“SERENE,” GINGER OFFERED from the back seat half an hour after we’d pulled out of the campground with Quill, but not Hunter, in tow.
We were trying to come up with an honest yet complimentary review of the campground to thank the cookie lady for her midnight snack, but the trouble twin’s word didn’t quite match the reality of our experience. After all, while our head count remained the same as when we’d arrived at The Woodland Hideaway, Hunter’s absence felt like the cavity left by a missing tooth—minor in reality but absurdly large when I poked at the space with my tongue.
Plus, our newest co-traveler was dead. Which I guess made him technically calm and tranquil. Still, death wasn’t what I’d normally call serene.
“Pastoral,” Cinnamon agreed. “The perfect vacation.”
“Great wildlife si
