“Seven means seven,” Rozie said as she slipped on her shoes.

  Especially when their room was a three-minute stroll to the dining room. She felt beautiful for the first time since January. Dom opted for a more modern take on formal—sockless in his dress shoes, no necktie. , she reminded herself. She made him take her down the service elevator in the back. She regretted the decision the moment the gate crashed shut behind her. Dom drove his thumb into the ivory circle with his thumb before it clunked inward. The elevator let out a somber, brassy ding. Metal screeched as they descended.

  The second floor rose out of sight. And for a moment, anxiety gripped her chest as the box descended through the cinderblock tube. The gate to the first floor rose to greet them, filling the elevator with the warm glow from the single lamp above the small landing. Dom threw the gate open, and the pair strolled arm in arm. They were the first to arrive.

  The bartender was back. Working hard for his tips, he remembered Dominic’s drink from the afternoon, though Dom opted for water. Rozie saw the man’s soda gun with relief. She couldn’t shake the thirst she continued to feel since the dream, but if she had to suffer through another mineral-heavy spring water… She chalked it up to the pregnancy and being dragged around a mansion playing hide and seek. With a seltzer and lime in hand, Rozie led Dom to the solarium until the other guests arrived.

  The room’s white paint caught the failing sunlight in warm orange. African violets crowded one corner of the semicircular room, safe from the westward light. Crotons erupted from their pots in violent color between the wicker chairs. The greenery gave the room an earthy, vibrant feel. Dom seemed to relax despite the beads of perspiration that ran down behind his ear. He held her close. Rozie looked Dominic in the eye. Dom met her gaze and, as placid as ever, smiled before looking out the window.

  “I heard Conrad and Tyler talking in here this afternoon,” she said, easing into the topic.

  “Oh yeah? What did High Life and Corn Nads have to say?”

  She deserved answers, but cornering Dominic wouldn’t work. He nursed his water, and no doubt the pot wore off during his nap.

  “What were the serious games like? Was there a rule book or something?”

  Besides cornering him, it was the one card she had. He went as far as falling asleep to avoid her last interrogation. Even now as she stared at him, it was as if the entire argument had never happened.

  Dom frowned and tried to hide the expression behind a mask of thoughtfulness.

  “We had longer to hide, like you heard—” He slowed as he chose his words. “We hid to challenge ourselves. Each other. Face our fear. Find ourselves or something.”

  Tyler’s gravely voice twisted through open French doors, bits and pieces of a story too quiet for her to understand yet. Dom’s eyebrows relaxed as a smirk sprouted on his lips. She could nearly see his attention racing out into the dining room. He took her by the hand. She could have stayed there watching the sunset, but Dom guided her back to the dining hall. That glimmering moment of honesty vanished behind Dom’s stupid chummy grin.

  Conrad and Sara huddled with Dante Santore. Conrad greeted them from afar with a languid wave. Rozie gestured at the table, but her husband already tilted his glass in the host’s direction. Sara squeezed her husband’s shoulder and strode toward the Lowry’s. Rozie clung tighter to Dom. It took considerable effort not to glance down at her own attire as Sara approached. Memories of Art History during the spring semester of her sophomore year. Mrs. Burke bore a striking resemblance to John Singer Sargent’s ‘Madame X’—the first version, before a shocked audience insisted he add the golden straps to hold up the woman’s dress.

  Rozie felt a twinge of jealousy. But as Sara approached, Rozie detected deliberateness in the movement. An untouched martini glass, carrying herself like she didn’t trust her own feet. Her eyes didn’t lift from the floor until she stood next to them.

  “Dominic, Rozemarijn” Rozie hid her wince behind a smile. Dom gave her hand a small squeeze, acknowledging the mispronunciation., Dominic called it. The last time it happened, he spent the rest of evening snapping his heels in attention and saluting her.

  “How are you enjoying yourselves?”

  “Very much. We’re having a great time,” Dom said politely.

  Rozie offered a nod. As her husband commented on the natural beauty of the grounds, Rozie wondered if Sara was looking at them or past them. It was impossible to identify where she was looking at. Benjamin and the Miller arrived, interrupting their pleasantries. Tyler spoke loudly, throwing his arms around. Erica strode in behind the men, confident and smiling. Sara put a hand on Rozie’s wrist and turned to greet the newcomers.

  Alfonso and Sophie came next, and the Doyles soon after. Rozie had to stop herself several times from gawking at the backless dresses, long necks and toned arms. Rozie clung to Dominic. To his credit, he didn’t let her stray either. She felt his warm arm wrapped around her, his hand spread wide teasingly low on her back. It figured that that was the one thing about the afternoon he had remembered. She giggled, and inside, she shifted the her anger into a lumpy box wrapped in enough tape to contain the dark mood—a tool her therapist suggested once. In her mind, the box sat on a shelf, right next to the panicky dread, ready for when she needed it.

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  After a round of drinks, Burke ushered everyone to the large table as the servers brought out ceviche and colorful salads.

  .

  Everyone smiled and talked, but despite appearances, the mood seemed subdued, if not somewhat dark. Benjamin stabbed at his plate as Tyler recounted his plans to sell his latest venture—an app development studio with two successful kids’ games under its belt. Alfie and Conrad huddled together. She couldn’t make out the specifics of their conversation, but it sounded like Alfie wanted in on the hospitality side of Weaver Springs.

  Rozie took a sip of her seltzer. The back of her fingers grazed the damp rustic clay cup of spring water in front of her. Conrad threw back the last of his whiskey and picked up his water to drink. He paused before he put it to his lips. When he drank, he held the liquid in his mouth for a moment before swallowing. s. Despite their levity and simple conversations, their eyes seemed dark and direct, casting about until they met another’s gaze. Then the eye contact was brief and furtive. She squirmed in her seat.

