Senseless Acts of Beauty

by Lisa Verge Higgins

  “A couple of months, huh?” Riley said. “Aren’t you a little young to be taking on such a difficult search?”

  Sadie sighed. If she were just three inches taller, or ten pounds heavier, people wouldn’t give her so much sass. But she’d always been small and skinny no matter how much she ate. “I’ll be fifteen in six weeks. Isn’t there a way to check when a towel went missing?”

  “Actually, no.”

  “But you keep track, right?”

  “A towel is a towel, Sadie. There’s no individual identifier. Here at Camp Kwenback, we just figure out how many have gone missing by the end of the season, and then we order a bunch from a company in Rochester that does the embroidery.”

  Rochester. Sadie frowned. She didn’t realize there could be another place that this towel might have come from.

  “Every year,” Riley continued, “we lose some in the wash, we throw the stained ones out, and many a guest has left with a towel or two in their luggage, either unintentionally or as souvenirs.” She waved a hand around the room. “Maybe if my grandparents had searched luggage routinely all those years ago, we could have saved enough in the budget to buy new couches.”

  Suddenly Sadie imagined the crowds of people who’d used those towels—lodgers, Riley’s family, friends, employees—and others, too, maybe a whole factory in Rochester. She had assumed that the towel meant something. Now she wondered if the towel was just a piece of cloth that a nurse had grabbed out of a lost-and-found box.

  A shadow fell over her and Sadie realized that Riley had stood up.

  Riley asked, “Is there someone I could call?”

  “Nope.”

  “A friend, family?”

  Sadie tightened her jaw so she wouldn’t say too much. She probably should just make up a story about her parents camping in the woods. She could tell Riley she’d head back once the rain stopped. Then she could hike into the woods until Riley couldn’t see her anymore, then circle around and set up camp in the farthest cabin. She needed to sleep but most of all she needed to think.

  But the words wouldn’t come. She felt odd, light-headed, sort of nauseous, like she’d drunk the hot chocolate and eaten the grilled cheese too fast. And it was weird having Riley standing right in front of her, smelling like vanilla and sugar.

  Riley said, “The rain is likely to continue for a while. I’ve got a bunch of empty rooms upstairs. I’ve always found that everything looks better after a hot bath and a good night’s sleep. You want to stay for the night?”

  Sadie began to tremble. It felt like months, not weeks, since she lay her head down in her own room and fell asleep to the rumble of cars passing on the street outside. She could imagine the inn’s bed, a real one, not the rain-slick, moldy, plastic-covered mattresses in the last cabin. A bed with a soft pillow under her head instead of her lumpy backpack. Clean sheets in a warm room with no blackflies or mosquitos.

  But there was danger in falling asleep. She might wake up to find the police waiting for her.

  “The room is free for weather refugees,” Riley said, winking. “Besides, I suspect you could use the sleep. Believe it or not, I know exactly how you feel right now.”

  Sadie turned her face away. She’d heard words like that all her life, from social workers, teachers, and the principal at her school. She never understood why people said such things when they couldn’t possibly know.

  “Three years ago,” Riley continued, “I asked someone a question very similar to yours, except I was too scared to do it in person.”

  Sadie looked up, confused.

  “Yes.” Riley pulled a little smile. “I was adopted, too.”

  Chapter Three

  Tess took two steps inside Camp Kwenback, then stumbled to a stop like she’d tripped through time. Sunset flooded through the sliding back doors to gleam on the wooden floor. She glanced at the hearth, glowing with a dying fire. She saw that old toothless bear—Bob—perched upright, its once-patchy belly now completely devoid of hair. She arched her neck to let her gaze roam over the high ceiling, the dark pine knots arranged in the same constellation she remembered so well, memorized after long hours lying on those plaid couches.

  She breathed in a long, deep breath, closed her eyes, and sent up thanks that her one and only Pine Lake sanctuary still existed.

  Then she heard footsteps and her throat closed up. She imagined that they belonged to old Mary Cross bustling across the room and Bud shuffling behind her, sporting his usual red plaid LL Bean shirt—summer or winter—smiling behind his Coke-bottle glasses as he greeted her.

