The Goats by Brock Cole

pointless, even ridiculous? Maddy didn’t think she could stand that.
    Wells had suggested that it might be better to wait. That the long drive might be for nothing. He hadn’t been so smooth and bland before he had understood that Maddy had spoken to Laura. He had been a frightened man then, almost incoherent, mumbling about the possibility of a swimming accident, trying to reassure her before she had even understood what he was talking about.
    There had been a moment, no more than a few seconds really, when Maddy had thought that Laura had drowned. For those few seconds Maddy felt as if a razor had sliced deeply into her flesh, and she had stared numbly into the wound.
    The misunderstanding had been cleared up quickly. The wound had closed even before she had felt the
pain. What would it have been like if Wells had called first? She hadn’t the courage to imagine.
    Maddy sighed and, getting out of the car, climbed the long path toward the administration building. There seemed to be no one around. A pair of campers in white shirts that seemed to glow in the fading light eyed her suspiciously from a distance, and then glided off among the trees. There was no one else.
    Inside the administration building was a long counter of yellow wood. From behind the counter a middle-aged woman looked up at Maddy inquiringly. She was deeply tanned, and her thin hair was pulled back from her forehead by the weight of a silver-and-turquoise clasp. Her small mouth was wreathed with sharp little lines.
    â€œI’m Mrs. Golden. Laura’s mother. I want to see Mr. Wells?”
    â€œOh yes. Mr. Bob was waiting for you, but he just stepped out.” The woman didn’t know what to do with the papers in her hands. She considered putting them on the counter, but then changed her mind and put them on the desk behind her. “I think he’s gone to the dining hall. I’ll just fetch him.” She seemed afraid of being left alone in the office with Maddy.
    â€œWait a minute. Can you tell me if Laura’s come back?”
    The woman stopped abruptly. “Oh, I don’t think so. Mr. Bob would know about that.” She smiled. A small, tight, give-nothing-away smile. She looked at
Maddy as if waiting for permission to go. “I’ll just fetch him. All right?”
    Maddy waited. There was nowhere to sit down. On the wall behind the counter was an elaborate trophy made of lacrosse sticks and canoe paddles. It was covered with dust and varnish.
    A fat man came up the steps into the office wiping his mouth. “Just grabbing a quick bite,” he said. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt, and half-frame reading glasses dangled from a chain on his chest. “Mrs. Golden? I’m Bob Wells.” They shook hands. “And this is Miss Haskell.” He waved at the woman who had bustled back into the office behind him, nodding and smiling as if it was to see her that Maddy had driven up from the city.
    â€œShe’s camp secretary. Some of the campers seem to think she’s their mother.” Mr. Wells and the woman beamed at one another.
    â€œWell! Come into my office, and we’ll see if we can get this business straightened out.” He led the way behind the counter and through a doorway into a small room decorated with more trophies. It seemed important to the secretary that she go in front of Maddy.
    â€œMiss … Haskell, is it? She said she didn’t think Laura was back,” Maddy called after Mr. Wells as she picked through an obstacle course of furniture. She had an irrational idea that he might escape from her. Disappear through some hidden door.

    Mr. Wells didn’t answer at once.
    â€œSit down, please, make yourself comfortable.” He himself sat down behind a desk and put on his glasses. He laid his hands palms down on a clean, fresh blotter.
    â€œNo. She’s not back yet.” He looked at Maddy reproachfully over his glasses.
    â€œBut I don’t