water.

“What happened?”

“Hmm?”

“Why did you leave?”

“The government shut the whole thing down. Actually, they cherry-picked a few of the team, brought them to Washington. Think they were disappointed in the rest of us. Like we couldn’t stop what was happening.”

“Then—this was after?”

Tom looked at Jack. “After? You mean after the world went to hell, after the food started disappearing? Yeah. After. But, you know, when the genie is out of the fucking bottle, damn hard to get him back in. Not sure any of us knew what might happen when we started playing with the GM stuff.”

Jack wondered if Tom had something do with what happened. So many theories. Experiments gone wrong. Tinkering with food production.

But already the shared sips of alcohol had lost their zing. Too many questions.

“Now, I just hand out what passes for food these days.” Tom said, closing the door on that part of the conversation.

It was something that Jack would like to get back to.

“And you—what’s your line of work?”

Jack took another sip. Almost done, and he didn’t think he wanted a refill.

“I’m a cop.”

“Really? Wow. Could have fooled me. I mean, you don’t seem like a cop.”

And how exactly are cops supposed to seem?

And was that comment supposed to be a compliment?

People got funny around cops.

“I’m on vacation. On the down-low, as the kids say.”

Tom took a breath. “And how is it out there? On the streets. Getting worse?”

Jack looked away. “Worse? Not getting better. Looks to me… like it’s spreading.”

“Shit.”

“Each day, new blocks. Gone. More Can Heads. No new cops.”

“You know, there was a theory one of the guys in my lab had. That this was how the dinosaurs ended. Feeding off each other. That’s what really wiped them out.”

“Really? I could believe it. When you see humans hovering over a body, slicing it into pieces like crazy butchers, bundling the goddamned meat up like—”

Jack suddenly realized that he had gone too deep into the hole. The hole of being a cop. Fighting them.

“Sorry. Get carried away, you know. That’s what’s good about being here. Shake all that shit off. Get away from all that ‘beware your neighbor’ paranoia.”

“Except not one who has some booze, hm? And this is a good place, Jack. Lot of guards. The gorgeous lake. Enough food. Not a bad place at all.” Then: “Glad you guys are our neighbors.”

He clinked his glass against Jack’s.

“And you’re staying a few more days, right?”

“Yeah. No one wants to leave. What the hell do we head back to? No real family for us. Least not around New York. The family would love to just stay here forever.”

“You and a lot of people, I guess.”

Tom again reached down for the milk bottle filled with the clear liquid.

“Refill?”

Jack was about to say no thanks. Instead, he held out his cup and watched Tom pour.

The cabin was quiet.

Kate and Simon in bed. Windows wide open so a cool breeze blew in. The occasional sounds from the woods.

Christie sniffed, taking in the strong smell of alcohol on Jack’s breath, and smiled when he said, “You wouldn’t have liked it.”

Now he lay in the bed, the background noise in his ears, Christie close, her back to him.

Not feeling sleepy.

Not at all.

He inched a bit closer so that his body pressed against hers.

He put an arm around her and with the precision borne of years together, his hand smoothly cupped her right breast.

He felt himself stir against her. Always a good feeling.

But then Christie turned to him.

“Want some sugar, hm?”

Her face caught the scant light of the room. No moon outside, but the glow from the lights on the paths filtered into the room a bit, outlining her face.

“Could be.”

“Maybe that leggy assistant got you going?”

“No, not at all,” Jack said, realizing how quickly he said it.

Realizing that he hadn’t told Christie about his encounter with her in the parking lot.

Then: “The kids. They’re right there. Not sure they’re asleep.”

“I can be quiet,” he said.

He could make out a smile. “But can I? I think we should wait. When they’re both out for some activity here or something. Okay?”

When Jack didn’t say anything it seemed like a bit more distance between them. Maybe something he hoped being here would change.

He felt Christie reach down and wrap her hand around him.

“Save that big boy for later. All right?”

“He hates waiting.”

“I promise it’ll be worth the wait.”

Christie turned over, her back once again to Jack.

He followed suit, turning away and waiting for sleep to come.

Except sleep didn’t come.

Had to be a good hour later, and still he felt awake. Maybe the uncommon feeling of a little alcohol buzz was keeping him up?

Maybe… something else.

He lay on his back. He could hear Christie—always such a deep sleeper—as she took in each measured breath.

Deeply asleep.

The noise from outside didn’t help either. For a guy from Brooklyn, that was a lot of nature out there. He wished he had ear plugs.

He sat up.

Pointless to just lie there.

Especially when his mind went over the past. His partner, the trap, his wounds.

Maybe a bit of a walk. Some of that cool mountain air.

He slid to the side of the bed, his boat shoes only a few feet away. Shorts and T-shirt idly tossed on a chair in the room.

He snatched them up and then slipped into his shoes.

He walked out to the living room and into the night.

For a moment, he stood on the porch, looking at the camp. All the cabins nice and quiet. No more sounds of singing coming from the lake to compete with the cicadas.

In the moonless night, he could just about see the outline of the mountains that circled the lake.

He took a breath.

Fifteen. Twenty minutes of walking.

Then another try for sleep.

He walked off his porch.

21. The Service Road

Though the day had been hot, the night quickly turned chilly.

