It wasn’t hard not to speak to anyone as he was driven up to the retreat, scrutinized by two cops, and followed by one to the Longfellow cabin. Henry nearly botched which thumb he had to use for the back door, but he caught himself, opened it, and let both his lawyer and the officer follow him inside. First he went to the safe to pull out his wallet and show his ID, and then, still fully supervised, he started packing.
The officer was there to make sure he didn’t take anything belonging to the Meyers, and his lawyer was there to make sure he wasn’t stopped from taking all of his own belongings. Henry didn’t know how they were going to tell, exactly, and nobody was making a list, but she told him not to worry about that. He just needed to gather his stuff—all of his stuff, because this was his one chance—and make good on his retreat. This probably meant heading all the way home, all things considered, and Henry wasn’t sure if he could adjust his plane ticket or if he’d have to buy a new one. At least his address was on his ID, so they’d know where he was going, and then he’d finally have his cell phone back.
He’d snuck the recording necklace in, but he’d obeyed the rules and left his cell phone at home. Even if he’d brought it, though, he didn’t think he wanted to stay somewhere nearby, paying for a hotel when he wouldn’t get any money back from the retreat. When he’d be facing a lawsuit from the retreat, if not also the individuals who stayed there.
It didn’t take long to pack. Henry did a final sweep of the various rooms, checking drawers, and then nodded at his lawyer. She took one of the big suitcases, which still gave him a lot to juggle, but whatever. He loaded himself up as his own pack mule and they left the officer there, maybe so he could try to figure out how to prop a door or something so they could get back in if they needed to. If they didn’t have Jonathan’s master thumb print, they’d get locked out.
It was easy to hold his silence until they approached the lodge just as that door opened and three people came out: Truman, Alyssa … and Aaron Gladieux. Henry stopped and stared, even though of course he’d seen Gladieux before. Behind a fence or a car window, sure, but this wasn’t really much different. Except now he could see them next to each other, Aaron and Alyssa, and look past the differences—height, amount of hair, builds—to see the commonalities. The family resemblance. It wasn’t so obvious he felt the need to kick himself for missing it before, but it was there.
Aaron looked down at his daughter, who must have taken after Eileen as far as height, and Henry picked his name off her lips. His July name. Even though yesterday he’d given his real name and this morning he’d shown the ID that confirmed it.
His lawyer was ahead of him, but she paused, sighed, and left his one bag there to come back. Henry thought she’d yell at him, but instead she pulled something out of her pocket and offered each of the three people by the lodge her card.
Of course. He wasn’t allowed to talk to them, and part of her job was keeping them from talking to him. Maybe Aaron Gladieux didn’t entirely know who “Henry” was or what he meant to his family, but he’d find out soon enough. Just the temperature of Alyssa’s stare, my God. There was no customer service mask that could take away the chill. Henry realized his lawyer was looking at him, probably to avoid using any version of his name, and he ducked his head and started walking again, hit on all sides by his luggage because he couldn’t seem to find his stride. It was a retreat, a full retreat, and there was no point in hiding it now. This was time for him to get out, to find the earliest flight with an open seat and head on home with his tail between his legs where he could at least spend more time choosing a permanent lawyer.
Rebecca Frost 
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