CHAPTER NINE

On her way back to the camp, Erin ran into Carly Grimes. She was sitting on a log, and she appeared to be in hiding—from her husband, no doubt. But her unpleasant spouse wasn’t the only one whose company Carly was dodging.

“I wish that Mia Garland would just leave me alone. She keeps trying to make stupid small talk. I know she’s just waiting for her moment, just waiting until she sees I’m in a bad mood and she can just give me a big kick in the stomach to make things worse. That’s who she is. That’s who she always was.”

“I remember how she was, Carly. She was as awful as awful could be. But that was twenty years ago. People can actually change. I think she is a whole different person inside.”

“I’m not a whole different person inside. Are you a whole different person inside? I don’t think that anyone really changes. She was mean and hateful. She was like a teenage version of Regina Gorman. That’s exactly the kind of adult I predicted she would become. And I have no desire to witness it up close.”

“You know, she’s had a rough few months . . .”

“Yes. Some of the other people mentioned it. Her mother. The stroke. I feel really bad for Mrs. Garland. I feel bad for her, for her sake, but not for Mia’s. I think that she has you hoodwinked, Erin. You want things to be better, so you see what you want to see. But I can’t afford to pretend that things are better than they are. I don’t want to live in that kind of lie.”

She leapt off the log, gave Erin a sorrowful glance, and wandered back into the woods. Erin knew better than to take Carly’s foul mood personally. Living inside a bad marriage clouds everything, poisons everything.

Carly was so close to finding it unbearable, but maybe it would be better off if she did finally reach her breaking point. At least it would mean that she would be forced to do something. It was so clear that Carly dreaded the thought of returning home and being surrounded by her problems.

She wasn’t the only one. Megan Fisher was gathering wood near the camp, moping about her state of destitution, and dreading the other options she was about to face.

“This reunion is probably the last enjoyable thing I’ll ever do,” Megan said.

What you mean? That you ever do in your life? That sounds a bit . . . suicidal.

“But, after you go home . . .” Erin began.

“There is no home,” Megan said hopelessly. “Just an eviction notice, waiting to be served. I can’t even afford a storage place to put my things. They’ll wind up on the street curb, being ransacked by neighbors and trash pickers. And then I’ve got to decide what’s going to be least painful—a homeless shelter or going home to live with my mother. I know that sounds ridiculously obvious to you, because you don’t know my mother.”

“No, I totally get it. Because I do know my mother, and I’d rather sleep under a bridge than live with her again.”

Megan was somewhat comforted that someone understood a bit of what she was feeling.

“So, this is what rock-bottom looks like.”

“No, it’s not. Believe me, I have felt rock-bottom. When I lost my last kidney. The dialysis. My future just looked like this black tunnel, no light at the end of it. Except . . .”

“The light turned out to be an oncoming train,” Megan finished the dark joke.

“You can’t give up. You can’t end it all.”

“End what all?” Megan said, genuinely confused.

Now, Erin was confused. Wasn’t Megan the desperate suicide voice? Okay, she had nearly perfected the art of nonchalantly placing a sympathetic arm grip on someone’s shoulder while gazing at them in the eye.

“End it all? That almost makes it sound as if she thinks I’m about to commit suicide. What a horrible thought. Heaven’s sake. I just need a job. Any job. I don’t need fulfillment. I don’t need a dream position. I don’t even need to know what color my parachute is. I need a J-O-B.”

Ah. Not suicidal. Which was great. But still, pretty desperate. Not so great.

“So . . . no jobs.”

“No jobs. And believe me, it’s not for lack of trying. I think I’ve applied for five jobs a day for the past two years. That’s 3000 applications—okay, maybe I gave myself holidays off. I’m serious. I think I’ve applied for over 2000 jobs.

“And I just can’t figure it out. I send out my smart resume, with my full credentials. I’m overqualified. I sent off my experience and education resume. I sent off my skills and verbal fluency resume. I sent off my dumbed-down resume, where to all appearances, I’d never acquired any education beyond high school.

“Those were for the entry-level jobs that I don’t want to scare off with too much experience. Like a cashier. And then I go in for the interview. And it’s like they can smell my graduate degree. We don’t think you’d be happy here. Two years of this. I’m so exhausted. I don’t know where to turn.”

The poor woman really was at the end of her rope. But Erin wasn’t so sure that there might not be a few stones left unturned.

“Have you talked to people here about needing a job?”