Jack rubbed his arms as he stepped outside, holding the porch door behind him so he could close it gently.

He took a breath of the sweet mountain air with just a hint of pine. Another breath. Another smell. Perhaps the decaying mulch of last summer’s leaves and needles sitting on the forest floor.

He started down the path that led away from the cottages and the center of the camp.

It wasn’t long before he saw somebody.

A man standing near a curved lamppost, the light low, just barely enough to illuminate a spot where three intersecting paths met.

The light caught the man’s collared shirt, pants—and the recognizable shape of a gun holstered to his side.

Jack kept walking.

When he got closer, the guard said, “Evening, sir.”

Jack kept walking.

“Evening.”

“Anything I can help you with?”

The man seemed to stiffen a bit. Perhaps late-night walkers weren’t that common at Paterville. The camp quiet, save for the cicadas chattering in the background.

“No thanks. Just getting some air.”

The guard nodded as Jack came abreast of him.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Just be careful. Dark spots on the walkways. You could trip.”

Jack stopped. “Sure. Will do.”

“And sir, of course, stay away from the perimeter. The fence.”

Jack smiled at that one. Did anyone need reminding not to wander over there?

“Oh, I will.” Jack looked at the path leading toward the Great Lodge.

“See you.”

“Night, sir.”

Jack continued.

He came upon two more guards. Now he was curious.

The first guard stood at the entrance area of the lodge. Not so strange. Jack avoided talking to him and walked well past him to the right, a direction that led out to the playing fields and the game room.

Guard number three stood near the back of the lodge.

This one smoking a cigarette, which he threw to the ground as Jack approached.

The guard coughed.

His voice seemed a bit slurred. Maybe he’d just had a hit of the cook’s home brew?

“Lost, sir? The cottages—”

That word came out a bit wrong.

“—are back that way.”

“No. I’m fine. Can’t sleep. Walking around.”

As if the guard hadn’t heard him, he gestured behind Jack. “They’re back that way.”

Jack nodded. “Thanks.”

He turned around, headed back to the front of the lodge.

When he got there, the guard at the front was talking quietly on what had to be a walkie-talkie.

The guard gave him a quick look, and went on talking.

Jack sailed past the Great Lodge entrance and then passed the trail leading back to the cabins. Instead, he started heading down the winding trail to the parking lot.

Where am I going? And what’s with all these guards?

He didn’t understand that. Sure, a guard by the gates, the fence. Armed and dangerous. Yeah, that all made sense. Here, though, all around the property? Seemed like overkill.

A few yards down the path to the parking area, he heard a voice.

“Excuse me, sir. Do you need—”

“No. Need to check something in my car.”

Everyone asking if I need some goddamn help.

This time Jack didn’t stop, didn’t even turn around. All the watching and monitoring made him feel penned in.

He kept walking, picking up speed. More guards ahead? he wondered. He guessed he’d find out soon enough.

The parking lot seemed almost intentionally poorly lit. The two scrawny yellow lights left most of the cars in darkness.

He could find his easily enough.

Except he wasn’t really going to his car.

Instead, he walked to the back of the lot. To the service road.

And through the trees, twinkling like stars hanging too low in the sky, lights.

Jack moved into the sea of dark cars. He’d probably be as invisible here as the cars were.

He moved slowly through the lot.

He stopped by the service road entrance. Even without any real light here, he could see a sign with large painted letters:

SERVICE ROAD—PATERVILLE CAMP EMPLOYEES ONLY.

Jack walked past the sign.

The dirt road curved up, rutted with big stones that, in the pitch black, made him lose footing, his ankle slipping left and right. One twist sent a spike of pain into his injured right leg.

Not what the doctor recommended, he thought.

Maybe I should go back.

But the lights ahead resolved from twinkling stars to big bright lights. Lots of lights.

Then, as he walked up, sounds. Voices talking in the darkness. Employees blowing off some steam?

Until he could make out through the wall of trees a large building. A steady stream of white smoke snaked its way from the roof into the crystal clear night sky.

Must be where they prepared the food.

The voices louder. Laughs. The sound of someone giving an order.

Pretty busy considering how late it was.

The road’s angle grew steeper. This service area actually sat on a hill above the main camp.

From up there, you could probably see the whole camp.

He took a deep breath, the effort of the climb made harder by now-steady pain from his leg.

Soon, he’d be on level ground, at this camp within the camp.

“You can stop right there.”

Two men came out from the side. Jack hadn’t seen them at all. How long had they been watching him? Did they know he was coming? Or did they just hide in the shadows, waiting for the stray visitor?

“Yeah. Right. I’m—”

“Lost? Yeah, you’re lost, all right. You’re not in the camp anymore, friend. This is a restricted area. Didn’t you see the sign?”

The polite “sirs” of the previous guards had vanished.

One of the men took a step onto the path, directly in Jack’s way. Big guy, burly arms that his shirt—even with sleeves rolled up tight—was barely able to contain.

“Sorry. Had—”

What? He fished for something that explained all about going places where one wasn’t supposed to go.

“—insomnia.”

“Restricted area,” the man repeated. “You have to leave. Now.”

“Okay. Thanks. I will.”

Thanks? Stupid thing to say. Thanks… for what?