  “Last call for the bar,” Conrad announced over the table. “Dante crafted a wine list to accompany each of the courses,” he said, still wearing the same blithe smile.

  Whole roasted quail on a small mound of pearled couscous. She picked at the meat with her fork and knife until she heard a giggle and the clatter of cutlery. Across from Rozie, Willow plucked a leg bone off the miniature chicken like it was a drumstick, shrugged and brought the morsel to her mouth, pinched between perfect long crimson fingernails. The bone slid back out her red glistening lips, sucked free of any meat. Laughter rippled around the table, and the other guests set their cutlery down, joining in the polite savagery.

  The rest of the meal followed in a blur of shapes, flavors and conversations. Santore emerged from the kitchen, the dutiful chef, to tell the stories behind each dish, but fatigue had eroded at Rozie’s ability to focus. Her fork rose to her mouth mechanically, as her senses dulled to the sensory flood. As they finished their dessert, Conrad rose to his feet. He beckoned at the kitchen door, and the chef strode over.

  “I’ll start with the bad news. This was the last meal that Chef Dante will prepare for us this weekend. Chef needs to get back to New York to meet with investors about his next restaurant. But don’t worry, his team will do an amazing job. He hand-selected every person in the kitchen, and I trust them completely.

  Conrad clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Thank you, Dante.”

  Santore clutched his hands together at his chest and bowed. “It has been a privilege. If you find yourselves in New York, I guarantee you there is a table waiting for you.”

  Sara burst into applause, and after an awkward lull, most of the other guests joined in, some more enthusiastically than others. Santore gave another bow.

  “The meals will be a little self-service, available at the scheduled times. So, come and go as you please—but we have no more formal meals scheduled until Sunday.”

  Conrad stood as Santore hurried back into the kitchen’s swinging doors. He turned back to his guests.

  “Benny and I planned this weekend as a chance for old friends to get together. St. George’s was… special, and we wanted to recapture that once more. I hope you can excuse us and our eccentricities. Coach Tanguma was a bully and an outright dick, and none of us had any dads around to coerce us into sports. We weren’t nerdy enough for chess or disciplined enough to play instruments. So, when everyone went home, it was just us, pretty much. And we got into a bit of mischief.”

  Burke circled the table, hands clasped behind his back. As he reached the other end, Astrid appeared, clutching a carved wooden chest tightly. She stopped in front of Conrad and lifted the lid. Rozie realized she was holding her breath. Silence smothered the room, and the jovial mood fled as the brass hinges creaked open. Conrad looked down into the box. Astrid blocked Rozie’s view of the box. But then Conrad pulled his phone from his pocket. He held it up in the air.

  “Mystery. The world hates the unknown—determined to destroy it. Satellites peel back jungles to reveal hidden pyramids. Scientists smash atoms together looking for the threads that hold existence together. They’ve unraveled our genome in search of blue eyes and sickle-cell anemia.”

  He released the device, and it tumbled into the box with a hollow thud. Astrid turned, aiming the box at the others. Conrad’s phone illuminated automatically, blue light illuminating the lacquered finish.

  “We will play a more extreme version of hide and seek. We’ll start with an hour to hide, and every nook and cranny of this building is available for hiding. The purpose is simple mystery. Participants must put their phones in the box—no lights, no communicating, no cheating. These little computers have murdered wonder and mystery. They instill artificial, unmerited confidence. We discovered something at St. George—fear. The seeker must overcome fear, entering dark places, opening closed doors, braver than those who hide, a spear of light into the black. Those who hide must embrace the silent black. Daring to go deeper than the seeker. Braver.”

  Hands clasped behind his back once more, he had the air of a professor or, as Rozie imagined, a teacher at St. George’s.

  “Mawé boys put on gloves lined with bullet ant stingers to prove their manhood. Bull leaping in Ethiopia. The Aborigenes go on solo walkabouts for days on end. Every culture drew a line between boy and man. We discovered our own rite of passage. Each of us penetrated the darkness to commune with it and face our fears.”

  Conrad stopped behind Rozie. She gave up turning to face him as he strode behind her, but she turned her head in acknowledgment. In the corner of her eye, however, she saw Conrad rest his hand on the back of her chair.

  “We became men while the world still saw us as teenagers. Teenagers.” Rozie heard the sneer in his voice as he said the word. “A modern term that bound us to childhood. There are fifteen-year-old Maasai warriors trusted with protecting their village from enemies and beasts.”

  Rozie’s neck protested against the angle of her head. She turned back toward the table, eyes down on the empty crème br?lée dish in front of her. In the silence, she glanced upward at the people seated around the table. They stared at the man behind her in awe. Dominic picked at the cuticle of his thumb.

  “How many of our classmates still live with their parents? Working two or three dead-end part-time jobs? Scrolling through apps looking for a hookup? We left school and seized life and opportunity. Our ritual prepared us. We came out emboldened. Wiser. It’s time to remember what it’s like to throw ourselves into the unknown, here at the house Newburg built. There’s nothing darker, more mysterious in this building than what we face alone in the dark. Who knows what else we might find waiting for us.”

  Burke let go of Rozie’s chair and continued his march around the table. Astrid stood, a solemn figure on the other side. Realizing the old woman glared at her, Rozie held her breath. She shrugged demurely, patting the sides of her dress to say, .

  “I hope that everyone will join us. It is fun, but just know it isn’t a game. It’s preparing us for what’s next. Careers, responsibilities.”

  Conrad stopped next to Astrid and faced Rozemarijn.

  “Parenthood…”