The morning after a raging college graduation party, we found Lanie Martin lying at the bottom of a ravine, her neck snapped in a fatal fall. And I’m not proud of what came next.
Before we called the police, we covered ourselves. Cleaned up from the blow-out at Ella’s cabin in the Adirondacks the night before. Got our stories straight.
Ella begged me not to tell the police what I saw. She insisted that it was an accident—and we all went along. What did I know? I was plastered that night, and large chunks of that evening are missing for me.
But now, in my postpartum state, memories are starting to return, and I can’t help but feel that they might be connected to the soul crushing depression I’ve been experiencing. Is it guilt? Or do I know more than I think I do?
So when I receive Ella’s invitation for a ten-year reunion at her family camp—a gathering of remembrance and healing, she’s calling it—I know I have to go.