The other guard had also stepped into the clearing of the path, picking up a bit of the scant light.

Jack saw that this guy held an automatic rifle.

So, Paterville never had problems with the Can Heads outside?

Then why the heavy firepower? All the guards?

To keep guests from wandering onto the service road?

How safe was this place?

The two men in front of him didn’t say anything more, which made the noises from behind them even more pronounced. Laughs, voices, an engine starting.

“G’night, guys. Thanks for watching out for us.”

They didn’t respond to that.

Jack turned around and started down the hill.

Downhill now—always harder on his leg.

All his exercises couldn’t make up for the damage and pain that he’d have to live with for the rest of his life.

To the parking lot.

His eyes better adjusted to the murky blackness, and it seemed brighter.

He’d have to pass more guards on the way back to the cottage. His night walk would probably be a big topic of conversation with Ed Lowe and his team.

What was that guy up to? Walking around like that?

The parking lot, an open dirt plain, was at least flat. He had no trouble spotting the path leading back to the center of the camp.

He didn’t worry about greeting any of those guards on his return.

But he did worry about Christie; he hoped that he could slip back into the bed, under the cool sheets, his body with its slight sheen of sweat, and fall asleep without her waking.

Without her asking any questions.

In minutes, he was there, back in the cabin as if he had never left. He got into the bed, slowly lowering his head onto the pillow.

And though he had questions—things that confused him, things that he wanted to know more about—he quickly fell asleep.

22. Morning

Christie looked at her watch. Nearly ten A.M.

Not like Jack to sleep in. Though at home, after a rough week, he could sleep well past ten. And after getting wounded, getting up didn’t seem as easy for him.

But there was something else…

Last night. She had heard him slide out of bed. Thinking he was getting a drink of water. Going to the bathroom. Instead, she heard him slip on clothes and step outside their cabin, so quietly.

She didn’t turn over. Didn’t say anything. She didn’t want to be asking him all the time, You okay? Everything all right?

She had drifted off again, only waking when she felt the mattress tilt as he slid in.

Again, she just lay there. Keeping her eyes closed.

Give him time, Dr. Kleiner had said at the rehab wing of Kings County Hospital. Time to do the work, time to make his leg stronger.

But time also to get over what had happened.

And that’s what she was doing.

She emptied her straw bag filled with beach towels. After a cool night, the sun was already hot.

She looked around at the other families on the lakeshore.

Simon kept digging a massive hole only feet away from Christie’s blanket.

Sharon Blair sat nearby in an aluminum beach chair with circus stripes. Floppy hat, oversized shades, lost in a book.

Which was good, since Christie had had enough talk.

Maybe we’ve all gotten used to being alone, she thought. Independent.

Or suspicious.

Now she was just as glad to sit, listen to the kids squealing in the icy water, and watch the occasional cloud hit a mountain peak.

Simon kept on digging.

While the two Blair boys went in and out of the water as though performing some kind of drill.

“Simon, why don’t you go in? Cool off.”

Another scoop of sand came out. “I will. Digging now.”

Christie made a small laughing sound. Keeping it light.

“That is one big hole.”

Christie remembered how at the Jersey shore her dad would always make the joke whenever she dug.

Digging to China?

Time to retire that, Christie thought. The thought of those days at the beach, her whole family, didn’t bring her any sense of joy.

“You go in later, I’ll go in with you, ’kay?”

“Sure,” Simon said.

Christie turned back to the water.

Obviously something had happened with Simon and the other two boys. Bit of bullying, perhaps? Teasing? Did he get scared?

Christie guessed he’d eventually tell her.

Eventually kids tell things.

Just have to be patient.

And she wondered: was she also thinking now not just about Simon, but her husband as well?

The dream—so vivid, lifelike, that in his nightmare sleep Jack tossed and turned in the bed.

His family in a car.

The rest stop. And Can Heads surrounding it. First a few. Then more. Circling it, banging on the metal. Probing.

For some reason, he was on the ground, unable to get up. No gun—nothing he could do but watch the scene at the car as a window shattered. The another. The screams of his kids. Christie yelling.

Still he lay on the ground, more Can Heads on top of him, pulling, picking at him. He would be alive to see the horror that would engulf his family.

He moaned in the dream.

Then in the room. Quiet sound at first, then louder, and then—

His eyes opened wide. Taking in the unfamiliar bedroom. The late morning light through the curtains.

The dream lingered, the feelings holding on even as he sat up in bed, hoping to shake off the horror. He cleared his throat.

“’Lo? Anybody home?”

The cabin quiet. He could see the porch door open, with only the screen door shut to keep the outside and the bugs away.

A small tent of a note with his name on it sat on the dresser.

He moved to get out of bed, feeling that familiar jolt of pain that was part of the everyday routine of getting up. Getting up, moving. Doing some stretching in bed.

That would be followed by the pressure of finally placing his right foot on the ground. It always hurt first thing, the first time he stood on it. As if the leg just wanted to be inactive forever and give in to the wound.

No fucking way that was happening.

He walked over to the note and picked it up.

Down at the beach, sleepyhead. See you there! Xoxo, me.

Jack put the note down.

“Morning,” Jack said to Tom and Sharon as he sat down next to Christie on the beach towel.

