Page 17 of This is Why We Lied

He studied the images as he walked. The sprawling house at the bottom of the lasso looked central to the property. He assumed the smaller houses were the cottages. Each was numbered one through ten. An octagonal building served as the dining hall, judging by the plate and silverware drawn beside it. Another trail led to a waterfall with clusters of fish jumping through the air. Another had an equipment shed with canoes. Yet another trail meandered toward a boathouse. The lake was shaped like a snowman leaning against a wall. The head was apparently the area for swimming. There was a floating dock. What looked like a scenic viewpoint had a bench overlooking the vista.

Will noted with interest that there was only one access road, which ended near the main house. He assumed the road crossed the creek somewhere near the footbridge and wound its way down into town. The family wasn’t carrying in supplies on their backs. A place this size would need bulk deliveries and a way to get staff in and out. Plus water and electricity. He assumed the landline was buried. No one wanted to get trapped inside an Agatha Christie novel.

“Damn,” Drew said. “Never gets old.”

Will looked up. They had entered the clearing. The main house was a hodge-podge of bad architecture. The second story looked slapped on. The ground floor had brick on one side and clapboard on the other. There seemed to be two main entrances, one at the front and one at the side. A third, smaller set of stairs went up the back, along with a wheelchair ramp. A spacious, wrap-around porch was doing its best to lend some architectural cohesion, but there was no explanation for the mismatched windows. Some of the more narrow slits reminded Will of the cells inside the Fulton County Jail.

An outdoorsy-looking woman with blonde hair tightly tied behind her head stood at the bottom of the side porch stairs. She was dressed in cargo shorts and a white button-down shirt with lavender-colored Nikes. The table beside her held an array of snacks, cups of water, and glasses of champagne. Will checked behind him to make sure Monica was still there. She’d come alive at the sight of the table. She passed Will at the home stretch, grabbed a glass of champagne and downed it in one gulp.

“I’m Mercy McAlpine, the manager of the McAlpine Family Lodge,” the outdoorsy woman told the group. “Three generations of McAlpines live here on the property. We all wanna welcome you to our home. If I could have your attention for a moment, I’ll quickly run through a few of the rules and some safety information, then I’ll get to the fun parts.”

Predictably, Sara stood at the front, listening intently like the beautiful nerd she was. Frank stayed glued to her side. Keisha and Drew hung back with Will like the bad kids in class. Monica took another glass of champagne and sat on the bottom stair. A muscular-looking cat rubbed against her leg. Will saw a second cat fall over onto the ground and roll on its back. He guessed the app developers, Landry and Gordon, had already gone through the orientation and were blissfully alone.

“In the unlikely event of an emergency—a fire, or dangerous weather—you’ll hear us clanging on this bell.” Mercy pointed to a large bell hanging on a post. “If you hear the bell, we ask you to stage at the parking pad on the other side of the house.”

Will alternated between brownie bites and potato chips as Mercy detailed the evacuation plan. Then it started to feel too much like a briefing at work, so he tuned out her voice and looked around the compound. It reminded him of college campuses he’d seen on television. Ceramic pots overflowed with flowers. There were park benches and grassy areas and pavers where he imagined the cats enjoyed the sun.

Eight cottages were nestled inside their own little garden areas around the main house. Will guessed the other two were on the back end of the lasso. Which meant that the family probably lived together in the main house. Will assumed from the size that there were at least six bedrooms on the top floor. He couldn’t imagine choosing to live on top of people like that. Then again, Sara’s sister lived one floor below her condo, so maybe Will was thinking too much of the Atlanta Children’s Home and not enough of the Waltons.

“Now,” Mercy said. “The fun part.”

She started passing around folders. Three couples, three sets. Sara eagerly flipped hers open. She loved an informational packet. Will felt his attention being pulled back toward Mercy as she ran through how the activities worked, where they were supposed to meet, what equipment would be provided. Her face was unremarkable but for the long scar that ran from her forehead, over her eyelid, down the side of her nose, then took a sharp turn toward her jaw line.

Will was well versed in the scars that came from violence. A fist or shoe couldn’t be that precise. The blade of a knife couldn’t be that straight. A baseball bat could cause a linear wound, but the scar tended to be rippled at the deepest point of impact. If Will had to guess, a piece of sharp metal or glass had caused the damage. That meant either an industrial accident or something involving a car.

“Cottage assignments.” Mercy looked down at her clipboard. “Sara and Will are at the end of the lane in number ten. My son, Jon, will show you the way.”

Mercy turned toward the house, a warm smile softening her face. The affection was lost on the kid, who slowly walked down the porch stairs. He looked to be around sixteen and had the kind of hard muscle that teenage boys packed on simply by existing. Will noted the slow once-over Jon gave Sara. Then the kid brushed back his curly hair and showed her a set of straight white teeth.

“Hi there.” Jon walked straight past Frank and focused all of his charm on Sara. “Did you enjoy the hike in?”

“I did, thank you.” Sara had always been good with kids, but she was missing the fact that this kid was not looking at her like a kid. “You’re a McAlpine, too?”

“Guilty. Third generation living on the mountain.” He ran his fingers through his hair again. Maybe he needed a comb. “You can call me Jon. I hope you enjoy your stay on the property.”

“Jon.” Will stepped in front of Frank. “I’m Will. Sara’s husband.”

The kid had to crane his neck to look up at Will, but the important part was that he got the message. “This way, sir.”

Will gave the hand-drawn map back to Drew, who offered a nod of approval. Not a bad way to start the week. Will had married a beautiful woman. He’d climbed a mountain. He’d made Sara happy. He had intimidated a thirsty teenager.

Jon took them across the compound. He had a goofy way of walking, like he was still learning how to use his body. Will could remember what that felt like, not knowing one day to the next whether you were going to wake up with a mustache or your voice cracking like a tween girl’s. He would not go back to that time for all of the money in the world.

They picked up the lasso trail between cottages five and six. The ground was lined with crushed stone. One of the cats darted into the underbrush, probably going after a chipmunk. Will was glad to see that low voltage lighting would help them navigate at night. Darkness in the woods was not the same as darkness in the city. The tree canopy was tight over their heads. He could feel the temperature drop as Jon pulled ahead of them. The terrain started to slope down gradually. Someone had trimmed back the vines and branches around the path, but Will had the feeling of going deep into the forest.

“This is called the Loop Trail.” Sara had opened the folder to the map. She had slowed her pace, putting more distance between them and Jon. “Two circles around is roughly one mile. We’re on the top half. We can explore the bottom half when we go for supper. We’ll probably need ten or fifteen minutes to get to the dining hall.”

Will’s stomach rumbled.

She flipped the page to the calendar. She looked up at Will in surprise. “You signed both of us up for morning yoga.”

“I figured I’d give it a try.” Will figured he would look like an ass. “Your sister said you love fishing.”

“My sister is right. I haven’t been since I moved to Atlanta.” She traced her finger across the days. “White water rafting. Mountain biking. I don’t see where you signed up for a pissing contest with a teenager.”

Will fought a grin. “I think they comp the first one.”

“Good. I’d hate for you to pay for a second one.”

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