Prologue

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ONE WEEK AGO

Her   phone  never  rang  after  ten. The  world  might  still  be  churning outside,

but in  the   little  white  house  at  the  end of  a  winding  brick   path,  everything 

stopped  as  soon  as the  clock  ticked  past  nine.  So,  when  her  phone  started

ringing  at  almost  midnight, it  took  Sandra  a  few  seconds  to  process  the

sound. It seemed to  ring from  a  far  distance,  somewhere  she  wouldn't  be

able to find it. But as the  fog  of  sleep  dissipated,  it  sounded  stronger  and

louder,  finally leading her to  snatch  it   from   the  bedside  table  where  she
 
left it when she toppled into the sheets hours before.

        "Yes?"  she   muttered,  rubbing  away  the  sting  in   her  eyes  with  her

fingertips.
       "Mrs. Brooks?" a voice asked.

        "It's  Ms."

         The correction was a reflex. Four  years  after  her  bitter  divorce,  Sandra

still  felt  like  she  was  fighting  to  reclaim  herself.  People   always   assumed

she  was  still  attached  to  him.  The  'r'  was  implied,  a  given  to  most  people 

who   wrote   to    her.   It  was  just  a  letter.  Just  one  tiny   letter.  But  it made

so much of an  impact.  Even  in  her   almost-sleep,  she  snapped  back against

it even before she could fully  process  the  voice   speaking  to  her.  It  sounded

familiar in that  distant  kind  of  way  that  she  knew   she'd  heard  it before, but

no face formed in her thoughts.

       "Yes?" she repeated.

       "This is Troy Macmillan, from Twin Rivers Camp."

         The  mention   of   the    summer    camp   she   sent   her    daughter   to    just   three

days  before    snapped   her   awake.  Sitting    up     against    the     headboard,    Sandra

turned   on     the    lamp     beside    her    and    squinted     at     the     sharp     pain    the

  bright light cut through her eyes.

      "What's wrong? Is Alice homesick? Let me speak to her," she said.

         It   was   the   first   time   she    let    her    daughter     go     away     from     home    for

more  than  a     few   hours.    At   ten    years   old,   she    hadn't   even   had   a    sleepover  

with  a    friend   from   school.   She   preferred     to    be    at     home,    to    lose     herself

   in   her    world   of    books   and   dolls,   her    pets   and   her     mother.    This    summer

was  meant   to    be    different.   Sandra   saw   glimpses   of   change     in     her    daughter,

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