Tom made a knocking gesture at his head—obviously also the worse for wear after the cook’s moonshine.

“There you are!” Christie said. “Thought we’d have to take drastic measures to get you up for lunch.”

“Guess… I was tired. All that driving.”

He couldn’t see her eyes behind her dark sunglasses.

“Yup. Lot of driving. And…”

Jack nodded and turned to Simon.

“Morning, Mr. Simon. Tunneling, hm?”

“Hi, Dad.”

Christie lowered her glasses a bit, and gave Jack a look up and down. “I see you’re in your bathing suit.”

He grinned. “Yeah. I mean, it is a beach.”

“Kind of expected you to wear khakis and”—she leaned close—“strap your ‘little friend’ onto your ankle.”

“Right. Let everyone know I’m a cop.”

Truth was, he had looked at his ankle holster and thought of doing just that. Did he go anywhere without a gun these days?

Hardly.

Instead, he had taken the gun and holster and buried it under a pile of his shirts in a bottom drawer of the bedroom dresser.

Not that he felt comfortable now.

“Well, good. Maybe we can all go in the water, then.”

Christie made a small nod in Simon’s direction.

Jack could see that his son hadn’t gotten his suit wet.

He turned back to Christie. “Yeah. Let me toast a bit. Then we all hit that water.”

“It’s cold,” Tom said. “It will wake you up, that’s for sure.”

“Maybe I’ll wait.”

“Tonight’s the fireworks—sit together for dinner again?”

Jack looked at Christie. Did she like them?

“Um, sure. Great.”

“We’ll save you places.”

Jack looked around at the islands of umbrellas and chairs and blankets.

Then: “Where’s Kate?”

“She wanted to go to the game room. Said the sun was too hot.”

“She just went off on her own?”

“Er… yeah. This is a camp.”

Jack tried to gauge why that bothered him. Was it due to those older boys, the lifeguards that he now viewed as human sharks circling an impressionable, just-turned teenager?

Or leftover feelings from last night? The guards, the whole feel of the place at night.

He would have liked to have told Christie about it. But why? Make her nervous? Let his paranoia be her paranoia?

“I think I’ll go look in on her.”

“Jack—Jesus. She’s okay.”

“I know. But a look doesn’t hurt. Going to be lunch soon.”

“In an hour. Can you just—”

But he was already up. Feeling half-naked in his blue bathing suit and a plain black T-shirt.

“I’ll be right back.”

He turned and headed toward the game room.

He could hear the voices and the music from inside even before he pushed open the screen door.

Place was jumping. Obviously the teen hangout for the kids who didn’t want to stay with their obviously too-embarrassing families by the lake.

But not just guests.

He saw three young guys playing pool, one of whom had been on lifeguard duty the previous afternoon.

Kate stood by an old-fashioned pinball machine, all blinking lights and flashing dice. “Viva Vegas,” the game was called. An Elvis caricature danced above a roulette wheel.

Except Vegas, according to most reports, was as dead as the King himself. A ghost town.

He walked over to Kate.

“Hey, kiddo, how you—”

She spun around quickly as if being caught doing something she shouldn’t.

“Dad, what are you doing here?” The lasts two words made it seem like a major crime.

Jack became suddenly aware that there was no one over sixteen in the room. Kate seemed to have taken note of that as well.

He tried to smile, even as he felt his ineptness in all this. “Just wanted to see how you were doing.”

“What? I’m fine.” Then louder. “Fine!”

Their conversation had caught the eyes of other kids. Now it was a show. Kate’s voice loud. Jack trying to keep a smile on his face.

“Good. Everything’s—” he started.

But Kate turned away from “Viva Vegas,” and marched to the door. “Now that you’re here, I’m leaving.”

In a flash, she was gone. The screen door slapped shut, punctuating the whole scene.

The kids in the room, grinning at it all, had gone back to their games, their conversations.

Handled that well, Jack thought.

He left the game room, only steps to the outside, but feeling as if it took forever.

And out.

Standing there. A breeze blowing, taking some of the heat away. The game room a good-sized building. Looked like kayaks and canoes and other beach stuff were stored in the back.

The game fields, deserted on this hot day, were on the left.

But the game building was big enough that it shielded an area behind it. More fields, more storage buildings?

Perhaps not wanting to face his daughter down by the shore, at least not until she cooled off, he walked behind the building.

He saw a path leading to another building, only a little bit smaller, a short walk away. Someone standing outside.

Holding an ax.

Slamming it down on a block of wood.

He recognized the person. Shana. Chopping wood like a pro.

I should just turn around, Jack thought.

Right now.

But he didn’t.

Thwack!

A chunk of pine a foot in diameter split into two nearly perfectly equal halves.

Shana hadn’t looked up until Jack stood only a few feet away.

Then she stopped. Heavy beads of perspiration on her brow. Before she looked up, Jack took in her bare midriff, which showed a smooth sheen of sweat.

“Looks like they keep you working hard.”

She smiled, her eyes directly on Jack.

“I like the exercise,” she said. “And besides, I live in back here. It’s one of the woodworking cottages. We make a lot of our own stuff… use the wood that’s all around us. The dead trees.”

“Looks like you’re good at it.”

“I’m good at a lot of things.”

Again, her eyes didn’t waver. Where was that breeze now?

