Chapter 2 - The Notebook and the Note
It was a notebook. Small, cheap, the cover soft and curling at the corners. My handwriting filled the pages.
Every chore. Every order. Every ugly thing Marlene had said to me over the last two days. I'd written all of it down.
But that wasn't what had drained the color from her face.
Tucked inside the front cover was a folded piece of paper. My dad's handwriting.
Marlene. I set up a camera at the campsite before you left. I've seen everything. We'll talk when you get home.
The fire popped. Nobody said a word.
"Oh my God," Bev whispered.
Marlene's hands were shaking. "He's bluffing."
Her voice didn't sound sure of anything.
"Is he?" one of the other women said, very quietly. She was already gathering her jacket.
Marlene spun toward me. "You told him. You set this up with him."
"I didn't tell him anything."
Which was true. I hadn't said one word to my dad about this trip. Which meant he'd figured it out on his own.
She looked down at the note again. Then at the notebook. Then at me.
And for the first time that whole weekend, Marlene had nothing to say.
May you like
But what waited for us at home — what my dad had actually seen, and what Marlene decided to do about it — none of us were ready for that.
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