Page 16

sixteen

Jessie

I hurry away from my office—the one place on the property where I can usually find privacy. My heart is breaking. Bad enough to hear from Jack Valentine that they’ve found a buyer for this place. It’s ten times worse to know that Hillary thinks it’s my fault.

I have to find Dot—she’s the only person who will understand how I feel.

But she’s down by the lake, preparing for the canoe parade tonight, which means I have to walk through the heart of camp, which means I keep running into campers, which means I have to pretend to be as happy as a lark, even though I’m falling apart.

Two women dressed in swimsuits pass me. “Hey, Jessie!” they say, waving.

I force a smile and wave back. “Hi, Susan, hi, Ashley! Have fun at the lake!”

I’m sickened by the desperation in my voice. Trying to be a good little camp director, making this summer magical for everyone else before it all burns down.

And it will burn down. My favorite place on earth will be wiped away. And there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

Two men carrying tennis rackets wave at me, call, “How’s it going, Jessie?”

Another forced smile. “Hi, Jeff, hi, Scott—how was the game?”

More campers pass, and it’s more of the same. No one seems to notice I’m dying inside.

I’m nearly to the lawn when I see Luke walking toward me with Scout on a leash. I summon my fake smile and chirp, “Hi, Luke, how’s the writing going?”

His eyes narrow. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Jeez, grumpy much?” I snap.

But as I step past him, he puts a hand on my arm, stopping me. The groove between his eyebrows deepens as he searches my face. “No—something’s wrong. What is it?”

I sigh. “I don’t need you to rescue me again, Luke.”

His eyebrows lift, and he releases my arm. “That’s not—sorry.”

“It’s okay, I just…”

I hesitate; could I talk to him about this? Dot isn’t exactly impartial; she knows my history with Hillary, and she’s as upset as I am about the news of the sale.

“Actually, do you have time to talk?” I ask, tentatively.

Luke nods once. “I do.”

—

I haven’t been in Luke’s cabin since the day he arrived, and as I step inside, I’m surprised at all the ways he’s made it his own. He’s moved two twin beds together and covered them with a colorful patchwork quilt. The mattress for the third bed is on the floor, with a blanket—Scout is curled up there now, a golden ball of floof, snoozing.

The fourth bed, where I’m sitting now, he’s made into a sort of sofa, with pillows propped up against the wall. The picnic table, under the largest window, must be where he works—it’s covered with notebooks, pens, and balled-up paper. In one corner he’s made himself a kitchenette using the single outlet in the cabin, with a hot plate and electric kettle.

He heats water for tea as I ramble on about the pact Hillary and I made to become counselors together; how she bailed on me; what I just overheard. How she told Cooper that I’ve run this place into the ground. That I’m too emotionally invested in it.

As I finish my story, I start unraveling my braids so I can avoid looking at Luke. He’s been weirdly quiet as I’ve talked, and I hope he’s not silently judging me.

He walks over, a mug of tea in each hand. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” I take a sip. The intensity of my initial reaction has faded, and I’m dazed, like I’ve suffered a blow to the head.

Luke sits next to me on the bed-turned-couch and takes a sip from his mug. He’s dressed in a soft gray T-shirt and sweatpants, his hair rumpled, a couple days’ worth of stubble on his jaw. It’s oddly intimate being here, in this space he’s kept closed off to everyone. I wonder if he regrets inviting me, now that he’s heard my tale of woe.

“How are you feeling about all this?” he asks.

I take another sip of tea. How to put this into words? The heat of my anger toward Hillary is cooling. Mostly I feel deeply, deeply stupid for allowing myself to get close to her again.

“Well. I guess I should’ve realized Hillary didn’t really care about me or this place. She was barely here a week before she started suggesting all these changes. No respect for tradition. And anyone who loves this camp would never want to change it that much.”

Luke takes a sip of tea. “Okay.”

I frown; does he think I’m overreacting? “I know, I know—she did have some good ideas.” I huff, exasperated. “I’m not a total bitch.”

Now Luke frowns. “I didn’t—”

“No, you’re right,” I say. “It’s not her fault Jack and Mary are selling. It just felt like she’s blaming me for the camp being a ‘failing business’—like if I’d been better at my job, I wouldn’t have lost their confidence in the first place.”

“Yes, but—”

“I know I’m not great at financial stuff, but I tried my best! There’s more to consider than turning a profit. She has no idea how to hire and train counselors, or develop programs for kids, or communicate with parents.”

“Right, but—”

“I’ve given this place everything I have, poured my heart and soul into it, and she’s acting like it’s pathetic to devote your life to a silly summer camp. And of course she’s leaving, just like she did the last time. I’m not going to beg her to stay and let her tell me I’m too ‘emotionally invested’ in her.”

