They’d been assigned their original cabin, bunk one the closest to the mess hall. In the cool early morning, predawn air, everything was still. The day was fresh, washed clean by the rain that had started again overnight. Folding her arms over her chest, she snuggled deep into the old college fleece and headed up the dirt path to the mess hall. She should have changed out of her pjs. The ground hovered between mud and soft soil. Her sneakers would be caked and probably the hem on her worn flannel pants.
As the scent of fresh brewed coffee filtered down the path, she forgot her wardrobe worries in favor of dogged determination. A little caffeine was exactly what she needed. Light poured out from the mess hall, illuminating the last few yards. She jogged around the screened back wall to the door and let herself into an empty room.
She frowned and stilled, straining to notice anything, a noise, a sound, a feeling. She hadn’t been observant yesterday and only by His grace hadn’t been seriously injured.
Something clattered.
Emma stiffened and ducked, covering her head with her hands in a feeble attempt at shielding herself. Her defensive posture was as effective as hiding under a desk in elementary school during a tornado.
“Oh shoot,” Lucille Thomas exclaimed.
Emma gave herself a mental shake.
A pot must have fallen off the stove. Her nerves remained ragged and raw, immediately jumping into worst case scenarios. She headed to the kitchen, no longer quieting herself or her steps. She didn’t want to surprise the older woman. Emma never wanted to be caught unawares ever again and owed everyone the same courtesy.
In the doorway to the kitchen, Emma knocked on the frame. “Good morning?”
Lucille straightened near the stove, setting a lid on top of a pot. “Oh, hi, dear. Couldn’t sleep?” She pressed a hand to her heart. “What am I saying? Of course you’d be up early after last night. Coffee?”
“Yes, please.” Emma entered the room, grabbing a mug off the hook over the sink and filling it at the dented, nineteen seventies enormous chrome carafe. She hadn’t seen one like it since she’d helped her parents clean out their garage. With so many adults roaming the grounds, the Thomases would definitely go through the volume demanded by the machine.
Emma took her first sip, letting the hot liquid warm her as it slid down her throat. “How are you? Can we sit? Can I get you a coffee?”
“You are too sweet.” Lucille patted Emma’s shoulder. “I’m the one always moving about and handling everything. I suppose I should take you up on your offer. Do you mind getting the milk out of the fridge and meeting me at a table? I’m pretty sure we’ll have the place to ourselves.”
Emma nodded and grabbed the milk out of the industrial refrigerator, following Lucille to the dining room and a table close to the screens. Emma didn’t see any sign of the sheriff. Her heart sunk a bit. She liked Mrs. Thomas but was anxious for the safety she found in Daniel’s company.
In replaying yesterday’s events, she kept returning to the note Margaux found. It didn’t quite make sense. Why would someone target Margaux at the camp? And how? With limited cell coverage, calls stuck to the tried-and-true old, corded phone line in the front office or mess hall. Emails weren’t automatically updated so letters were the answer. In many ways, the camp had always been a throwback to a bygone age. Emma wasn’t so sure how Margaux could be certain she was the intended recipient.
Jennifer and Christine had seemed unimpressed by Margaux’s comments. They always were blasé about her. Emma had often thought it was unkindness, but maybe it spoke more to their annoyance at Margaux constantly being the center of something dramatic. Her lack of self-confidence marked her as a perpetual victim.
“Thank you, dear. This is nice.” Lucille sank onto the bench and accepted the milk from Emma, pouring it into her half-filled mug until the coffee was a light tan. “I should let others take the lead more often.”
Emma knew the other woman wouldn’t. Mrs. Thomas wasn’t one to sit back and let life happen. Emma understood and empathized with the desire to stay in control. Micromanaging was its own self-soothing strategy. She’d seen it in plenty of the kids she’d helped over the years. Peering closer, Emma spotted the dark circles under Lucille’s eyes.
“What time did you get back?” Emma asked, tucking her sweatshirt under her as far as it would go. The splinter-filled seats wouldn’t be kind to thin pajama pants, another reason she should have had the foresight to change.
“A little before midnight.” Lucille sipped her coffee. “He awoke but then fell back asleep again.”
“Did he say anything?”
Lucille shook her head. “Too full of tubes to speak. But he looked at me and George. I think he’ll be okay.”
Emma released a heavy breath. “Good news.”
“We came home to sleep in our own bed. The staff told us to come back this morning. But…” Lucille hung her head. “I didn’t get even a twenty-minute power nap last night. This place is not restful.”
“It isn’t?” Emma murmured.
Lucille flashed a sad smile. She sipped from her mug. “You don’t have to be polite, dear. I know you can see the problems.”
Emma didn’t respond. She’d noticed the disrepair but couldn’t recall the exact details of how the camp looked in her final summer here. The early years were colored by a happy, yellow haze of sunshine and swimming. The ending remained a mystery shrouded in an icy, cool blue mist. She couldn’t see through the fog no matter how hard she tried.
“Owen wants to keep going, but he has to step up in a major way. George and I can’t run the camp anymore,” Lucille said. “We didn’t think we’d survive the terrible accident.”
Emma cradled her mug in both her hands, letting the heat seep into her bones. She hated the term accident because it categorized her family’s tragedy as a casual, everyday slip up, negating the devastation in the aftermath. Liz had been the most careful and fastidious person. She never took a chance, and she always double checked everything. The tragedy was as illogical as it was unavoidable. But some answers wouldn’t come in this life.
“And now with this? I guess we keep going a little longer before Owen can take over,” Lucille said.
