We listen as his footsteps pad onto the landing and down the stairs. Only then does she turn back to me. I want to tell her about the notebooks, but before I get the chance, she says, “About last night…”
What’s she going to say? That it was a mistake? That she regrets it? I force my expression into one of casual nonchalance. “It was a one-time thing,” I reassure her. “Don’t worry, we can forget it ever happened.”
She frowns. “Is that what you want? To forget it ever happened?”
No way am I about to admit the truth and risk rejection. I throw back, “Doyou?”
“Fuck no, why would you even ask that? I’m desperate to do it all over again, but if you don’t feel the same, then that’s—”
“I do.”
Her eyes light up. “You do?”
“I do.”
She crawls onto the bed, pinning me in with the sharp angles of her elbows. Even though she’s pressing me into the pillows, I can’t remember ever feeling more buoyant, like my body’s drifting on an endless ocean, buttressed by salt and air and hope. “Good, because I—” She tugs down my collar, kisses the exposed skin of my shoulder. “Plan on sticking around—” Higher, onto my neck now. “For as long as you’ll let me.” My earlobe, my cheekbone, and then her lips are on mine. The way she takes charge reminds me of Claire, but there’s a tenderness that’s foreign. She pulls back, gazes at me like she can’t quite believe I’m here, underneath her.
A shout from downstairs, then a crash.
“Shit,” she says, rolling off the mattress. The two of us throw on the rest of our clothes, then hurry downstairs. By the time we reachthe kitchen, Ros is mopping orange juice off the floor with a wad of paper towels. Shattered glass has been swept into a pile. “I’m so sorry.” Hannah sniffles.
“Please.” Ros tosses the soaked wad in the garbage can. “No one cares about a little spilled juice. You should see the mess my kids make every morning.”
“Everything okay?” Greer asks.
“Fine. Hannah just got a little spooked.”
Hannah stares at the now-clean floor.
“Spooked?”
“She thought she saw something in the woods. Probably an animal nibbling on our leftovers.”
Outside, the gaps between the trees are empty except for threads of morning mist. I wait, watching, but everything remains still.
Connor walks into the kitchen. “All the doors and windows are still locked.”
“We don’t need to do that, do we?” Imogen stands by the window, dressed for morning meditation. “I understand everyone’s on edge, but maybe it would be best if we talked about it. We could even go back to the lake—”
“We should talk about it,” Connor says. “Let’s stay in here, though.”
Imogen frowns and tries to catch his eye, but he’s already leading everyone into the den. The lodge’s central living area is a hodgepodge of mismatched couches and armchairs, all clearly selected for comfort instead of style. Quilted blankets have been draped over their backs; the club members are forced to toss throw pillows onto the floor before they can sit down.
“Zach’s death wasn’t an accident,” Connor begins as Ros is still stacking pillows onto a chest in the corner. She freezes, clutching a brown crocheted monstrosity.
“What do you mean?” Kemy asks. “He drowned in the lake.”
“He was thrown into the lake,” he clarifies, “after he was already dead.”
The den erupts into chatter. Greer has to raise her voice to be heard over everyone else. “Hey!” she calls. “Calm down and let us explain.”
No one calms down, but they do get quiet.
“Nic found a pottery shard stuck in the back of his head. Someone must’ve attacked him from behind, then dumped him out there.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ros scoffs. “He could be annoying, and he needed to learn to mind his own damned business, but no one would ever want to kill him. He was a good man—a little gullible, sure, but always good.”
Hannah hunches forward, like she’s trying to make herself as small as possible. Connor, meanwhile, unlatches his messenger bag and pulls out the notebooks, stacking them on the coffee table. I instinctively reach for my pocket, making sure the page I ripped from mine is still there. “Earlier this morning, these notebooks were discovered in Zach’s room. In them is personal information about all of you: the names of your family, friends, where you currently live—”
