It could be something else. Now it felt like he had to have missed something. She didn't wander away from her entire family and everyone she had ever known. Whether she was unhappy with her job or didn't know what she saw for the future of their family. Whether she thought she deserved a husband who made more money and wanted to stay home. Whether there was another man who had lured her away or someone in her past she thought she might have a better chance with. None of that had anything to do with her parents or her co-workers. Yet none of them have heard from her, either.

  Nick could understand the people she worked with not knowing what happened. Liza had never been particularly close with any of the women who shared the floor of the office where she worked. Tiny cubicles kept them isolated from one another, and she wasn't one to gossip. It was much more like her to keep her head down and do the work she needed to do, then come home to be with him. At first, he thought that might have something to do with her leaving so suddenly. If only she had lifted her head occasionally and found out more about the people on either side of her. If she knew more than their names and the minimalist mementos of their life beyond work that they kept on their desks, it could be different. Maybe she walked away because she wanted that life.

  Even if that had been what happened, it wouldn't explain her parents not hearing from her. They would have happily welcomed her home. It wasn't that they didn't like Nick. He was their son-in-law, and they had accepted him into the family as they would anyone else. But there was no hiding that they thought she was going to end up with someone different. They came from two different worlds, and Liza had passed up a type of future he couldn't have imagined so they could be together. If she had decided three years of that type of marriage is enough, and she was ready for a different path, it wouldn’t have taken any explanation. She wouldn’t have had to beg their forgiveness or for any favors. They would have simply settled her back into her bedroom and quietly helped her find her way.

  Even with them gone, she could have gone back home. She had a key to their house, and all the little bits of cash she and Nick had hidden throughout the home would have been enough for her to buy a plane ticket. They would have come home to her going about her life and never would have had to call Nick to find out what was happening. She would have told them everything. They would have just stayed silent.

  So now, he was going through the house with a different purpose. Everything had to be documented. Everything had to be examined. Everything had to be considered. It wasn't just the clothes that were missing, but the ones that were left behind. It wasn't the tiny bottle of perfume that was still sitting on the dresser; it was the bookmark she had put into the pages of every single book she'd read since the day he met her. He noticed that the first day she was gone. It was still between the pages of the thick book she'd been trying to trudge her way through because it came highly recommended. She hated that book. She had stopped on the first page and read it out loud to Nick six times before either one of them could figure out what was happening.

  But she loved the bookmark. There's no reason that shouldn’t have gone with her.

  He had searched every hiding place she'd come up with throughout the house and found all the cash gone. Liza was exceptional at hiding money. It became like a game to her. Every time she got paid, she'd shave off a little bit and tuck it into the little unexpected pigeonholes throughout the house so it could be used when they really needed it. He went through every one and knew every bit of her careful savings was gone. But it was what he hadn't checked that bothered him now.

  Rushing to the front of the house, he grabbed the handfuls of mail from the front table. Glittery envelopes and slick invitations scattered across the floor. He didn't care about any of those. It was the official envelopes he needed. Finally, he found what he was looking for. He ripped it open so fast the paper sliced through his thumb and blood spread across the white paper as he pulled the statement out and opened it up. Liza hadn't brought her credit card.

  It wasn't the type of card most people use. She didn't keep it in her purse or grab it on the way out of the house every time she ran errands. It didn't hold documentation of every second of her life like other people. Instead, it was her safety net, her fail-safe. She had grown up with a father who taught her to never rely on credit. He built his wealth off the back of the wealth his father built. It was cash, assets. Never loans. Never credit. Never anything that wasn't his yet. That's how Liza had always seen it, but in some of the earliest days of their marriage, she suddenly changed her mind. A credit card appeared, and she used it once to buy groceries. She paid the bill and then tucked the card away under the false bottom of her jewelry box. The next month, she did the same. That was her ritual. Every month, she used the card once and paid it off. She was building an emergency plan for them.

  If Liza knew she was walking away from their life and preparing to build her own, that would have gone with her. But it didn't. The statement showed only the groceries she bought days before she left. Nick brought the statement with him into the bedroom and dismantled her jewelry box. The card almost dropped to the floor, along with the piece of velvet that lined the hidden bottom. But it was there. The card he never touched, never used. The card he almost forgot even existed. It was there. Which meant she had nothing more than the cash she had squirreled away.

