“Yeah, really specific,” Olivia agrees. “My phone isn’t working out here. Is yours, Lulu?”

I keep quiet. Let them think I’ve looked it up on my phone. They don’t need to know about the map floating in the air to the right of me. Besides, lots of people remember things from seven or eight years ago.

Olivia takes advantage of my silence to volley questions at Max about how he knows so much on the subject of espionage. Apparently, Max likes spy novels and movies. I’m taking the word of someone whose only authority is his library card.

“Here we are,” the driver says. We slow down at the empty information booth, and we drive past, even though it clearly states to put the required money in the box.

“Shouldn’t we pay?” I ask, unable to stop myself.

“Not if we’re only going to be here a few minutes,” Max answers.

The driver parks near the creek, and Max pulls open my car door.

“We should still pay,” I mumble.

The scent of the trees instantly triggers the exact memory I had at the park. This time I hear what Gram is saying to me. Don’t worry, Lulu. He isn’t going to hurt you. I won’t ever let anyone hurt you.

“You’ve got that look again,” Max says. “You remembering something?”

I blink him into focus. “Maybe. I’m not sure.”

He rubs a quick hand over his head and flings his arm to point out the campground. “Walk around and see if anything else pops up. Maybe you’ll remember something more specific.”

“Watch out for poison oak,” Olivia warns. “Last time I camped, I accidentally touched some, and it was so itchy. So, like, stay on the path and don’t pick up random sticks.”

I nod to let her know I’m listening while I look around for something familiar. Is it weird to recognize a tree in a park you haven’t been to in eight years? I recognize the nearest one, its trunk twisting in a spiral, several branches dipping low over the water.

There’d been a squirrel running between the water and me. I was trying to coax it to me while Gram talked to the man. I squeeze my eyes shut and concentrate on the words they were saying. Each word slows down, the Cyrillic alphabet punching holes in my memory of then and now.

I repeat the words out loud, the foreign sounds thick on my tongue. When I open my eyes, Olivia is staring at me with her mouth wide open. Max smiles at me while he furiously types on his phone.

“We can translate it later,” he says. “But it sure sounds like Russian.”

Fatigue settles in my muscles like a million pounds. “I need to get home.”