“Here? No! That’s the last thing I need—for people to see that I have absolutely nothing to show for myself after twenty years out in the world. This week was going to be my little, I don’t know, just a little space where I could pretend to have the life that I actually should have made for myself. I don’t need them to know that I’m a loser or to feel sorry for me.”

“Megan—some of our classmates have become really, really successful.”

“Way to rub salt in my wounds.”

“What I’m saying is, some of them work for large companies—companies that have frequent openings. Some of them have opened their own businesses, so they are the boss and they’re the ones who make their own hiring decisions. They have friends, they have colleagues, they have clients. Are you willing to relocate?”

“Of course.”

“There are three days left to the reunion. And in these last three days, I want you to talk to everyone here. Everyone. Let them know that you’re looking for work. Let them know what you’re capable of, what experience you have.

“Let them know that you will move anywhere. Those 2000 jobs you applied for—they don’t know you from Adam. The people who came back this week for the reunion—Oyster Cove means something to them. The high school means something to them. The classmates and those connections mean something to them. That’s your advantage. That’s your edge.”

Watching Megan’s face was almost literally like watching someone wake up. “I’ll do it. What have I got to lose? Three days—250 people. And that’s not even counting the spouses! You know, this just might work.”

“It will work. Now get back to camp right now and get started.”

Erin watched Megan racing back to the camp, arms full of twigs. Erin was sure that Megan was going to be able to create a new start for herself. But . . . that still didn’t answer the question of where that heartbreaking suicidal despair had come from?

The last suspect was Kira Davenport. Another unhappy marriage. But unlike Carly’s horrible husband, Kira’s husband, Jeff, didn’t appear to be a horrible guy. He just seemed a little lost, a little unsure of what to do. Perhaps it was time for a chat.

Kira and the boys had gone off on a little hike of their own. Her husband, Jeff, was trying to figure out how to revive their dead campfire.

“Not a big fan of hiking?” Erin asked.

“No, it’s not really my thing.”

“Is it Kira’s thing?”

“Hardly. But the boys seem to be into it.”

“The boys. The twins. You know, I was wondering whether I might have seen them in one of their modeling assignments. What companies did they work for? Catalogs? Fashion lines?”

“I have no idea. That one, you’ll have to check with my wife about.”

“You have no idea what jobs your children took? Did you see the pictures, the ads?”

He looked at her sharply. What was she trying to imply? That he was a bad father? “I saw a few of them when they were babies. But this whole fashion thing . . . it’s just not my kind of thing, you know. Kira knows what to do. She can handle it just fine by herself.”

“I’m sorry, but if you don’t mind my saying so, and even if you do mind my saying so, you should be aware of every assignment your kids take. Do you even know how much they’re earning? How it’s being invested? Is it sitting somewhere, not gaining any interest? Is it being handled by Bernie Madoff? Okay, obviously not him specifically, but maybe someone like him.”

“Yeah, no. I don’t know any of that stuff. It just felt as if it wasn’t any of my business.”

“Are you kidding me? They’re your children! Go to Kira. Tell her that you want to be involved with the kids’ careers. They are extremely good-looking boys, by the way. And they’re twins! I don’t know a whole lot about the acting world, but I think that’s kind of a goldmine. A lot of movie productions are looking for kids who can double for the same role.

“I’m not saying it’s easy work to get into. It probably takes quite a bit of pounding the pavement. And head shots. And networking. Auditions. It’s so much work that Kira can’t possibly do it alone, and if she tried to, it would overwhelm her.

“Don’t let it just be her thing. It should be a family thing. Help manage their money. Help them transition to acting, if that’s what the kids want. And help them keep up with the academics—that’s something they can let fall by the wayside. They need someone to keep on top of them.

“If they wind up getting just a couple of gigs, you might be able to transition from your job and help be the kids as co-manager with your wife. Go talk to her about it. Just a few good years would really set the kids up for future security.”

Jeff was nodding thoughtfully. Erin left him to contemplate these new options but then turned around. “And stop flirting on the Internet!”

Erin next went to join Isabel and a small group of women who were around the campfire, prepping a few dishes for the upcoming evening’s meal. The toddler of one of them kept running up way too close to the flames, and his mother kept dragging him back, scolding loudly and threatening him with a big spanking.

“Do people still spank kids anymore?” one of the women asked, not wanting to be too judgmental.

