“Aunt who?”“Arbutus. She was in the hospital. Remember? I told you—”“I remember,” I said. “I just didn’t know her name.” And what ...ind of name is “Arbutus?”Kendall read my silent confusion. “It’s a flower.”“Oh.”“Anyway, she’s home from the hospital, so we’re driving up to see her before I go back to school.”“Maybe you could cut your visit short?” I said. “And come to camp with us?”“Oh, Paul, I’m so sorry. I want to, but I can’t.”“Why not? You could drive up with your mom and then I’ll come get. The private drawer of her bedside table remained locked. In it were a diary for 1979, in which August 25th would never be written up, and a cheap sex novel, the sordid episodes of which would never again seem like fiction.*********************************************************'You find what you were looking for?' 'Hmmm? Oh yes - yes, thanks,' Mary-Jane said distractedly, handing the 1979 yearbook back to the Fraser High secretary who had hunted it out for her. She walked out of the building,. More

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