I sink back against the pillows and run my hands through my hair, struggling to contain my emotions.

“Can I say something now?” Luke asks.

My cheeks warm with embarrassment. “Sorry. I was talking too much.”

“No, I’m glad you could think through all of that out loud. But I’m still waiting for the answer to my question.”

I look at him, confused. His eyes are piercing blue, like he’s trying to burrow into my thoughts. “What question?”

“How are you feeling about all this?” he repeats.

“Um…I just told you.”

“No, you told me what you’re thinking about all this. How do you feel?”

I give him a sideways glance. “That’s a very shrink-y thing to ask.”

“It’s a very writer-y thing, too, I guess.” He takes another sip of tea. “And stop dodging the question.”

Scout gets up from her mattress across the room and ambles over; Luke gently helps her onto the bed between us, and she rests her head in his lap.

I pet her absently as I consider. “Honestly? I’m fine. I mean, I’m hurt by what she said, but this whole thing with Hillary doesn’t change anything—the camp is still closing.”

As I say the words, my throat tightens up. It’s really, truly closing. For good.

Luke shakes his head like he’s disappointed in me. “Still dodging.”

I exhale in frustration. “What do you want me to say, Luke?”

“Why does this camp mean so much to you?”

That’s easy. “Because it’s been part of my life for more than twenty years. It’s my career—the only job I’ve ever had.”

“Okay, but why , Jessie. Why did you keep coming back here? Why have you made it your career?”

His voice is gentle, prodding me to dig deeper. I lean against the pillows, look up at the rough wood ceiling. As an added benefit, I don’t have to look at Luke, at those distracting blue eyes.

Scout nudges my hand with her wet nose, reminding me to keep petting her, so I do.

“This place has always felt like home to me,” I say. “My parents divorced when I was tiny, and they split custody, so I was constantly going back and forth between their houses. It was…alienating, I guess? I didn’t have a place that felt like mine . Not until I came here.”

“That must have been difficult, bouncing between two homes.”

I wave a hand, because “difficult” feels like an exaggeration. “It was challenging, sure. But I have a good relationship with my parents, with my stepparents and my half siblings. Overall it was fine.”

“Fine,” he repeats.

“Yes. And my summers at camp were good for all of us. My parents got to focus on their own children, take vacations together—”

“Their own children?” He sounds mildly appalled.

“No, it’s—” I shake my head, flustered. “I mean their kids with their spouse, that’s all. I can’t blame them for wanting time with their family.”

“They’d go on vacations without you?”

“Well, yes!” I say, indignant. Is he not paying attention? “I was at camp. I wanted to be at camp.”

“Because it was the only place that was yours.”

I roll my eyes. “You make it sound like I had a terrible childhood. It was fine.”

“You say that a lot.”

“What?”

“?‘Fine.’?”

“Because it was ! I didn’t want to go to Disney with my little half siblings when I was fifteen years old!”

But even as I say this, I think of other vacations I missed: the time my dad took his family to Yellowstone, where they saw bison and moose and Old Faithful; the time my mom and Mitch took their kids to New York and saw five different Broadway shows. I remember seeing pictures, hearing them talk about their experiences, and feeling like such an outsider.

But did I tell them that? Of course not. I immediately started talking about all the fun things I did at camp, trying to convince them I’d had an even better time.

Or maybe trying to convince myself.

“Okay,” Luke says, like he doesn’t believe me but isn’t going to argue. “But you said everything that happened with Hillary years ago was ‘fine,’ too. I have a hard time believing that.”

Tears prickle my eyes, and I’m grateful for the solid warmth of Scout’s back against my leg, her soft fur between my fingers.

“Your best friend,” Luke says, “the person you felt closer to than your own biological family, chose to take that internship instead of coming back to camp with you. That must have been crushing.”

My chest tightens, and I give a tiny shrug.

“It must have felt like you were losing the only real family you had. Like she was rejecting this world that meant so much to you.”

My eyes well with tears, blurring the ceiling above me.

“When you overheard Hillary,” Luke says, “I imagine it brought up all those old feelings. Like she’s still rejecting what matters most to you. Like she’s rejecting you .” He shifts his weight, and the bed squeaks. “Am I getting close?”

I can’t meet his eyes. It’s taking all my strength to contain my emotions, so I nod.

He exhales. “Have you told her any of this?”

“Of course not.”

“Why not?”

“Because she’s not responsible for my feelings.”

“True.”

“So what’s the point of telling her?”

“So she can understand how you feel. Someone who cares about you would want to know.”

I jolt upright. “How is talking about this with her going to make things better? The property is being sold. Facts don’t change just because I have feelings.”

“Fair enough,” he says. He’s remarkably unshaken by all this emotional energy I’m pouring into the air. “But you still haven’t answered my question.”

