The old me would have argued with him and run off alone, but I don’t want to make Oliver’s life difficult, so I nod and wade into the water by his side. My heart leaps to my throat. It’s ice cold, glacier runoff, I suspect.

My dress is turned gauzy in the water, floating around my legs like a specter.

Pascal splashes Oliver on the side of the face, and water drips down his dark hair. He brushes it back, and it should be a perfect moment, but it’s not because something inside me is broken.

I plaster a smile on my face and hope no one notices that I don’t join their games or the way I keep looking back to camp.

We wade out of the lake and lie down on the soft grass, letting the sun warm us where the water chilled to the bone.

The same blond girl from earlier appears. She stands over where Maxine lies on the grass, casting a shadow over her. The girl is smiling brightly and says something to Maxine in French. I turn, waiting for her translation. “She says the founder is in. He’s just returned from town.”

“Finally,” I breathe.

“He’s ready to meet you now.”

I spring from the ground and immediately regret following Oliver into the lake. My wet dress hangs cold and heavy around my ankles.

I thought perhaps I’d go alone, but Maxine, Lena, and Oliver push themselves up off the ground as well. Pascal is already standing. He claps his hands together. “Oh, I am thrilled! You will love him! He is the best man I’ve ever met! A genius! A visionary! A true friend to all of us here. What a gift it is, to have so many friends in one place.”

I’ve been on edge all day, but now my nerves have kicked into high gear. A thousand what-if questions burn in my head. What if this man can’t help me, what if he thinks I’m lying, what if he doesn’t care, what if Pascal has made it all up?

He walks us to the largest tent on the far side of camp. It’s set under a weeping willow tree, shrouded in sun-speckled shadows, as the light moves through the branches. Unlike the others, this tent is built on a wooden platform, giving it a small front porch, making it look more permanent than any of the other structures.

There’s a hush on this side of the clearing, a quiet peace, removed from the raucous laughter near the lakeshore. It’s colder here too, in the shadows.

“What is his name?” Oliver asks Pascal.

“He doesn’t have one. He doesn’t need one,” Pascal answers.