Oliver
Camile jolts me awake. It’s still dark outside. “Oliver,” she hisses. “Get dressed. We have to go.”
“Go? Go where?” I’m hoping she’s not thinking this is a decent hour for a hike, but maybe her subconscious wants to see one last sunrise before she dies.
“The neighbor called,” she says. “We need to get back.”
“Ted?”
“No, not Ted. Marcy.”
I furrow my brows. “I don’t know a Marcy.”
She throws my shirt at me, and I catch it in mid-air. “You have three minutes and I’m leaving. The only reason I haven’t left already is because you only packed enough food for dinner last night, and you don’t have a car.”
Desperation takes over. “You would really leave me here?”
Camile doesn’t answer, and she doesn’t speak on the drive back to Dallas, which is how I know something is wrong.
“Is it