  But when she opened her eyes what Tess saw instead was a woman her own age striding across the room from the kitchen, drying her hands on a dishtowel.

  “Riley Cross.” Tess felt a low, swooping sense of relief to see a familiar face—a rare, friendly one. “I should have known you’d end up here.”

  Riley’s hair was shorter, curlier, wilder than the last time she’d seen her, but otherwise she was the same pink-cheeked, outdoorsy woman who’d been in most of Tess’s classes at Pine Lake High. Riley could have waltzed into any greasy spoon trucker stop and Tess would have recognized her. But as Riley’s steps faltered and the curiosity in her eyes intensified, Tess realized she herself might not be so easy to pin. Her boyish cut was Swedish blond now, not gothic black, and she sported a heck of a lot more tattoos. Tess figured she’d also put on a hell of a lot more life miles, and those probably showed in her face.

  “Theresa?” Riley lifted her hand to her mouth. “Theresa Hendrick?”

  “Tess,” she corrected. She’d dumped the name Theresa the day she ran away from Pine Lake. “Everyone calls me Tess now.”

  “Oh. My. God.” Riley slapped the dishtowel over her shoulder and, in one step, enveloped her in a hug. Tess stiffened at the shock of human contact. She spent most of her days alone in an eighteen-wheeler. For self-preservation’s sake, she avoided human contact in the trucker’s man camps. This might be as close as she’d been to another human being since she’d walked out on her husband two years ago.

  Riley pulled back, gripping her by the shoulders. “I can’t believe Theresa—Tess—is standing in front of me after all these years.”

  “Imagine. I survived.”

  “You look good, you look fit.”

  “Comes with being gainfully employed.”

  Well, she had been gainfully employed until five days ago. That’s when she told her boss—who knew Tess had no family—that she had to take time off for family. She’d left his trailer to the sound of shouted curses.

  Riley tapped Tess’s left bicep. “That’s a new one. I like it. Looks like a pheasant’s wing.”

  Tess glanced at her tatted arm, a sleeve of overlapping feathers in black, burnt sienna, and rose, a tattoo chosen when what she most wanted to do was fly away.

  “Pheasants are lovely,” Riley ventured. “They’re game birds.”

  “Then they’re always an easy target.”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “I chose well then.” Tess nodded to the great room beyond Riley’s shoulder. “I see you’ve won the Cross family lottery.”

  “Yup, I’m sole proprietor now.”

  “I love that you’ve kept up that late seventies vibe.”

  “I prefer ‘shabby chic.’” Riley turned around and eyeballed everything. “If I wait a couple of years, I can upgrade to ‘vintage.’”

  “One more rub for luck and Bob’s intestines are going to spill all over the hearth.”

  “Think of the Halloween possibilities.”

  “And Bud and Mary?”

  Riley paused a moment, and the face she turned to Tess was full of apology. “Two years ago. It happened pretty quickly. They died within three weeks of each other.”

  So long ago and yet not so long ago. Tess tightened her grip on the strap of her overnight rucksack, trying to ignore the sharp, stabbing sensation in the middle of her chest. Of course Bud and Mary were gone. They’d sheltered her here th
ree separate times, and they’d been in their seventies then. She’d always meant to send flowers, a note, to call and say thank you. Like all good intentions, they had a way of passing her by.

  “Good people, your grandparents.” Tess cleared her throat. “They always said they’d leave the place to you.”

  Riley raised her brows. “Did they really?”

  “I heard them talking about it once when I slept in that back room by the kitchen. They spent a long time debating whether it would be the right move.”

  “Well, that would be news to my siblings and cousins. My grandparent’s decision came as a shock to the whole family. Every one of them had been salivating, expecting a piece of the camp pie. That is until—” The bell over the front door jangled, and Riley’s face paled. “Oh, Mom. There you are.”

  At the realization that Riley’s mother, Mrs. Margaret “Don’t Call Me Meg” Cross, was walking through the front door, a rush of heat flushed through Tess until even her fingers and toes prickled. She’d known that sooner or later she’d have to face one or another purse-wielding scion of old Pine Lake. She’d just hoped it would be later, when somehow, miraculously, she’d be more prepared.