“Sure, they do. I mean, not older kids, of course. But a two-year-old who can’t understand English, who doesn’t respond to a command—especially don’t do that, it might kill you.”

“I don’t know. I guess it’s just something every parent needs to figure out for themselves. But, you’re right about older kids. It just teaches them the wrong thing, doesn’t it?”

“It’s humiliating. It makes you ashamed and afraid for years and years afterward.”

Erin quickly surveyed the faces of the women around the fire. It was Isabel’s wooden expression that matched these bitter sentiments.

“That horrible woman. Beating me as if I were an animal. I was only seven years old. Eventually, the school finally got rid of corporal punishment. But it was too late for me. The damage was done. It was upsetting for my whole family. My mother talked about it for years.

“And then, when I thought that that woman was just an ugly thing in my past that I could forget, she changes from elementary school teacher to high school teacher. Almost as if she were stalking me. And there was no escaping her. Regina Gorman would not get out of my life. There was that one time, in the hallway, when she even had the nerve to joke about hitting me when I was a child. Very funny, Mrs. Gorman. But now your cruelty has finally been ended.

“S’mores . . . I should set up all the supplies for the s’mores.”

Poor Isabel. The peppy, energetic reunion organizer was still carrying around some deep scars. Was it she who had put an end to Regina Gorman’s cruelty? It was impossible to say after the s’mores hijacked Isabel’s brain.

What a complex, fascinating, and emotional collection of individuals. Healing their wounds now struck Erin as a far greater challenge than simply replacing a bad organ.

*****

The best part of the day is often the night. That’s especially true when camping. A roaring bonfire in a safe location, with marshmallows and hot cocoa, and even the occasional sing-along. There were about ten such fires tightly clustered around the campsite that night. It was definitely a moment that made almost everyone happy that they had agreed to come along.

But life is never simple, and there were other thoughts around the campsite as well.

“I should never have left my gun in that bush. Maybe I can get another one here in Oyster Cove before everyone goes home. Regina Gorman wasn’t the only one who deserved to die.”

This was bad. Really, really bad. Not that Regina Gorman’s murder shouldn’t be looked at as a bad, tragic thing. But if someone else was going to be killed, that would be horrific. Because, by and large, Erin actually liked everyone else. Or at least, most of them seemed to be decent, albeit somewhat troubled people. No one who deserved to die.

And yet, there appeared to be another murder being planned. Who was the intended victim? And who was the murderer? Erin didn’t want to find out the hard way. She had this wild desire to run around and touch everyone’s head in the campsite, like Duck, Duck, Goose. But as she had just seen with Isabel, a mind can wander from tragedy to s’mores in the blink of an eye. This was going to be a very difficult tragedy to avert. But didn’t she have to try?

*****

The camping trip was finally over, gear returned, showers taken, and Erin and her classmates were able to turn their attention to the less-demanding reunion events. On her way out of Hansen Sporting Goods, she crossed paths with Kira Davenport, husband Jeff, and their kids. The kids were chattering excitedly about where they’d like to go on their next camping trip. Kira and Jeff were, miracle of miracles, holding hands.

Jeff nodded gratefully at Erin. “You’ll never guess. Kira had already set up some auditions next month out in LA for our guys.”

“I thought he’d be mad,” Kira said. “I didn’t know how I was going to tell him.”

“I’ve got tons of vacation time built up. I can take three weeks off, no problem. Maybe it’s going to turn out that we’re Hollywood types.”

“Hollywood types! Does that mean you’re eventually going to turn me in for a young, pretty, hot second wife?”

“Why do I need to go to all that trouble when I already have a young, pretty, hot first wife?”

They giggled like newlyweds.

These two were wearing their thoughts on their sleeves—the Davenports were going to be just fine.

Hopefully, Erin’s favorite doctor was also going to be fine, despite some lingering demons. Orlando had my invited her over to his apartment. Erin hadn’t taken any photos during the camping trip, but Orlando had taken plenty and had promised to share them with her. Of course, he could have just emailed them to her. But both of them pretended to be unaware of that option.

Orlando’s apartment was bachelor central. Not untidy or anything. But just so bare, so basic, so devoid of furniture and decorations.

“I can see that you’re into minimalism,” Erin commented.

“I think I might just be into laziness. Or to put a charitable spin on it, I’m a busy workaholic with no design sense.”