She had placed the ax head on the ground, the handle held close to her side. Then she made the handle end jut out. “Care to take a whack?”

“I don’t think I could—”

She took a step, lifting the ax, handing it to Jack.

“Go on. It’s very therapeutic.”

She stood closer now, the beads of sweat so close.

Instinctively, he looked over his shoulder. The game building effectively blocked anyone from seeing the two of them. Secluded back here.

“Okay. Here goes.”

Shana effortlessly put a fresh block of wood on the tree stump used as a platform for the wood splitting.

He brought the ax back.

“Nice smooth swing, city boy. Keep your eye on where you want the blade to hit. And once it’s in motion… just let it go.”

Jack took a breath. He felt her watching him. But he kept his eyes on the wood chunk in front of him.

Then another breath—and he swung.

Eyes locked on his target spot.

It didn’t land smoothly in the middle of the piece. It was an awkward swing, nothing like Shana’s.

But Jack was glad to see that the force of the hit was enough to split the wood, sending two unequal pieces flying to either side.

Shana clapped once, then again. “Well done. For a city boy. Little bit of training, and you could be useful around here.”

Jack smiled.

He should get back. Christie would have questions about his encounter with Kate.

But Jack had questions. About this place. About Shana.

A few more minutes back here wouldn’t hurt.

23. Questions

Jack peered in the window of the front workshop part of the cabin, the windows filmy, making most of what was inside a blur. He could make out a huge saw with planks of wood lying before it.

He turned back to Shana. She had come close, invading space that some would describe as private, a distance being violated.

“So, where’d they recruit you from?” he asked.

A smile. “Recruit? That’s what the U.S. Army did. They recruited me.”

“You served?”

“Oh yeah. Until they started taking the army apart piece by piece. Who has time to save the world when there’s so much to do at home, hm?”

Jack nodded, and as he did, he moved back.

“So, you got a job here? At a camp?”

Shana shook her head as if the idea was silly, black strands flying. “I’m from near here. A little town—a village called Two Rivers. A few miles away, on the other side of Mt. Hope. Nothing there now.”

“A local?”

“Everyone who works here is local, Jack.”

She said his name as if they were old friends. “Well, nearly everyone. When Ed decided to set this place up, he offered jobs and sanctuary to the locals. Some came in to clean, to cook”—a gesture at the filmy windows of the workshop—“to build. A way to be safe.”

“They all live here?”

“There are cottages up on the hill, near the camp shops and storehouses. A little community, you might say.”

“Some didn’t come?”

“Yeah.”

“And how did that work out?”

“Oh, a few retreated to the bigger towns. You probably saw them on your way here. With their checkpoints and guns. Some didn’t make it. Like those people who stay when a volcano is going to blow. Some vanished. Some, I imagine”—she smiled at the full-circle joke of it—“were recruited. Some of the Can Heads in the hills around here used to be our neighbors, friends… lovers. Now they just look for a way to get in.”

“Not easy with all the guards I saw.”

She arched one eyebrow. “Guards? You mean at the gates?”

Jack registered the word she just said. Gates. More than one way in and out of this place. For trucks, workers.

Maybe over by the worker’s part of the camp, at the end of the service road?

“Yeah, at night you guys have this place locked down. Guards everywhere.”

Shana hesitated. “We like to be safe. And you, Jack? What does a Jack Murphy do? Besides split wood badly.”

Another step closer by her; he had the feeling that he was being cornered.

He thought of lying.

“I’m a cop.”

She paused now. A small smile played on her face. Had she known that? Did Lowe tell her? Was that exciting to her?

Every cop knew that some women found the whole police thing a turn-on.

Jack tuned that stuff out.

Finally: “NYPD?”

“Yes.”

“Then you’ve seen things, haven’t you. I’d love to hear all about what you’ve seen, Jack. That is, if it’s not too upsetting for you.”

Jack grinned. Exit time, and an exit line. “Not upsetting at all. But ’fraid I have to dash back to the beach. Can’t be missing in action for too long.”

“Sure. We can catch up later, city boy.”

“Right.”

Jack turned and started walking away. Feeling the heat of Shana’s eyes on him as he strolled away.

As he reached the beach, he saw Kate on a floating dock out in the water, jumping in.

Christie stood up when he came.

“Pretty good,” he said, pointing to their daughter.

“You should have heard her before. Not too pleased with your game room drop-in.”

“I know.” Then: “Better she’s down here. The sun, water. That’s what we came for. And is Simon still…?”

“Still playing sand crab. Maybe you can.”

“Sure. I’ll see if he’ll go in with me. Enough sand digging.”

“Where were you, by the way?”

Jack kept his gaze on the water. He watched Kate smoothly pull herself out of the water and back into diving position on the platform.

“Oh, I saw another building behind the game room. Didn’t know what it was.”

“And of course you have to know what everything is.”

“It was a woodworking shop. Looks like they build a lot of their own stuff. The lamps, those tree-limb chairs.”

He wondered if being a cop made him a good liar, made him good at not telling things…

Or just the opposite.

He let the moment pass and turned to her. “Time to hit the water.”

He walked over to Simon.

At first, he held his son’s hand in the water. Incredible that they had water here to swim in. Fresh water, like so many things, so scarce. But Simon soon let go as the tiniest of waves rippled against their ankles.

