Page 75 of The Last Time I Lied

That line, the appearance of the camera, and Franny’s noticeable lack of support after Mindy accused me of vandalizing my own damn door have left me in a state of deep mistrust. I’m debating whether to walk away when Franny says, “I know you’re still upset about yesterday. With good reason, I suppose. But I hope that doesn’t mean you can’t sit with an old woman looking for a little company.”

She pats the grass next to her—a gesture that squeezes my heart a little. It makes me think I can forgive the camera and her failure to rush to my defense. As for Vivian’s diary, I tell myself that she could have been lying about Franny keeping secrets. Being dramatic for drama’s sake. It was, after all, her forte. Perhaps the diary was just another lie.

I end up brokering a compromise between my suspicious mind and my squishy heart. I sit beside Franny but refuse to engage her in conversation. Right now, it’s the best I can do.

Franny seems to intuit my unspoken rules and doesn’t press me for details about why I’m up so early. She simply talks.

“I have to say, Emma, I’m envious of your swimming ability. I used to spend so much time in that lake. As a girl, you couldn’t get me to leave the water. From sunrise to dusk, I’d be out there paddling away. Not anymore, though. Not after what happened to Douglas.”

She doesn’t need to elaborate. It’s clear she’s referring to Douglas White. Her much-older husband. The man who died years before she adopted Theo and Chet. Another piece of Vivian’s diary snakes into my thoughts.

Don’t you think it’s strange that a dude who almost made it to the Olympics drowned?

I push it away as Franny keeps talking.

“Now that my swimming days are over, I observe,” she says. “Instead of being in the lake, I watch everything going on around it. Gives you a new perspective on things. For instance, this morning I’ve been keeping an eye on that hawk.”

Franny leans back, putting her weight on one arm. The other emerges from her blanket and points to a hawk lazily circling over the lake.

“Looks like an osprey,” she says. “I suspect he sees something he likes in the water. Once, years ago, two peregrine falcons made their nest right outside our living room window at the Harris. Chet was just a boy at the time. My word, was he fascinated by those birds. He’d stare out that window for hours, just watching, waiting for them to hatch. Soon enough, they did. Three eyesses. That’s what falcon chicks are called. They were so small. Like squawking, wriggling cotton balls. Chet was overjoyed. As proud as if they were his own. It didn’t last long. Nature can disappoint as easily as it entrances. This was no exception.”

The osprey overhead suddenly dives toward the lake and, wings spread wide, slices its feet through the water. When it rises again, there’s a fish gripped in its talons, unable to escape no matter howmuch it wriggles and flops. The osprey swoops away, heading to the far side of the lake, where it can eat in peace.

“Why did you reopen the camp?”

I blurt it out, surprising even myself. But Franny was expecting it. Or at least a question similar to it. She pauses long enough to take a breath before replying, “Because it was time, Emma. Fifteen years is too long for a place to stay empty.”

“Then why didn’t you do it sooner?”

“I didn’t think I was ready, even though the camp was right here waiting for me.”

“What convinced you that you were?”

This time, there’s no pat answer at the ready. Franny thinks it over, her eyes on the lake, jaw working. Eventually, she says, “I’m about to tell you something, Emma. Something personal that very few people know. You must promise not to tell another soul.”

“I promise,” I say. “I won’t say a word.”

“Emma, I’m dying.”

My heart feels squeezed again. Harder this time. Like it, too, has been scooped up by that osprey.

“Ovarian cancer,” Franny says. “Stage four. The doctors gave me eight months. That was four months ago. I’m sure you can do the math.”

“But there must be something you can do to fight it.”

The implication is clear. She’s worth millions. Certainly someone with that much money can seek out the best treatment. Yet Franny gives a sad shake of her head and says, “It’s too late for all that fuss now. The cancer’s spread too far. Any treatment would only be a way of delaying the inevitable.”

I’m stunned by her calmness, her serene acceptance. I’m the exact opposite. My breath comes in short bursts. Tears burn the corners of my eyes, and I hold back a sniffle. Like Vivian, I now know one of Franny’s secrets. Only it’s not dirty. It’s sad and makes me think of that sundial hidden away in the forest. That last hour truly does kill.

“I’m so sorry, Franny. Truly I am.”

She pats my knee the way my grandmother used to. “Don’t you dare feel sorry for me. I understand how fortunate I am. I’ve lived a long life, Emma. A good one. And that should be enough. It is, really. But there’s one thing in my life that wasn’t fortunate.”

“What happened here,” I say.

“It’s troubled me more than I let Theo and Chet know,” Franny says.

“What do you think happened to them? To Vivian and the others?”

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