“I hate to tell you, but this place could use a little pizzazz. You should hire someone. I actually know someone who might be able to give you some pointers. I mean, I don’t know if she designs apartments, but she really knows how to pick out a good wardrobe,” Erin said, thinking of Ruby. “And if she’s got a good eye for fashion, she’s probably got a good eye for decorating as well.”

Erin’s eye landed on a bookcase filled with what appeared to be photo albums. “Ooh, this looks like some old stuff. May I?”

“Sure. It might be pretty boring stuff, though.”

When you’ve got a big crush on someone, there’s nothing boring about their past. Their family, their baby photos, their Boy Scout years—everything provides a little window into their identity and a life experience that occurred before they met you, that helped to make them who they are.

“Here’s one of you camping. And here I thought you had this freakish innate ability to put tents up with no prior experience.”

“Nope. Not my first rodeo. I was a serious Boy Scout for about five years. Loved those camping trips.”

“And kayaking! This looks to be when you were a lot older. Are these pictures from college? Wow! There are a ton of them. You must’ve gone out on a lot of kayaking trips.”

“I did. That was one of my favorite things. Haven’t been in years though. Not since . . . not since my residency.”

Erin immediately knew that Orlando had stripped his life of what he considered to be pleasurable and frivolous activities after the malpractice event. What right had he to enjoy himself and have fun after he had engaged in an action that resulted in someone’s death?

Well, that was absolute nonsense. She loved the fact that he valued human life so much. She loved the fact that he took responsibility for his actions. She loved the pro bono work that probably stemmed from his guilt. But enough was enough.

This happy, beaming athletic face that she was seeing in all of these photos—she wanted him to be able to connect with that old, lighthearted, joyful self. She wanted to help bring that light and laughter back into his life. He needed her . . . or was that too pretentious a thought? Nope. He needed her, and she felt as if she couldn’t rest until Orlando Wicks was able to allow happiness back into his life.

He interrupted her musings. “So, can I interest you in lobster tonight?” As it so happened, there was a scheduled lobster bake as one of the major reunion events.

“That’s like offering to buy me a drink at an open bar.”

“That’s right.” He gestured to her. “Cheap date.” He gestured to himself. “Cheapskate. I’m on the malpractice budget plan. But when all this is over, I promise, I’ll take you out for a regular fantastic dinner. Or two. Or twenty.”

“I’ll hold you to that. Now, I actually have to run and take care of this . . . thing.” How else to describe the need to visit a dead body at the morgue, lay hands on it, and try to extract the final thoughts of the murder victim? But Fiona had said that this might work, so Erin really ought to give it a try.

She and Orlando parted in high spirits, looking forward to the evening’s outing on the beach. But first, Erin had a date with a cadaver.

She hadn’t expected to run into anyone on her way in, but there was Delphine Sykes, arms folded and shaking her head.

“Erin, Erin, Erin, Erin. I’m glad I caught you in time. I should have done a better job of warning you whom to listen to in this town and whom to avoid. Fiona is to be avoided. She is almost as bad as . . . as . . . well, I was about to say Lilith, but I’m sure she wouldn’t appreciate it.”

“How did you know that I’ve been talking to Fiona?”

“Lilith was there, listening in. She and Fiona were very antagonistic rivals, although there was no doubt in anyone’s mind of Lilith’s supremacy. Fiona resented being the second-most powerful witch in Oyster Cove and was deeply envious of Lilith’s talent.”

“Hmm. I guess I get that. So, what are you saying?”

“I am saying that Fiona is playing tricks on you. Yes, you were about to lay hands on a very cold, unpleasant dead body and wait for a message that was never coming. Fiona loves to make people look ridiculous, especially commoners. She loves displaying her superiority.”

“And I fell for it. I should have known better. I was getting very bad vibes from that woman. And are you saying that Lilith Hazelwood was also . . . kind of untrustworthy?”

“Lilith was a very complicated witch. Selfish and powerful, with dazzling talent. Never big on people skills, however. She would torment people more randomly and more relentlessly even than Fiona. Perhaps you can think of her as one of the mean girls from your high school days. Certainly not admirable, but there you have it.”

“I did know a really mean girl. But twenty years down the line, she’s changed. She’s changed so much. Did Lilith ever change?”

“Not much. Not yet. But where there’s life, there’s hope.”

“Um . . . there’s not really life, is there?”

“When there’s no life . . . I think there’s still a little hope. I think Lilith may yet improve. Say, Martine is coming over to my place for crab cakes. Why don’t you join us?