  Trying to ignore the sickening aftermath of his rage still spread across the living room, Nick grabbed his coat and ran through the front door. It was only a few days before Christmas. It was the busiest time of the year to travel. But he had to hope. He had to hope that there was someone who remembered Liza. Someone who could tell him where she went or if she was with someone. Six months is a long time for someone to remember just another passenger, but that wasn't Liza. Liza was someone you didn't forget.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Charles

  Charles stomped his feet against the ground, trying to warm his legs up. He brought his hands to his mouth and breathed on them. Hot air filtered down through his gloves, but it did little to thaw the chill of his skin. The temperature had dropped dramatically in the last few days, and the air felt heavy and wet, anticipating snow. He adjusted the collar of his coat close at the back of his neck and scrunched his face down, so more of his wool scarf covered it. Soon it was only his eyes that peered out over the gravel parking area. It seemed much of it had become overgrown. In the spring and summer months, grass and weeds came up through the sparsely scattered rocks, nature trying to reclaim it.

  It wouldn't be that way for much longer. He would make sure it got the care it deserved. Today was the day he had been waiting so eagerly for, for so long, and now that it was finally here, every second that passed by felt long and arduous. His skin felt like electricity was dancing along it, too aware, too sensitive. Every moment that passed by, the appointed time brought him a little closer to the edge. This wasn't the way today was supposed to be. It was supposed to be perfect. Everything perfect. All the time and energy he had put into making sure this was going to happen should have made it so.

  Just like Mary. So much had gone into her. So much time and effort. So much sacrifice. He had learned from his mistakes before. There were too many times when he had gone into things too enthusiastically and lost his way. It was hard when that happened. He hated to watch something he had given so much of himself to spiral out of control and have to end.

  But he had Mary. She had seen his mistakes. She had seen what you learn from them. And she had seen just how far he was willing to go to make amends when something went wrong. Not that she remembered. But there was so much he didn't want her to remember. It was too much for her. Those were dark times, and she didn't deserve to have to live through them again and again just because they existed in the recesses of her mind.

  She didn't know he was there that day. While she took care of their home, she thought he was running last-minute errands for Christmas. The office was closed, and he wouldn't have to go back to work for a few weeks, but this couldn't wait. In a way, he was doing some last-minute Christmas shopping. She would love it one day. Dr. Baker would help him ensure that.

  He looked at his watch again. Ten minutes late. Charles had been standing there for fifteen. He could get back in his car and turn on the heater, but he didn't. When he made the appointment with Mr. McKinley, he said he would be waiting for him at noon. Proper business didn't start with a man climbing out of his car. He should be standing ready when it was time to meet and greet him with a handshake. And that's what he would do.

  Finally, he heard the cracking and crunching of tires on the narrow, twisting road that led to the parking area. Mr. McKinley parked several spots away from Charles's car. It would be hard for anyone who wasn't as familiar with this space as he was to recognize that. The small stone markers that used to line one side and to help guide cars and keep them organized had long since disappeared. The fractured pieces of one were scattered in a nearby patch of grass, the only reminder of what used to be calm and control.

  But Charles could still see it in his mind. He knew what it was like to see this space full, and that meant he knew that the narrow space where the elderly man who walked up to him now had pulled his worn, dust-covered white car was where he always parked. Anytime he came to the sprawling stretch of land he once loved so dearly, that was where he started his visit. It didn't matter if anyone else was there, that's where he parked. If he knew he would be coming at a time when the lot was likely to be full, someone came ahead and blocked off the area for him.

  If he hadn't been late, Charles might have found the moment touching. This was probably the last time he would ever bring that car up that long road and park in that narrow spot on the crumbling gravel. A thick manila envelope clutched in one hand, told Charles Mr. McKinley hadn't changed his mind. There had been some questions a few weeks back when the old man started feeling nostalgic and hesitating to finalize the deal. But then Charles reminded him of why he had decided to sell in the first place. Then the events that made him sure he no longer wanted the massive property in his name. A few pictures and newspaper clippings took away the nostalgia and reaffirmed his commitment.

  “Mr. McKinley,” Charles said, extending his hand courteously.

  The older man accepted it with his own. Even in the biting cold of the December afternoon, he wasn't wearing gloves. Perhaps after the years, he had spent working on this land and trying to make out of it everything he had envisioned and dreamed, his skin was immune. He no longer needed to protect it.

  “It's good to see you. I'm sorry I'm a few minutes late. Christmas shopping seems to have gotten the best of some people, and the roads are almost at a standstill. Are you all ready for the holiday? Excited to see family?”

  “It will just be my wife and me this year,” Charles told him.

  Mr. McKinley's expression dropped.

  “Oh, yes. That's right. I'm so sorry.”

  Charles smiled and shook his head politely.

  “No harm. I prefer to think of her the way she used to be as well. One day she will be. But she is home alone right now, and I would like to get back to her.”

  The older man nodded enthusiastically.

  “Absolutely. I completely understand. I have all the paperwork right here. Do you want to walk around and look at it? I don't think you've had the opportunity to do a full tour since it was released back into my control.”

  “Was there much damage?” Charles asked.