“It’s cold!” Simon said.

“Sure is. But feel that sun. Gonna feel mighty good to get wet.”

To show the way, Jack took a few steps farther in. He looked again at the dive platform, Kate going in and out. As if putting on a show.

A show for…?

He looked behind to see the lifeguard chair. The blond kid staring out at the lake glistening under a midday sun.

Simon squealed. But he also grinned.

“There you go, Simon. Not too bad, eh?”

“It’s freezing!”

“But notice that your feet feel fine. You get used to it. Look at your sister.”

More steps, and more squeals. The process torturous, but fun. Jack for the first time feeling a bit of what they came here for. To get away, to escape things, to simply enjoy his family.

Simon hit the upper-chest mark well ahead of him.

And then, amazingly, Simon dove into the water and emerged like a human otter, black hair plastered against his head, his eyes flashing.

Jack realized what his son was about to do.

“Simon, don’t even think—”

But Simon let go with a volley of splashes, the tables turned, wonderfully, and soon they were both fully wet, swimming, diving, and playing in the cold, clear water.

Jack followed Simon out of the lake, but didn’t copy him when Simon threw himself onto the sand, laughing, and basted his body in the fine beach sand.

Christie threw him a towel.

“Thanks.”

As he dried himself, he looked around.

Off to the side, away from the main pools of families sitting in the chairs and blankets, he saw Tom Blair, smiling, talking to Ed Lowe.

Ed in jolly mode, Tom probably pleased that his family could stay for a few more days.

Jack worked on his hair, neck, but kept watching the two of them.

Tom walked away and in the moment Lowe turned, he saw Jack looking at the two of them.

A smile from Jack. Nice day at the lake, isn’t it?

For a second it looked as though Lowe’s grin just evaporated. Then back on again. Like a switch.

Jack nodded at Lowe. He came and sat down by Christie.

“That was great, getting Simon in the water.” She laughed. “Of course, now he’ll have sand everywhere. Maybe a shower down here before we get back.”

Jack nodded. “You see our happy leader?”

“What? You mean talking to Tom Blair?”

“Weird the way he can turn the smile on and off.”

“Jack, come on. He’s in the—what do they call it?—the hospitality business. What do you think it is?”

“Right. Yeah, he’s just being… hospitable.”

“I don’t get why you can’t just relax. Let the cop thing go. Christ…”

Jack started to defend himself. “I’m just saying…”

Kate came over, still annoyed with him, Jack imagined.

“I’m going back to the cottage.”

“Okay, honey,” Christie said quickly.

Before I can say anything, Jack guessed.

He watched Kate walk away.

“Look, Jack. Relax. Okay? I love it here.” She took in a deep breath. The clear air. “It’s perfect.”

“Right.”

“Unless you just want to spoil this for everyone.”

“No. Don’t want to do that. I hear you. Relax mode… on.”

But he had turned back to Tom, now standing with his wife.

Jack tried to stay seated. Instead, he started to get up.

“Gonna go chat with Tom.”

Christie shook her head as he walked over to Tom.

“Hey, Tom.”

“Jack. Hi.”

“I saw you with Lowe. All set?”

“Oh yeah. I mean, he may have to shift us to another cabin. People request the ones with a view. I said no problem.” Tom laughed. “As long as my cash holds out.”

There was a flicker of something. A distant look in Tom’s eyes. Everything about Tom in that moment—his eyes, the way he stood, the sudden hollowness in his voice—said that there was something unsaid here.

For now, Jack decided not to push him. There’d be time to talk tonight, at the fireworks.

“See you guys at dinner?” Jack said.

“Sure. See you there.”

Jack walked back to Christie.

“They all set? To stay?”

“Appears so,” he said.

Christie kept her eyes on him. “And something else?”

“What? No. Just they may have to move cabins.”

“Why is that?”

“Other reservations. Something about the view.”

“Guess it doesn’t matter.”

She shaded her eyes, still looking at him.

“Nothing else?”

He smiled. An Ed Lowe smile, he thought. “Nothing else.”

She nodded. “Good. Just try to remember that you’re here. With me, and the kids. And this is not the precinct.”

“I hear you.”

Then quiet.

After a few silent minutes, he stood up. “I’m going back to shower.”

“Or to check on Kate?”

He didn’t rise to the bait. “See you there.”

He walked away.

Christie felt her annoyance with Jack subside.

With her mix of Italian and Latin blood, she could get steamed pretty fast. Early in their relationship, she had worked hard to watch it, control it.

Was I too hard on him? she wondered.

What she said seemed reasonable. This was a vacation. They were safe. And he needed to leave his old world behind. At least while they were here.

She pushed the thoughts away, focusing on the sun, the water, the warm sand between her toes.

“Can I go back in?” Simon said, writhing toward her like a sand snake.

“Sure. Another dip will get all that sand off you. Just stay close. Where you can stand—or squirm!”

Simon turned around like an eel and started slithering toward the water.

She let her thoughts fade as she kept her eyes on Simon.

Locked on him, catching every shimmering slash in the water.

Most families had already left the beach for the communal lunch. The beach took on a deserted feel with everyone packing up.

Time to go soon, she knew.

