Reed is not receptive to Sarah’s questioning. He’s quiet all night. At one point I catch Veronica reaching her hand to touch his arm but he brushes it away, so subtly if you weren’t looking for it, you wouldn’t notice. But I do. He’s distracted—obviously, but he keeps staring at Graham with fervor. Like he’s reciting a monologue about how much he hates his brother in his head. I wish I could goad him into saying it aloud, encouraging it. The more you say, the more Sarah can use, after all. So say it all, you son of a bitch.

When the meal comes, everyone is served their selection of chicken, fish, or vegetarian, except for Reed, who asks for a bowl of grits instead. “My stomach isn’t completely back to normal,” he insists, letting the implication that Molly caused all this sit with us just as we’re all about to chow down.

He looks like a child, sitting there spooning the mushy beige into his mouth. The only thing that would have made it stranger is if he was drinking, but he’s still watching Graham drink instead. Careful observation that starts to sway more 1984 Big Brother than normal Reed Big Brother.

Just then, Lorraine walks in, sneaking through the tent’s plastic entrance and whispering something into Reed’s ear, and my light-headedness comes on. That happens up here. Graham says it’s the high altitude and that I don’t drink enough water, but I know it’s not. It’s the memories. It’s her. It’s them.

It’s the fact that, for the last hour, I’d completely forgotten about Lorraine. I’ve been keeping track of everyone out here, ensuring that Jess had the house to herself, could do whatever she needs in peace. Meanwhile, where has Lorraine been? What did she catch? What does she know?

And what is she telling Reed?

She’s watching me again, just like she did at breakfast this morning, and when we first arrived. In fact, the more I interact with her, the less I’m convinced I’d made it all up. The more it seems that the recognition is real. That somewhere buried deep in her subconscious, she remembers me.

I lean into Graham—“I need some air,” I say. “Be right back.”—and stand before he can protest that it’s too cold or that I’ll be fine if I just have a sip of water. I’m not even sure he heard me. He’s too busy listening to his mother talk Sarah’s ear off about the night she and Doug met for the first time. The more she convinces herself this article can be about her, the more accepting of our reporter guests she’ll become, so I let her have it.