  Now she turned to face the authority figure who’d been the only sour face at Camp Kwenback during Tess’s visits. Everything about Mrs. Cross was sharp: the creases in her capris, the part of her blond hair, the click of her heels, and her opinions. When Bud and Mary first took Tess in as a runaway during the height of the summer season, Margaret Cross had a lot of strong opinions about Tess’s petty rebellions, minor infractions, and juvenile delinquency. Margaret Cross didn’t like teenage girls who left their mothers—even if it was only for a few weeks at a time—even if that mother was an unrepentant alcoholic.

  Tess stifled the urge to toss her head so her bangs fell across eyes, but she just couldn’t stop the resurgence of the old attitude.

  “Hey, Meg,” Tess said. “How ya doing?”

  Mrs. Cross raised her head from her phone. And there it was—the shocked, horrified expression Tess had expected to slam up against over and over in Pine Lake, now that she’d mustered the guts to come back.

  “Theresa Hendrick.” Mrs. Cross blinked, struggling to bring her features under control. “What a surprise.”

  “Yes, it’s been a long time. How are the Daughters of Old Pine Lake, Meg? Is that venerable association still strong?”

  “Of course. We have a charity golf event coming up.”

  “I’ll be sure to remind my mother to put it on her calendar.”

  Tess watched consternation twitch across Margaret Cross’s features at the idea of inviting the infamous Mrs. Hendrick of Cannery Row to one of the DOPL’s events.

  “I just arrived to ask Riley,” Tess said, turning back to the registration desk, “if there’s any chance one of the cabins is available for rent.”

  “Ha!” Riley rounded the reservation desk. “Only if you want to sleep with raccoons.”

  “I’ve slept with worse.”

  “I haven’t rented out the cabins in a decade. Now they’re only good for nesting sparrows.”

  “It’s better than the back of my cab, I bet. I just need a place to lie low for a while. You know, from the FBI.”

  Tess winked at Riley, who dropped her face to hide her smile. Tess just couldn’t help herself. Really, it was like riding a bicycle.

  “Forget the cabins.” Riley pecked at the keyboard of her computer. “We have plenty of rooms available here in the main lodge.”

  “Good. For safety’s sake, I’ll keep the weapons, the drugs, and the body in my trunk. Is it a smoking room?”

  “Alas, no.”

  “I guess I’ll just have to smoke on the porch.” Tess glanced over her shoulder. “Maybe you’ll join me, Meg. I’ve got some serious Jamaican ganja.”

  “The Jamaican blend is too harsh for me,” Mrs. Cross said. “I prefer Mango Kush.”

  Tess blinked.

  Riley sighed. “Really, Mom?”

  “Really what? You’re both adults now; I can make those jokes.” Mrs. Cross didn’t bat a lash. “Now, Riley, while you’re renting rooms don’t forget you have the whole Milton family coming in next week.”

  “In three weeks, and it’s all here in the computer.”

  “What about Mrs. Clancy?”

  “She just arrived this morning. She’s napping in her room right now, all worn out from the drive.”

  “And don’t forget the Jeffreys, too—”

  “They canceled. Mrs. Jeffrey had to have emergency gallbladder surgery.”

  “Mmm. I’ll send a card.” Mrs. Cross granted Tess a curious smile. “So, Theresa, I assume you’ve come back to Pine Lake to visit your mother?”

  “Of course.”

  The lie felt numb as it slipped across her tongue. It’d be a cold day in hell before she ever spoke to her mother again.

  “Mom,” Riley said, “why don’t you get yourself a cup of coffee in the kitchen? I’ll join you once I take care of our guest.”

  “You’re getting so bossy in your old age, Riley.” Margaret extended a hand to Tess and leaned in, giving her a perfect hospitality voice. “Pleasure to see you again, Theresa.”

  I doubt it. “Send my regards to the other Daughters, would you?”

  “Indeed I will.”

  Mrs. Cross’s heels clicked across the pine wood floors as she headed toward the kitchen, thumbs flying across her phone.

  Once her mother was out of earshot, Riley said, “She wasn’t kidding about the Mango Kush.” Riley swirled the mouse in little circles on the desk. “A good friend of hers has a card for medicinal marijuana. The closest dispensary is in New Jersey so Mom takes her down to buy it. Mom thinks she’s an expert now.”

