I reach over and squeeze Ashley’s hand. “Don’t worry. We’ll find him.” Even if I have to go to Kyle’s condo and drag the address out of him myself.

“How could Kyle not tell us? I just don’t understand!” Tears run down her cheeks. They’re far from the first ones to escape since I broke the news about Eric to her last night. “How could we not have heard about it?”

I’ve been playing the same question over and over in my mind. “You know how it was back then. It was all Wawa, all the time, until you left and didn’t see anyone for a year. Eric was all the way in Erie . . . and social media wasn’t what it is today. I didn’t even have a Facebook account until, like, a year later.” And then it was all about keeping in touch with high school friends as I was heading off to college, and then adding college friends. Camp Wawa was a bittersweet memory by that point, one I was trying to move on from. Eric left and never came back, never reached out to anyone—not even Ashley; eventually he became that wild story about the guy who tumbled drunk down a steep hill at Wawa one summer but was okay the last anyone heard, a funny guy for people to remember fondly as everyone moved on with their lives.

A friend we lost track of.

“I found Avery online a few years ago,” Ashley admits. “Mainly because I was hoping she had heard from Eric. It didn’t sound like she knew what happened, either.” She pauses. “Do you think Darian knew?”

“Probably. She was the camp director. But I doubt the owners wanted anyone talking about underage counselors drinking and getting seriously hurt. It’s bad for business.”

But Kyle knew. Every time a mention of Eric came up, he was ducking his head or frowning, or otherwise shifting the topic away from telling me the truth. Was it because he couldn’t bring himself to tell me? Because he still felt guilty for his part in how badly things turned out that day for Eric? Or because he didn’t want to admit that he’d tracked my father down and asked him for more money?

For Eric, though. Not for himself. If he were a true extortionist as my dad accused him of being, he likely would have been lining his pockets for the past thirteen years.

But why couldn’t he have just told me all this from the start? It didn’t have to go this way.

Now . . . I just feel sick about the whole thing.

“When your dad said Eric was going to be okay, I just believed it.”

“Of course you did.” So did I. And then I was too distraught over Kyle to worry about much else except putting Wawa behind me.

“And then he never answered my texts or emails and I just assumed he was being Eric. But I should have tried harder to find him. God, this is so messed up. I feel so guilty!” Ashley rubs her cheeks dry with her palms. “I need to know how bad it is.”

“Me, too.” My gut tells me it isn’t good. I was too much in shock last night to push for details. I’ve reached for my phone a dozen times, to call Kyle—to demand information. But I find myself stalling each time, afraid I’ll break down in tears at the sound of his voice.

And this kind of conversation . . . it can’t happen via text.

The patio door opens and Christa walks out, her eyes wide.

Behind her is my father, as stern-faced as ever.

I sigh. I guess turning my phone off doesn’t mean I get to avoid him for an entire day. At least I’ve required him to come to me.

“Hi, Mr. Calloway.” Ashley forces a polite tone in greeting before leaving her seat to dart inside. She still addresses my parents formally, no matter how many times I’ve told her to stop.

“Marcelle has done a good job.” His gaze roams the space.

I frown. “How did you . . . Oh, yeah.” Mom no doubt told him. That’s a whole other conversation to be had, for another day. Thirteen years of hell—an ugly divorce, the fights, the tension, the emotional strain on me—only to find out my parents are secretly dating again.

I’m going to need a therapist after this.

Shrugging off his suit jacket and laying it tidily across the back of the chair Ashley just vacated, he takes a seat. He frowns at Elton, who, surprisingly, didn’t bolt the minute Christa showed up. “Have you phoned Gary yet to let him know we’d like to proceed with the Marquee?”

“Yes,” I answer curtly.

“And I assume he’s happy?”

“Yes.”

He sighs heavily. One-word answers drive him insane. “I received a delivery this afternoon.”

“Okay . . .”

“From Kyle. Twenty-five thousand dollars cash, in a navy-blue duffel bag. Half of the money he accepted from me thirteen years ago.”

I should feel anger, but all I feel is my heart aching at the sound of his name. “He was at our office? Today?” When I came in this morning, Gus informed me with big brown concerned eyes that Kyle would be taking a personal leave until a more suitable building placement could be found for him.

“I would think so. To the lobby, anyway. Gus hand-delivered the money to me. There was a letter with it, saying that he’s trying to get a bank loan for the other half of the fifty.”

“That’ll take him forever to pay off.” And he’s been saving his money for so long.

“Perhaps.” Dad’s phone chirps in his pocket, but—shockingly—he doesn’t reach for it.

“Why are you telling me this?”

Dad pauses, as if considering my question. “It surprised me. That he would bother paying it back. Some might call it a respectable act.”

“Oh, so what are you saying? That you like Kyle now?”

“Far from that.” Dad snorts. “Paying me back fifty grand to try to get back into your good graces that are worth a thousand times more would be a smart move, and he’s not a stupid guy.”

“And that’s what you assume he’s doing? That he can’t possibly just be in love with me for me?” Maybe that’s what hurts most about all this—the thought that Kyle has been manipulating me all along. That I bought everything he was selling to me like a love-struck fool.

Dad’s eyes wander over the evening horizon—a sky painted with pale pinks and golden yellows and hints of mauve, the promise of another hot summer day tomorrow. “No, I’m quite certain that is not the case,” he admits with reluctance, then sighs. “He was just a nervous boy, that day Greta put him through to my office line, when he was looking for money to help his friend’s family. I could hear the shake in his voice.” He smirks. “But the kid had guts, I’ll give him that.” The smirk falls off as quickly as it came. “And maybe I should have handled things differently. But I was shocked at first, that the little shit would have the balls to contact me. And angry. I assumed it was a shakedown. That’s why I told him off instead of listening. And then, when he brought you into it, when he threatened to reach out to you if I didn’t pay . . . well, I lost my temper. You were already going through enough, with the divorce. You seemed to be on the cusp of finally getting over that summer, going out with friends again. I didn’t want him back in your life. I wanted that messy summer over with. That’s why I agreed to help the Vetter family out, on the condition that he disappeared from our lives for good. And I didn’t ever want to see him again.” My dad’s lips twist with disdain. “And then the bastard shows up on my doorstep holding your hand last night. Imagine my surprise over that. What a set of balls.”