Page 18 of River & Rue

The confusion in her eyes only grows.

“Signage like that?”

She points past me. I whip around and blink at the three incredibly obvious, legible signs nailed to a nearby tree.

My laugh rings hollow.

“Oh, wow. How did I miss those?”

My eyes sting; the lettering on the signs blurs. I blink fast to clear the tears, stunned by my reaction.

I never cry, let alone twice in one day. Sure, today has been hard at times, but it doesn’t even rank in my top ten Worst Days Ever. If Ivy were here, she’d probably drag me to the ER for every test under the sun.

“Rough day?” asks Maya.

I wipe my face and turn with my best attempt at a smile. “You could say that.”

To my relief, she doesn’t press for details, merely nods in acknowledgment.

“I’m on my way to the Lodge. Do you want to walk together?”

A bit of the heaviness inside me lifts.

“I’d love that, thanks.”

After Maya shows me where we are on the map—nowhere near where I thought I was—we set off in the direction I came from.

Even though it’s barely five-thirty, the rapidly gathering storm brings on a premature twilight. Small solar lights flare to life along the path’s borders. More lights illuminate the various and plentiful signage I missed on my frantic flight, but I’m too distracted to feel embarrassed.

This far from the main buildings, the paths are narrower, less manicured, and the woods are denser and wilder. At the moment, they’re also eerily still. The only discernible sounds are from our shoes meeting packed dirt and the occasional rise and fall of voices.

Creepy, echoey voices.

They have to belong to people at nearby cabins or on paths I can’t see. That some of them sound like demented laughs and wails must be due to all the trees. Simple sound wave distortion, perfectly technical and logical.

Because ghosts aren’t real.

After a particularly hair-raising screech, I glance at Maya to find her looking back at me with laughing eyes.

“That would be Dan. He does this every night because he’s an immature clown.”

A shrill giggle bursts out of me. “Thank god. I’ve spent the last minute trying not to pee my pants and wishing I had a bucket of salt.”

She laughs. “I should have warned you, sorry. I don’t even notice it anymore. My first night here, though…” She shakes her head ruefully. “I was walking back to my cabin after dinner and didn’t know Dan was on the path behind me. He did that freaky yodeling crap, and I screamed my damn head off and started running. He hadn’t known I was there, either, so my screams scared him. He ran up behind me screaming, which made me scream more, and then Kirk almost ran us over with his golf cart coming to our supposed rescue.”

My eyes are watering again, but at least this time the cause is laughter. “I think I’ve met Dan. Blond guy with a Boston accent? Talks a mile a minute and bounces on his toes like a five-year-old?”

She grins. “That’s him. Believe it or not, he’s not even the biggest personality here.”

I’m about to ask her for the lowdown on the other artists when the woods come alive, branches shivering and creaking in warning. Seconds later, we’re hit by a gust of wind cold enough to make us shiver. I tug up the hood of my sweatshirt as Maya hurriedly pulls on the cardigan that was tied around her waist.

She rubs her arms. “What the heck. This storm came out of nowhere.”

Glancing at the ominous clouds, I think of River, his eyes closed and face upturned. How shadows slithered over his skin like snakes, then disappeared right before he opened his eyes and told me it was going to rain.

I shiver for a different reason, then shake my head. Nope. No way. Ghosts aren’t real, and River Ashburn can’t control the weather.

Another memory rises. A much older one, of flashlights under blankets and Teddy’s sleepy voice.