Page 71 of The Ripple Effect

She shakes her head. “I’m not looking for validation. I’msecure in my choices. What I’m saying is life isn’t fair. I see you watching people. I see you counting what they give you, so you know what to give back. I’m telling you time will steal that from you the way it did for me and Lori. And I don’t mean you’re selfish,” she says, holding up a hand, “but it’s obvious how much that man wants to give you that you won’t take from him because you think it’s going to cost too much. And I won’t even mention your… sister? Cousin? Whatever Sloane is that you two are keeping secret.”

My breath seizes in my chest. Mitch, always watching; me, never dreaming what truths she saw. “I can explain,” I croak desperately.

“You don’t have to explain anything,” she says bluntly, resettling Lori against her shoulder. “You rescued my wife. Cared for her when I wasn’t there. So I owe you one. And we didn’t tell you about her memory, so I owe you two. Your secrets are your business, as far as I’m concerned. But if I put it together, Lori might, too. And she’s never been the type who can keep a secret. So while you’re discussing things with McHuge, you might think about discussing that.”

“Yeah. That’s fair. Thanks, Mitch.” My stomach burns the way it used to when coffee was my midnight breakfast. It’s not that I wish Mitch didn’t know anything—I wish she kneweverything. I wish I could tell everyone at the Love Boat what was going on and be done with the deception and the worry. I’m not built for this life. Even my dad knew I was more of a liability than an asset on a con, or he’d never have let me go.

We pull up at the wide double doors of the emergency department. I make sure Lori gets a wheelchair and gratefully retreat when Mitch says she’d prefer to manage the visit on her own.

I walk to a nearby café, spend six bucks on a large Earl Grey, and settle in to worry about how many of my mistakes are coming home to roost.

Lori’s official discharge diagnosis is early dementia, temporarily aggravated by a change in her environment.

We designed the worst possible activity for her, as it turns out. Unfamiliar forest, strange activity, new partner. She had nothing to ground herself with.

On the rideshare back to camp, we pass the geocaching festival again. A yellow-and-teal van pulls from the parking lot onto the highway, cutting us off.

From the front passenger seat, Alan Fisher turns his head in our direction, his flat expression asserting his inviolable right to rule the road. I don’t think he’d recognize me, but I pull my cap down over my face anyway.

We werejusthere. That’s the third time he’s been where we were on the same day.

Looks like I have another thing to discuss with Lyle tonight.

Chapter Twenty

Back at camp, there are a lot of messy feelings and not a lot of moments to brief Lyle on what Mitch knows.

Campfire turns into an emotional semi-debriefing where Lori shares her diagnosis to hugs and tears from everyone. “But you’ll still be coming on the capstone trip, right?” Willow asks.

All eyes turn to Lyle and me.

“Lori and I need to discuss it first,” Mitch says diplomatically. But since tomorrow’s the last day before the trip, there’s no time to waste.

Trevor and Petra apologize sincerely to Lori, but seem to have hit a rough patch with each other. Petra’s rigid and tight-lipped, while Trevor alternates between imploring whispers of “We couldn’t have known” and fresh bouts of sulking every time she refuses to accept his pleas. Sloane, who’s been pale and silent since seeing Lori hurt, retreats to Sunset Dome, refusing my offer of company.

After campfire, Lyle takes the Mystery Machine to the fallen tree so he can charge his phone while making calls. He’s gonefor hours, trying to put logistical solutions in place for a potentially high-needs guest on a trip with limited access to civilization.

I can’t go with him—not when a client’s recently visited the ER. Alone in the tent, I write pro and con lists and disaster plans in Lyle’s field journal. When he gets back, I’ll tell him everything, and we’ll work the problem together.

I wake at sunrise to find our beds pushed together, Lyle’s arm across my waist. His field notes and pen are neatly arranged under my cot, where he must’ve put them when he found me passed out.

My emotions are still a tangled mess, every instinct on high alert after seeing Fisher at the geocaching festival. I slide out from under his arm to make a morning trek to the groover. On the path, I catch myself scanning for tiny microphones and sun glinting from hidden lenses, feeling only more paranoid when there’s nothing.

When I get back to the tent, Lyle beckons me to the double sleeping bag he’s made by zipping ours together, his half-lidded eyes dark with promise. It feels good when he makes me forget how worried I am about Lori, Brent, the Love Boat. Our secrets.

Afterward he rolls us over so I can sprawl across his chest while he idly traces the lines of my tattoo—wires leading to switches in a spidery motherboard.

“Do you miss lying on top of someone after sex because I’m too small?”

He gives a quiet half laugh, mostly breath. “It’s a little weird to bring up my sexual past one minute after orgasm.”

I lift my head. “Dodging the question, McHugh?”

He sends me a look. “Hardly. And no. I stopped being ableto do that when I was fifteen. It was always kind of awkward at my size.”

“You lost your virginity when you were fifteen?” I kept mine until university. Sneaking around in back seats took time I didn’t have in high school, with classes and work and my mom.

“No.”

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