  “I’m more concerned that your mother is now alerting every shopkeeper, waitress, and cop in Pine Lake that Three-Tat-Terry is back in town.”

  “You must have known your return was likely to cause a splash.”

  “Somehow,” Tess said, “I’d hoped Camp Kwenback could keep this secret, like it did once or twice before.”

  Tess couldn’t quite meet Riley’s eyes. The first time Tess chose to run away from home, Riley had been spending the summer here, too. Since they were of an age, they’d spent a lot of time together, roaming the woods, canoeing, climbing the big net between the oaks. But come school time, Tess had grown wary that Riley would whisper to her girlfriends all the gossip Tess had shared about the dysfunctional Hendrick family.

  But Riley had never said a word. Which is why Tess had made a beeline here today, seeking a safe place to hide from the rest of Pine Lake.

  “So, Tess,” Riley said, lit by the blue glow of the screen, “how many days are you planning to stay?”

  “Three, four. It depends.”

  “I can give you the friends-and-family rate.”

  “Sounds dangerous. Don’t you have, like, twenty-seven cousins?”

  “Only if you include the second cousins.” Riley checked a ledger on her desk. “I used that rate for a bunch of Pine Lake girls who came here last August for a mini-reunion.”

  Mini-reunion. Tess swallowed the urge to laugh. Mini-reunions must be what people do when they have happy memories of childhood.

  “It was an impromptu thing,” Riley continued. “Jenna Hogan and Nicole Eriksen drove Claire Petrenko clear across the country to meet a bunch of us here. Claire had been diagnosed with breast cancer, did you know that?”

  Tess shook her head. She’d liked Claire Petrenko once, before Claire started to make Tess feel like her star charity case.

  “Claire’s doing great now. She finished chemo. She’s involved in some clinical trial out in Oregon. The reason I mentioned it,” Riley ventured, “is that your name came up quite a few times over the weekend.”

  “I’d have been disappointed if it didn’t.”

  “Jenna, Nicole, and Claire went looking for you in Kansas or Oklahoma or someplace like that.”

  “Oh?” />
  “Yeah, they drove, like, six hundred miles out of their way to stop by your house, but you weren’t there anymore.”

  Tess’s ribs tightened. That’s Claire Petrenko. That woman never could give up a lost cause. She wondered what Claire had thought when she came upon the burned-out farmhouse that used to be Tess’s home.

  “I guess I was back in North Dakota by then.” Tess rubbed the spot under her eye socket where the headaches always started. She’d spent the night in some anonymous hotel by the side of the road as the cop had recommended, but a restless night’s sleep on a lumpy mattress wasn’t helping her deal with this memory lane overload. “If you’ve got a room, Riley, I really need to crash.”

  “I’ve given you the corner room. Right near the fire escape. Just in case the FBI comes knocking.” Riley gave her a wink as she placed the key on the counter. “Just as a reminder, we still serve continental breakfast here in the main lodge between six and ten a.m., though you can always brew a pot of coffee in the kitchen if you sleep in. The rooms are straight up the stairs, the last door on the left. But you know all this already.”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “Good. Now I’d better go talk to my mother.” Riley slipped out from behind the registration desk. “It’s never a good thing to keep General Cross waiting.”

  Riley made her way to the kitchen. Tess grabbed the key, and then her gaze fell upon a teak bowl just behind the reception counter.

  A bowl overflowing with origami cranes.

  Once Tess had been cruising in her eighteen-wheeler on Interstate 94, her thumb on the splitter, her forefinger on the high/low, working the shifting of gears like she was part of the machine, feeling like she was flying—until ahead a car spun out on a slick of oil. She slammed on the brakes, forgetting for that crucial split second that she was driving without a trailer, thousands of pounds lighter than if she were hauling. Only the strap of her seat belt kept her from careening around the cabin as the rig screamed and bounced and missed by a hair a harsh roll on the grassy berm.

  Now, staring at the origami, Tess braced herself for the cold wash of terror. She blinked and blinked and blinked but she couldn’t make the evidence disappear before her eyes.