  “Not much. The second fire did get to a few of the buildings on the farthest outreaches, and the investigation wasn't exactly kind to the sections of the woods and the area around the lake. But it isn't extensive, and I'm sure it can be easily repaired.”

  “I might like to see the lake. That's such an important feature for future development, and it's important for me to understand the full scope of any further work that will need to be done.”

  “Of course. All the barriers have been removed so we can just walk down there.”

  They made their way through overgrown grass and along neglected walkways. It had only been since the summer that Charles had been here, but it looked like it had been lying dormant for years. It was amazing how quickly a place could change when it had gone through the trials and traumas of these acres. When they got to the lake, the temperature dropped even further. Mist rolled off the surface of the black water and swirled around the weathered, gray dock jutting out into the expanse. Along the pebbled sandbar to one side, bits of yellow tape were still visible among long frozen-over footprints. Leaves and scraps of trash littered the top of the water, and a green glass beer bottle bobbed a few feet from the end of the dock.

  “Have people been coming here?” Charles asked.

  “A few teenagers got in here one night. An initiation of some sort. The police scared them off and put out a bulletin that anyone else seen on this property wouldn't be given a second chance. That seems to have kept them at bay.”

  Looking at the condition of his surroundings dampened some of Charles's spirit, but he reminded himself it was all easily fixed. He was just glad he had gotten his crews working in August. They had finished just in time for production to start again in January. This land would be revitalized, and he would bring back to the original glory he remembered. He would cherished it not only for what it was but for the fame he would soon enjoy because of it.

  “I'm satisfied,” he said.

  Mr. McKinley grinned.

  “Wonderful. Then all we have to do is sign these papers, and it's done.”

  They walked back up to the parking lot, and Charles opened the envelope. He read through the papers to make sure the terms had been drawn up to his liking. He signed his name and handed the pen over to Mr. McKinley, who added his own with a flourish.

  “My bank will ensure the money is transferred to you by the end of the day,” Charles assured him.

  “You know how much this place means to me. I've owned it longer than you've been alive. Everything that's happened has been so hard on me, and it was breaking my heart to think it would be the end. I can't tell you how happy it makes me to know you will carry on the legacy. I know it's in good hands.”

  “It is,” Charles promised. “I have dreamed of owning it for a long time. It will be well-cared-for, and I won't allow the history to be tarnished.”

  His eyes glittering and a sense of relief visibly lifting a weight from his shoulders, the older man shook his hand again.

  "Congratulations, Alex. You are now the owner of Camp Pine Trails."

  Chapter Fifteen

  Mary

  The first thing I did when Charles left this morning was to check his study to see if the door was unlocked. I knew the chances of him making a mistake like that twice in any length of time was unlikely, much less twice in a span of only a few days. But I still had to check. I haven't been able to stop thinking about the script pages I found in his desk. I want to know the rest of the story. There's something about it that seems familiar, like I've read about it before.

  Dr. Baker is coming back today to talk to me again. It's become a routine having him in the living room, listening to me answer his questions and talk about what I'm going through. It seems like he's asking me the same things over and over. Even if I have no trouble answering him the first time he asks, he'll ask again. I feel like he's trying to guide me to something, kind of like the answer I gave him was wrong, and he wants me to keep thinking until I find the right one.

  I suppose it's what he’s supposed to be doing. The entire reason he's here is because of how worried about me Charles is. He never told me with as much certainty as I felt it, but I know he was as hopeful about the Christmas party as I was. It was his idea to host it this year, even after the accident. We could have canceled it. I doubt anyone would be surprised if we'd told them I wasn't up for entertaining. That possibility never crossed Charles's mind. At least, he never told me it did.

  Come early November, he started talking about the party. He talked about it in much the same way as he went about most things in our daily life. He always had the assumption I would know what he was talking about. Like he could just act like it wasn't happening to me, and eventually it would go away. Not that he was dismissive. My husband has been supportive and compassionate, and it was as if he thought if he believed in me enough, my brain would simply start going along with it. It would forget all that it had forgotten and remember all there was to remember.

  But it didn't work out that way. Those faces at the party the other night mean nothing to me. No, not nothing. Not really. There was a moment partway through the night when I looked over and saw a man leaned against the bookshelf, staring at me. Something in his eyes struck me, and I found it hard to turn away from him. It was like I needed to look at him, needed to see something I couldn't identify. There was nothing particularly compelling about him. His thick hair was a touch too long, and the clothes didn't quite fit into the rest of the party. There was an air about him that wasn't like the other guests. He almost seemed disdainful, like he didn't want to be there.

  It wasn't just that. There was something else. Something new that wouldn't let me turn away, but also wouldn't let me say anything. We stared at each other for what felt like hours but was probably only seconds, before Charles led me away to introduce me to another group of neighbors. He called it ‘reminding.’