Before I Forget by Tory Henwood Hoen - 41

When we pull in, the house looms larger and more foreboding than ever. Whatever luster it once had has now become dusty and outdated. It has neither the charm of the historic camps nor the subtle style of the newer, more thoughtfully designed homes in the area. It’s just a behemoth, past its prime.

“What an atrocity,” my father says of the house, as if seeing it for the first time, but ever consistent in his distaste for it.

For a moment, I have the urge to turn around and speed away, but I’m also dying to know how, of all the properties in the world, Gemma ended up picking the Seavey camp as the site for her burgeoning vision. My father and I get out of the car and join Gemma and Anthony in the driveway.

“What do you think?” says Gemma, her eyes wide with excitement, seemingly unaware that I know the property well.

“Gemma, this camp is directly across the pond from ours. I’ve been here,” I say. “I mean, not for years. But I used to spend a lot of time here. I knew the family.”

“Seriously?” She looks delighted, and she turns to Anthony, and then back to me. “Then you know Greg!”

I furrow my brow. “Do you know Greg?”

Before she can answer, the front door opens and I hear a once-familiar voice say, “Cricket Campbell.”

It’s been ten years since I have seen Greg, and he looks the same but worse: a little older, a little oilier, and, somehow, a little shorter than I remember. He grins at me as if we share some kind of salacious secret.

I had heard that he had made his way to New York to work in finance, and I had always feared I would run into him during my time there. But given that the Seaveys had vacated this property years ago, it hadn’t occurred to me that I would run into him here .

“So fun that you two know each other!” Gemma lights up.

“We grew up together,” I say, suddenly feeling cold.

“Well, we summered together,” says Greg, then turns his attention to my father. “I didn’t realize there would be an oracle among us. Nice to see you, Mr. Campbell.”

My father looks at Greg as if trying to place him and says, “And you. Beautiful day we’re having.”

“But how do you all…” I say, trying to triangulate between Greg, Gemma, and Anthony.

“I used to work with Anthony,” says Greg.

“For,” Anthony says under his breath, as he scrolls on his phone. “Used to work for Anthony.”

“When Anthony invested in Actualize, and I heard Gemma had recently fallen in love with the Adirondacks, it felt like fate,” Greg explains.

My brain is trying to keep pace with these developments, but I have a feeling that Greg is the only one among us who understands the full picture. I didn’t know he was entangled in Gemma’s business plans, and she certainly doesn’t seem to know about his history with me.

“Such a small world,” says Gemma, turning to me. “Isn’t it perfect?”

“It would be,” I say, “but you know there’s no commercial activity allowed on Catwood Pond. That’s kind of what makes it unique in this area.”

Gemma smiles. “Oh, we’re on top of that. Greg is working on having it rezoned.” Of course he is. The Seaveys had never hesitated to try to remake the world to suit their whims. “Can I walk you through how we plan to use the space?”

Greg holds the front door open, and Anthony, Gemma, my father, and I enter the house. The last time I walked through this door was on New Year’s Eve—the night Seth died. Now, it’s mostly empty, with just a few pieces of furniture scattered in corners of the great room. There’s a moose head mounted above the fireplace, but otherwise the walls are bare. I’m in such a state of disbelief that I feel numb, and I approach the tour as if I’m just a sightseer. We move through the rooms at a slow pace to accommodate my father and, as Gemma narrates—“So the great room, as the heart of the property, would serve as reception. But through here, I want to create a sanctuary for sound baths and other ritualistic…”—I feel my consciousness split in two. I am able to follow Gemma’s words while simultaneously traveling back in time. It’s as if I am watching two distinct chapters of my life collide; and I wonder what Greg is up to.

Gemma leads us outside, and as we make our way down the hill to the boathouse, Greg hangs back in a way that feels like an invitation. I turn around, and we finally look at each other with frankness.

“Wild coincidence, right?” he says.

“ Is it a coincidence?”

“Well, you know what they say.” He shrugs. “There are no coincidences.”

He finishes the latte he is drinking, crumples up the to-go cup, and launches it toward the tree line in a dramatic arc. The Seaveys were never considered stewards of the land, but this is egregious. My disapproval is visible, because Greg says defensively, “What? It’s compost.”

“Compost isn’t just throwing things in the woods,” I say.

“Sometimes it is.” Greg has always done what he wants and found creative ways to justify it.

“Okay. Well, I hope you like bears,” I say, before refocusing. “But seriously, how did this happen?”