I exhale and shake my head; it’s easier to pretend to be exasperated than to be vulnerable. I haven’t allowed myself to examine my feelings in so, so long. I sealed them in that metaphorical box in my mind and shoved it in a corner and tried to forget about it.

But he’s right; the emotions are still there. Ignoring them hasn’t made them disappear.

Luke sets down his mug. In a quiet voice, he says, “Jess.”

Goose bumps rise on my skin. My name in his mouth feels almost intimate, like he’s telling me a secret—or asking for one of mine.

“I guess I feel…” My throat tightens, and it takes all my effort to whisper the next word. “Betrayed.”

He nods, like he’s encouraging me to go on.

“Abandoned,” I whisper.

He nods again.

“Rejected.” My voice gets louder, emotion rushing over me in waves. “Like she never cared as much about me as I did about her. Like she never loved this camp like I do. If she did, she wouldn’t be in such a hurry to leave. Which makes sense—she has to get back to her real life. Once this place is history, she’ll still have that life. But me?” I swallow. “I won’t know who I am anymore.”

“And how does that make you feel?” His voice is gentle.

“Sad.” My voice breaks. “I’m so sad, Luke.”

“Of course you are.”

His words feel like permission. I rest my head on his shoulder. Luke sits with me, his cheek resting on my head, as I close my eyes and cry.

Hillary’s face appears in my mind, her shocked expression when I agreed that she should leave. I wonder if she regrets coming here, wasting her summer on something that doesn’t really matter.

I wonder what she’s doing right now, if she’s somewhere crying, too.

Tomorrow morning, I promise myself, I’ll find her. At the very least, we can talk like adults before she leaves.

I sit up, wiping my eyes. “Sorry for getting your shirt wet,” I say, motioning to Luke’s damp shoulder.

“I don’t mind.”

I glance at my watch; it’s nearly four, and I spring to my feet. “I have so much to do for the events tonight. Are you coming to the canoe parade?”

He pushes himself to standing. “No, I need to get packed. I’m leaving early tomorrow morning.”

I turn sharply. “What?”

“I need to go to New York and meet with my editor.”

“But you’re coming back?” I blurt, trying not to betray how sad I would be if he didn’t.

“I’m coming back.” One corner of his lips twitches upward.

“When?”

“On Sunday. It’s a quick trip so I can meet her for lunch. You can handle two days without me.”

I nod, surprised at how relieved I am to hear this. “What are you doing with Scout?”

“Boarding her at a place in North Fork.”

“Where?”

“Uh, it’s called Sweet Suzy’s—”

“Dog Motel?” I finish, and he nods. “She can’t stay there.”

His eyes narrow. “Why?”

“Sweet Suzy is a nutjob. Whenever she takes the dogs on walks, at least a couple get loose and run wild through the streets. Plus, she has a really hyperactive husky mix that tries to mate with all the female dogs.”

“Scout is fixed.”

“She’s a senior citizen! You can’t put her through that indignity.”

Luke purses his lips, peering at me. “Did you just volunteer to watch my dog?”

“No, you should take her with you.”

“You want me to put a senior citizen in the cargo hold of a plane?” He raises an eyebrow. “Besides, the hotel I’m staying at isn’t dog friendly.”

“This camp wasn’t dog friendly either, and that didn’t stop you,” I say. Then, remembering the address on his registration form: “Wait—don’t you live in New York?”

“Not anymore.”

“Where do you live?”

“Right now? Here.”

I’m about to fire back a sarcastic retort, but something dark flickers across Luke’s face. Then, just as quickly, it’s gone. He clears his throat.

“I guess I’ll have to take my thirteen-year-old arthritic golden retriever to Sweet Suzy’s and hope she isn’t too traumatized.”

I sigh. “Okay, fine. I’ll watch her.”

He half smiles, and I can’t help the burst of elation I feel.

Luke says he’ll bring Scout over to my cabin early tomorrow morning and give me the information about her schedule, feeding, and medications. Then he walks me to the door, and I step out into the sunlight.

I turn back to see Luke leaning against the doorframe, watching me, an unreadable expression on his face. I have a sudden urge to move closer, to put myself into his space and see how he’d react.

Instead, I take a small step away.

“Um—thanks for the tea,” I say. “And thanks for listening, Luke.”

He nods. “Thanks for watching my dog, Jess.”

Just like before, the shortened version of my name feels intimate. I flash back to the memory of being in the water, his arms around me, his voice in my ear. I got ya. You’re safe.

That’s how it felt, talking with him. Safe. Like he was holding me, gently bringing me to shore, warming me from the inside out.

I want to put my arms around him. I want to lean into the crook of his neck and breathe him in. I want to stay.

But then I shake myself. And give him a small wave before heading down the stairs.