it. Please, for me. Don’t tell him. It would hurt him too much.”
“It would hurt you too much, you mean,” he said.
Abigail realized that what Scott was trying to do was keep her here talking to him, and she was starting to get annoyed. “Look,” she said. “Do what you want. If you care for me like you say you do, you’ll leave me alone, let me live my life. And if you decide you want to hurt me, then go ahead and tell Bruce what you want to tell him. I’ll tell him my story, and we’ll see who he believes. Okay?”
“He’ll believe me,” he said.
“Fine. If that’s what you think.”
“I’ll tell him about the birthmark.”
Abigail paused for a moment, confused, then remembered the birthmark under her left breast. She then remembered the strawberry birthmark under her left breast, shaped like a crescent moon, lightly pink and threaded with red. When she was young it was very visible, up near her top rib, but then when she developed breasts it had become hidden, and she’d pretty much forgotten about it.
Abigail stood, annoyed that her legs were shaky. “Fine, tell him anything you want. It’s up to you. I can’t stop you.”
“I’m two bunks down from you. It’s called Pinehaven. I’m here for four more days. Come down some night after your husband has fallen asleep. If you give me one more chance, I’ll let you go. I promise. He’ll never know.”
“Fuck you,” Abigail said, “and while we’re at it, fuck you for following me to New York and for showing up at my wedding.”
She walked away from him down the path before he could say anything back to her. Her heart was racing, and her arms tingled. She checked her watch. It was not quite eleven. She’d have time to go back to the bunk, get changed for lunch. She hoped Bruce wasn’t there, that he was still on his walk. She needed more time to think about what had just happened, and what to do next.
When she got back to the bunk it was empty. Out of habit, she grabbed her cell phone and checked to see if there was any service, but there wasn’t. If she had service, she’d google “Scott Baumgart” to find out if that was really his name. Maybe he was a lunatic with a police record? Also, if she had service, she could call Zoe, tell her what had happened, and ask her for advice. That was what she really wanted to do, more than anything. She looked up Zoe’s phone number on her contact list and wrote it down on the inside cover of the paperback novel she’d brought with her to read. Suddenly, more than anything, she wanted to speak with her best friend, to hear her voice.
She left the bunk and walked swiftly toward the lodge. The day had turned a little warmer, but the sky was still cloudy, a solid bank of gray, a hazy spot where the sun was located. In the hall of the lodge one of the employees was stacking wood by the fireplace, and Abigail asked him where the phone was.
“What phone?” he said.
“You must have a landline, for guests to use?”
“Of course. Is it an emergency?” The man, about her age and with a military buzz cut, looked genuinely concerned.
“No, not a huge emergency. There was something that I needed to tell my friend before I left for here and I totally forgot. I just need to at least leave her a message.” Why was she having to explain this?
“Not a problem,” he said, and she followed him up a stairwell to a balcony that ran the length of the hall, then through an open door that led to an office space, in which there were five desks, three of which had large desktop computers. There was a printer station, and the walls were covered with large detailed maps that looked to be of the island. Mellie, the woman who had brought Abigail to the pool this morning, sat at one of the computers, her back to them, and when the man gently touched her on the shoulder, she let out a short scream that made Abigail jump as well.
“Jesus.” She turned to them, swiveling on the chair. “You scared the shit out of me, Glen. Don’t sneak up on me like that.” Then she looked at Abigail and said, “I’m sorry. I thought I was alone up here.”