Though Simon still twisted and leaped in the water, oblivious to everything but the fun he was having.

Other kids were swimming, too.

One girl near Simon’s age. A little older.

And definitely farther out. A swimmer—she could move her arms in a simulation of the Australian crawl—but awkward, expending too much energy. Stopping to plant her feet.

The water at her chin. Inches away from covering her mouth.

Where are her parents? Christie wondered.

She looked up and down the beach, trying to match the remaining people with the girl who, Christie thought, was now too far out in the lake.

She didn’t catch any worried eyes locked on the little girl. No parent standing up to issue a command to come back in.

She looked to the lifeguard. Amazingly, his eyes were also averted as he laughed and talked to two girls in bikinis posing to his right.

No one was watching the girl.

Except for Christie.

Should I tell her to come in a bit?

No. That would seem crazy.

Still…

The girl flailed at the water with her ineffective crawl, then landed. To Christie it seemed that she must have been on her tiptoes to stay above the water. There were no real waves here, just a light, gentle ripple. The tiniest of wakes made by the wind off the mountains.

Tiny water movements.

But perhaps strong enough to push someone a few inches one way or the other.

She gave Simon a quick glance, perfectly fine in his foot or so of water, still in sea-snake mode.

To the girl.

The water closer to her lips.

The girl pushed up a bit, toes probably stretched to their limit, Christie’s eyes completely locked on her. The girl attempted to swim. But whether from fatigue or fear, those arm movements seemed to do nothing.

Or worse, they seemed to take the girl those precious few inches into deeper water. The feet, the toes going down again.

Only now they didn’t touch sand. The head went under water. The lips covered.

Christie stood up.

She yelled.

One word.

“Help!” She spared a second yell toward the lifeguard, expecting to see him racing into the lake, reaching with those strong, muscled adolescent legs into the water before the sound of Christie’s scream faded.

A blurry look, actually, since she could see the guard was still locked in his chat.

Christie started running.

Not sensing anyone else with her. Though surely the parents had looked up, had seen the girl bobbing, her long hair held with a scrunchie that made it look like seaweed on the surface as her head went down.

The girl’s hands were above the water.

Then they weren’t.

Christie stormed past her son. She didn’t remove her sunglasses, her beach coverup.

The sprint—the fastest she had ever run.

Water churning under her legs, slowing her as it got calf high, then a dive, to find the exact spot the girl had disappeared.

A hunt because by now, the girl had indeed vanished.

Christie under the water.

Trying to open her eyes. But the silt, the sediment, made it impossible to see.

She didn’t surface. How long can someone be under? How much water could someone gulp before they’d die?

Kicking madly in the four feet of water until she felt something. The feel of skin, and Christie locked her arms around the girl’s body. She used her legs to shoot to the surface.

She held the girl like a sack of groceries, racing back to the shore.

The lifeguard was finally there, taking the girl from Christie, who for a second didn’t want to release the girl to such an idiot.

But she let the girl go, and the lifeguard moved fast, getting the girl to the shore, pumping her chest with his hands.

Christie’s joined the other onlookers.

The girl coughed. She spit out water. Her eyes opened wide as if waking up from a nightmare.

A few in the crowd applauded.

Applauded.

A woman that Christie hadn’t seen before. Nondescript, with a doughy belly that matched the roundness of her face.

“Thank you,” the woman said.

Christie squinted in the sun.

Lost my sunglasses, she thought.

“Er, it’s okay. I was glad… um…”

She wanted to say:

Where the hell were you? Why the hell weren’t you watching?

Instead, she said nothing.

She turned back to the girl, to the circle of people around her. The lifeguard grinning as if he had pulled her out of the water.

Even the girl was smiling. So much attention. Such a big adventure.

Eventually, she walked over to her dour-faced mother.

The lifeguard started back to his stand.

“Stay here,” she said to Simon. “Out of the water.”

She hurried to catch up to the lifeguard, still trailing the two teenagers.

“You weren’t watching,” she said at his back.

The boy stopped and turned to her.

He didn’t say anything for a moment. But he no longer smiled. Then:

“I was watching. I went into the water to save her.”

Christie stood her ground. “No. I went into the water. I was watching. I pulled her out.”

Then the smile returned.

And the lifeguard, shooting an extra display of grin and teeth at the girls, said, “Whatever.”

He turned and walked away.

Christie had only one very clear thought: the lifeguard wasn’t intimidated or scared at all.

As if he knew that what just happened didn’t affect him at all.

She turned and headed back to her beach towel, to Simon.

And felt—without really knowing—that people were now watching her.

Christie stood outside the small beachside shower, a wooden cabinet.

“Simon—you okay in there?”

She could hear him humming, playing in the streams of water.

“Si?”

“Yeah, Mom, I’m fine.”

From here, she could still see the beach. Now nearly empty, everyone hurrying to the dining room. The few people who remained must be on a diet, Christie thought.

A diet. Does anyone diet anymore?

But then, some people here did seem well-fed. Almost fat. Guess if you ate enough of the soy hybrids it would add some pounds.

A voice from behind startled her.

“Your son in there, Mrs. Murphy?”

She turned to see Ed Lowe, smiling, sunglasses hiding his eyes, dressed in khakis and a plaid collared shirt with his name plate and the Paterville logo.

