At least, that’s what I thought he was thinking, at the time.
I didn’t start to put it together until a few weeks after that, when Bear discovered that Daniel had also been lying to everyone.
We had just come back from Agloe, six adults plus you unwisely crammed into one car since Wally had the other, but County Road 206 was never busy, so the chance of an accident was low.
Everyone was exhausted and hoping that Wally had beat us home and started dinner. When we saw the other car in the driveway, we let out a weak, rejoicing cry. Romi and I carried the group’s papers and drafts up the steps to the door, while Eve helped Tam and Daniel coax you out of the car.
“I’ll be right back,” Bear said, jogging down the driveway. “Going to check the mail.”
“He’s becoming obsessed with the mail,” Romi said to me as we knocked, waiting for Wally to let us in.
“It’s his family’s house,” I shrugged, though it was true, Bear seemed to check the mail more and more often the longer we were there—sometimes more than once a day, as if he’d forgotten he’d already looked, or couldn’t help himself—but I didn’t think much of it. I had far worse things to worry about. “He probably feels responsible to maintain it while we’re all here.”
“It’s kind of weird such an out-of-the-way vacation house that no one regularly lives in gets so much mail in the first place, isn’t it?” she asked. She raised her voice as Bear started back toward the house, flipping through the envelopes he’d gathered. “Anything good?”
Bear shrugged. “Just ads!” he yelled back.
“There all of you are,” Wally said behind us, opening the door. “It’s getting late.”
“Please tell me you started dinner,” Tam said to him as she, you, Daniel, and Eve joined us on the porch.
But Wally wasn’t looking at us anymore. “Bear, what’s wrong?” he asked.
Bear had stalled right before the steps. He was staring down at the pile in his hands—whatever letter was on top had caught his eye.
“Bear?” Romi echoed.
Bear finally looked up. He lifted the envelope and turned it toward us.
“What’s this?” he asked.
I could barely make out the wording on the front in the dying light.
Professor Johansson
University of Wisconsin
Science Hall, Room 346
550 N Park St
Madison, WI 53706
And in the upper left corner where the return address, to this house, was written—Daniel’s name was there as the sender.
Tam turned to him. We all did.
“Did you . . . ,” she tried to say.
Daniel had told Professor Johansson about the town.
“But why?” Wally asked.
“I thought he could help!” he cried. “The further we get with this project, the more we disagree! You’ve found nothing in any of the research out there, Bear and I can’t make sense of the town from the inside, Francis and Eve aren’t even halfway done surveying, and Romi and Tam are fighting over Tam’s map so much, she can’t even start!” He threw up his hands. “Professor Johansson was our advisor for every paper. Our mentor! Who else can we trust, if not him?”
Before, we’d each done things like this a thousand times—taken the lead on various parts of projects, made a change to an article without consulting the rest. But it was because back then, we could all trust that the choices we were making were for the good of us all. Now, everything felt like a secret, so every revelation felt like a betrayal.