And how many more did she see once they got there? Really, how many through the years? How many creatures, if that’s what they must be called, stood outside their cabin, stood within others, roamed the lodge and its kitchen? How many did she find in the basement of the lodge as Malorie fished for canned goods on the shelves, believing her daughter to be blindfolded, too?

Oh, there were so many times she wanted to tell Malorie about Annette; wanted her mom to know the woman was not touched, that they didn’t have to wear sleeves, hoods, gloves. Oh, how she wanted Malorie to know her secret. The truth.

But even now, as they turn with the road, as a creature is revealed to be standing ahead, Olympia’s instinct is to say nothing, only to guide.

But things have changed. And maybe people experience more than one life-changing event.

“There’s one about forty feet away, Mom.”

Malorie comes to a stop.

“Close your eyes,” she says.

But Olympia doesn’t close them. Instead, she eyes a way around the thing, just as she has done so many times before.

The path curves this way, when it did not.

There’s an object in the road, when it was everything Malorie feared.

“Olympia,” Malorie says.

But this is something Malorie will have to get used to.

“It’s in the center of the road,” Olympia says. “Follow me, we’ll go around it.”

She hears Malorie’s breathing intensify. She knows her mom is as afraid as she’s ever been.

“I won’t go mad,” Olympia says. “I promise.”

It sounds so silly to say, yet Malorie squeezes her hand again.

And Olympia leads.

She guides Malorie around it, but near it, coming as close as Olympia’s ever come, emboldened by her reveal.

“Okay,” she says. “It’s behind us. But…”

“There are more ahead,” Malorie says.

“Yes,” Olympia says. “So many that we’re going to have to take this slow.”

“Olympia.” Malorie pulls on her arm.

But Olympia understands Malorie is only scared.

And if she’s not keeping secrets anymore, she may as well admit that she’s scared, too.

She pulls back on Malorie’s hand.

“Tom,” she says.

Malorie breathes in, holds it, breathes out.

“All right,” she says. “Guide us.”

Then Olympia, with pride, new, changed, does that.

TWENTY-NINE

This is everything Tom has ever wanted. The opposite of the life he’s lived.

A community where people are trying.

It’s all he’s ever asked Malorie to be okay with. Trying. New things. New ways. He knows not to look. And here he won’t be told what he already knows ever again.