“Yes. He got so sandy.”

Lowe’s head bobbed, looking like a blind man behind such dark shades.

“I heard what happened down at the beach.’

“Yes.”

Christie expected Lowe to thank her for helping the girl. Already she was summoning an appropriately dismissive reply.

But that’s not what he said.

“My lifeguard said you were upset.”

For a moment, she didn’t know what to say.

“I was. I mean, he—”

She heard the shower turn off.

“Jim saved that girl. I just wanted to see what was wrong.”

She took a breath. “I saved that girl, Mr. Lowe. I—”

“Mom! Mom, I have soap in my eyes!”

She turned away from Lowe. “Turn the water on again, honey. Get your face under there.”

“Owww. Okay!”

Back to Lowe.

The smile remained on his face.

“You were saying?”

“I pulled that girl out. Your lifeguard was too busy flirting.”

A nod from Lowe, but no loss of his smile.

“Boys. They do like to flirt. Still, he did the resuscitation pretty well, no?”

The conversation seemed surreal. Christie didn’t know what to say. No apologies? Nothing about getting the lifeguard to look at the water and not the babes?

The shower door opened.

“Thanks, though, for what you did down there. Just wanted to tell you that personally.”

Lowe feigned a look down to his watch.

“Whoa—got to do the midday announcements soon. Best get ready.”

A look from him down to Simon. A hand patting her son’s head. “You, too—don’t want to miss lunch.”

“Yes,” she said, then put her own arm around her son. “C’mon, Simon, let’s go get dressed.”

“See you there,” Lowe said.

Christie nodded, and amid the blazing splotches of sunlight and shade she walked steadily back to the cottage.

24. Dinner

In the afternoon, sitting in the golden sun with Jack, Christie didn’t mention anything about her talk with Lowe, about what happened.

It was just good to see him begin to enjoy this.

But later, on the way to dinner, she did tell him about the girl, the rescue—but she cut off any questions, looking at their kids as they walked to the Great Lodge.

“It was just a little strange,” she said quietly.

“You saved the girl. What was with her mother?”

“Don’t know.”

When they got to the same table they sat at the night before, the Blairs were already there.

“Hey, guys,” Tom said. “Good day at the beach?”

Christie shot a quick glance at Jack, then: “It was beautiful.”

“And tonight…” Tom looked at his wife as if this was his gift to her, to the kids. “Fireworks! When was the last time you saw fireworks?”

Simon, holding his knife and fork as though the food couldn’t get here fast enough, spoke. “I’ve never seen fireworks.”

Tom laughed. “Then you are in for a treat.”

Which is when Christie noticed something. Tom all excited, thrilled. Smiling, happy. His wife, this woman who took over the family, the kids… so quiet. Had they had a fight, a disagreement over something?

Not on the same page.

But then, are Jack and I?

Hope we don’t look like those two.

“Meet you down there after eats? Get a good spot up close?”

“Sure,” Jack said.

Tom leaned across the table, lowering his voice. “And I’ll bring… y’know.”

The servers arrived with oversized plates of what looked like a stew. And then actual bread. Small brown rolls. A real rarity these days.

Simon grabbed one off the platter before it even touched down. He opened the roll, and spooned some of the stew in.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to, um, put the stew in the roll,” Christie said.

Jack laughed. “Let him eat it the way he wants to.” He picked up a roll. “They must grow their own wheat somehow. Or something like wheat. Amazing.”

Another family, with a pimply-faced boy, came and sat down at their table with them. Christie said hi, smiled at them.

They nodded and said hi back, but didn’t seem interested in any getting-to-know-you chat.

Fine with Christie.

Soon, the whole hall quieted as everyone dug into the food.

Between bites, she looked around. Then to Jack. The room so quiet as everyone ate.

Hungry people.

Her back to the podium, she didn’t see Lowe arrive, and then was surprised by his booming voice.

“Good evening, Paterville families!”

Like a Sunday congregation, they chanted back. “Good evening!”

“Hope all of you enjoyed this amazing day, and now some great camp food. Got a few special announcements for you…”

Christie looked across the table. Kate picked at the stew, studying it.

The examination over, she took a big forkful of it.

“Any families leaving us tonight, be sure to check out with us at registration. We’ll make sure all your charges are correct and we even”—he looked over Shana—“have a special good-bye present from all of us at Paterville.”

Shana seemed less formidable tonight. Her midsection covered, though the shirt’s buttons strained against her breasts.

That is one mighty… distraction for an assistant, Christie thought.

She resisted the temptation to look over and see if Jack was watching the battle of buttons and boobs.

“Tonight’s the big fireworks…”

Ed paused for the whistles and clapping.

“Now, enjoy the rest of your meal and we’ll see you down at the lakeshore for the big show!”

She and Jack turned back to the table.

The kids had finished their meals. Servers appeared with what looked like an icy sherbet. No ice cream, with dairy being so rare, but ice probably, some sugary flavoring.

Simon grabbed a cherry-red bowl, Kate a lime-colored one.

Christie took a few more bites of the stew.

When the sherbets had also vanished, she smiled at the Blairs and the other family sitting grimly near them. She looked at Jack. “All done?”

Jack nodded, and they got up and headed out of the dining hall.