Greg squints as if he is trying to remember the chain of events. “I met Gemma by chance through Anthony, maybe a year ago. And right around the time he decided to put money into Actualize, Gemma wrote that article about meeting with ‘the oracle at Catwood Pond.’ It has a nice ring to it.” He gives me a wink. “I had to hear more, so I met with her, and she said she wanted to create a space for retreats. I didn’t mention that I knew you, because why muddy the waters? But it doesn’t change the fact that I think this property is perfect for what she has in mind.”

“And you saw an opportunity to finally sell the place…” I say, beginning to understand what Greg might be after.

“From what I can tell, there are only upsides here. We’re looking to sell, Gemma is an eager buyer with a shit-ton of funding, and you and your dad could cash in if you can monetize this oracle thing. Not to mention the economic lift it would give Locust. It’s a win-win-win. Those don’t come along often.”

“Isn’t this a giant conflict of interest?” I ask.

“It’s more like a confluence of interests.” When I don’t respond right away, Greg takes a long breath and says, “Listen, Cricket…”

Here it comes , I think. The apology I could have used a decade ago.

“I know the past is heavy. And I know we drifted apart.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

“But at the end of the day, we’re old friends. Let’s bury the hatchet and make some money together.”

Gemma, Anthony, and my father have exited the boathouse and begun walking down the path that leads to the guest cabins. I start to follow them.

“I have to hand it to you. It’s really smart,” Greg says, stopping me in my tracks.

“What is?”

“Capitalizing on the fact that your dad is losing it.”

Ah, here’s the Greg I remember. I feel myself ice over as I quip, “Oh yeah, it’s a total win-win.”

“Easy, tiger. I meant that in a good way,” he insists.

“I know you did. That’s the problem.” I can’t believe I thought for a moment that he might have changed. “Listen, this whole thing is ridiculous. I just came to hear Gemma out.”

“Fine.” Greg holds up his hands, as if he has no real stake in the matter. “I’m just saying, it would be fun to work with you on this. Put the past behind us.”

The other three have disappeared down the path, but before I follow them, there’s something I have to ask while I have the chance.

“Did you mean what you said that night?”

“What night?”

“On Sully’s dock. The last time I saw you. You said I killed your cousin. You said Seth would still be here if it weren’t for my drama.”

“I said that?” Greg looks skeptical. “I wouldn’t have said that.”

“You did.”

“Well, I hope you didn’t take it seriously. I was probably just … you know … processing. Plus, that was a lifetime ago. We’ve all moved on, right?”

Wrong. But I don’t want to admit just how much that phase of my life has defined the decade since—how much it still defines me now. It’s hard to believe Greg is quite so blasé about it. “You won’t be sad to leave Locust once the place sells?”

Greg knits his brow and shakes his head. “This property is just a money suck at this point, and it’s too far from the city. I have a place in Montauk now.”

Somewhere beneath his veneer, I know that he is still troubled and hurting—probably as much as I am—but I decide to let it be. I’m done sparring with Greg Seavey.

As I walk down the path, I can hear Gemma up ahead saying, “I feel like moss is going to be an important design motif…”

When I finally reach the unlikely trio of Anthony, my father, and Gemma, they are standing in front of the guest cabin where Seth stayed that summer. I don’t need to peek inside—I know every inch of it. After all, it’s the place where I fell in love for the first, and only, time.

Gemma continues to hold forth. “We could create a dedicated space for the oracle right here. It’s private, tucked away, and it has a really potent energy, don’t you think?”

My father nods, but also gives me a look like he has no idea what she is talking about.

“Excellent! The future home of the temple for the oracle at Cat wood Pond,” she proclaims, then stands back and cocks her head. “Either that or a sauna. I’m still just spitballing.”

As we conclude our walkthrough and return to the driveway, I say, “Well, this gives us a lot to consider. Your offer is very generous, but I’ll need a few days to think about it.”

“Of course,” says Gemma.

“Don’t think too much,” says Anthony, finally pocketing his phone and making eye contact with me. “Remember, there are two kinds of people in the world.”

I hate false dichotomies, so I say, “Those who make two-kinds-of-people-in-the-world statements and those who don’t?”

Anthony gives a courtesy smile and continues, “Those who capitalize and those who don’t.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say, holding the car door for my father as he climbs into the passenger seat and begins battling with his seat belt.

We head up the driveway, and I can see Gemma, Anthony, and Greg in the rearview mirror. As their shapes recede, I wonder whether this is the beginning or the end of something. I figure it’s probably both.