Pine Cottage.
Hearing it conjured up images of dwarfs and princesses and woodland creatures eager to help with chores. But as Craig’s SUV bucked along the gravel drive and the place finally came into view, Quincy knew that her imagination had let her down. The reality of the place was far less fanciful.
On the outside, Pine Cottage appeared squat, sturdy and bluntly utilitarian. Only slightly more elaborate than something that could be built with Lincoln Logs. It sat among a cluster of tall pines that towered over the slate roof, making the place look smaller than it actually was. Huddled together with their branches intertwined, the trees surrounded the cabin in a thick wall, beyond which sat more trees, spreading outward in silent blackness.
A dark forest. That was the fairy tale Quincy had been looking for, only it was more Brothers Grimm than Disney. When she stepped out of the SUV and peered into the tangled thicket, an unwelcome tickle of apprehension flitted over her.
“So this is what the middle of nowhere looks like,” she announced. “It’s creepy.”
“Scaredy-cat,” Janelle said as she moved behind Quincy, lugging not one but two suitcases.
“Overpacker,” Quincy shot back.
Janelle jutted out her tongue, holding the pose until Quincy realized she was supposed to grab her camera and capture it for posterity. Dutifully, she dug her new Nikon out of its bag and snapped a few shots. She kept on shooting once Janelle broke the pose and tried to lift both of her suitcases, thin arms straining.
“Quin-cee,” she said in that sing-songy voice Quincy knew all too well. “Help me carry these? Pretty please?”
Quincy looped the camera around her neck. “Nope. You’re the one who brought all that stuff. I doubt you’ll even use half of it.”
“But I’m prepared for anything. Isn’t that, like, what the Boy Scouts say?”
“Be prepared,” Craig said, passing them both with a cooler perched on his sturdy shoulders. “And I hope one of the things you packed was the key to this place.”
Janelle jumped at the excuse to ignore her suitcases and searched the pockets of her jeans until she found the key. She then bounded to the front door, giving a smack to the cedar sign that bore the cabin’s name.
“Group portrait?” she suggested.
Quincy set the camera’s timer and placed it on the hood of Craig’s SUV. Then she rushed to join the others in front of the cabin. All six of them held their smiles, waiting for the shutter’s tell-tale click. The East Hall Crew, as Janelle had dubbed them during freshman orientation. Still thick as thieves two months into their sophomore year.
Picture time over, Janelle ceremoniously unlocked the front door.
“What do you think?” she asked as soon as it creaked open, before the rest of them had more than a scant second to take in their surroundings. “It’s cozy, right?”
Quincy agreed, although her idea of coziness wasn’t bearskin on the walls and a well-trod rug tossed over the floor. She would have used the word rustic, with an emphasis on the rust, which ringed the kitchen sink and tinted the water sputtering from the creaky pipes in the only bathroom.
But it was big, as far as cabins went. Four bedrooms. A deck in the back that only shimmied slightly when they stepped onto it. A great room with a fieldstone fireplace roughly the size of the dorm room Janelle and Quincy shared, logs tidily stacked beside it.
The cabin—the whole weekend, actually—was a birthday present for Janelle from her mom and stepdad. They aspired to be the cool parents. The ones who thought of their children as friends. The ones who assumed their college-age daughter was drinking and getting high anyway, so they might as well rent her a cabin in the Poconos to do it all in relative safety. Forty-eight hours free of RAs, dorm food and ID cards that had to be swiped at every door and elevator.
But before it could begin, Janelle ordered them all to place their cell phones inside a small wooden box.
“No calls, no texts, and definitely no pictures or video,” she said before stuffing the box into the SUV’s glove compartment.
“What about my camera?” Quincy asked.
“I’ll allow it. But you can only take flattering pictures of me.”
“Of course,” Quincy said.
“I mean it,” Janelle warned. “If I see anything that goes down this weekend on Facebook I will unfriend you. Online and in real life.”
Then on her mark, all six of them sprinted to the bedrooms, each trying to claim the best one. Amy and Rodney grabbed the one with the waterbed, which sloshed wildly when they threw themselves on top of it. Betz, not having a boyfriend to bring along, dutifully took the room with bunk beds, flopping onto the bottom one with her dictionary-thick copy of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Quincy pulled Janelle into the one with twin beds pressed against opposite walls, just like their dorm room.
“Home sweet home,” Quincy said. “Or at least a close enough approximation.”
“Nice,” Janelle said, the word sounding hollow to Quincy’s ears. “I don’t know, though.”
“We can pick another room. It’s your birthday. You’ve got first choice.”
“You’re right. And I choose—” Janelle grabbed Quincy by the shoulders, lifting her from the lumpy bed. “—to sleep alone.”
She steered Quincy into the hall, toward the room at the end of it. The cabin’s largest, it boasted a bay window with a sweeping view of the woods. Several quilts adorned the walls in homespun kaleidoscopes of fabric. And there, seated on the edge of the king bed, was Craig. He looked at the floor, staring at the space between his Converse high-tops. His hands rested on his lap, fingers laced, thumbs rolling over each other. He looked up when Quincy entered. She noticed a hopeful lift in his shy smile.
“I’m sure this will be much more comfortable,” Janelle said, a wink in her voice. “You two have fun.”
She knocked a hip against Quincy, nudging her deeper into the room. Then she was gone, closing the door behind her and giggling back down the hall.
“It was her idea,” Craig said.
“I assumed that.”
“We don’t have to—”
He stopped, forcing Quincy to fill in the blank. Room together? Sleep together like Janelle so blatantly planned for them to do?
“It’s fine,” she said.
“Quinn, really. If you’re not ready.”
Quincy sat beside him and put a hand on his trembling knee. Craig Anderson, the budding basketball star. Brown-haired, green-eyed, sexily lanky Craig. Out of all the girls on campus, he picked her.
“It’s fine,” she said again, meaning it as much as a nineteen-year-old contemplating the end of her virginity possibly could. “I’m glad.”
CHAPTER 4
Jeff finds me on the sofa with Lisa’s book in my lap and my eyes raw from an afternoon spent crying. When he drops his suitcase and sweeps me into his arms, I lay my head against his chest and weep some more. After two years of living together and two more of dating, he knows not to immediately ask what’s wrong. He simply lets me cry.
It’s only after I’ve soaked his shirt collar with tears that I say, “Lisa Milner killed herself.”
Jeff’s grip around me hardens. “The Lisa Milner?”
“The very one.”
That’s all he needs me to say. The rest he understands.
“Oh, Quinn. Hon, I’m so sorry. When? What happened?”
We settle back onto the sofa and I give Jeff the details. He listens with a heightened interest—a byproduct of his job, which requires him to absorb information before sifting through it.
“How do you feel?” he asks when I’m done talking.
“Fine,” I say. “I’m just shocked. And in mourning. Which is silly, I guess.”
“It’s not,” Jeff says. “You have every right to be upset.”
“Do I? It’s not like Lisa and I ever actually met.”
“That doesn’t matter. You two spoke a lot. She helped you. You were kindred spirits.”
“We were victims,” I say. “That’s the only thing we had in common.”