Chapter Fifteen

fifteen

Hillary

The musical last week was a beautiful disaster. I know The Wizard of Oz isn't supposed to be a comedy, but I can't remember the last time I laughed so hard. Seeing Jessie onstage skipping down the yellow brick road with a stuffed dog in her arms was just perfection.

As if my thoughts summoned her, Dorothy herself walks into the Arts and Crafts cabin, where I'm setting up for the first session of the day. It's the Fourth of July, and I have a patriotic craft planned, then I'm helping Zac and Zoey decorate canoes for the parade and fireworks show tonight.

"Hey!" I say, excited for the impromptu visit.

But then I notice her shoulders are slumped, her eyes puffy and red. She looks defeated—which is not a word I'd ever associate with Jessie Pederson.

I drop the red, white, and blue yarn and rush over to her.

"Jess, what's wrong?" I only hesitate for a split second before I wrap my arms around her. Jessie goes soft in my embrace, letting me support her.

"It's okay," I say, rubbing her back. "Whatever it is, it'll be okay," I promise blindly.

We stay like that, with her head resting on my shoulder, until her breathing has returned to normal. I don't know about her, but my eyes are brimming with tears.

"Want to tell me what's going on?" I ask as I continue to rub circles on her back.

Jessie straightens herself up and takes a deep breath. "I got an email from Jack Valentine this morning. It's over."

My stomach sinks, even though I knew this was a strong possibility.

"They have a buyer," she says. "The camp is officially under contract."

"Shit."

This is why I never let my heart get involved in matters of business. Old companies fold and new companies start every single day. It's the cycle of commerce; and it only hurts when you let yourself care.

"I'm so sorry, Jess," I say, reaching for her hand.

"It's fine," she says, even though it's clearly not. "We have until the end of the summer." Her voice cracks on the last word, and my heart breaks for her. She's losing so much—but she won't lose me. Not again.

Jessie takes her hand back and clears the emotion from her throat. "Anyway, I just wanted to let you know."

"Thanks," I say. "I wish there was something more we could do."

"Me too," she says with a sigh.

Neither of us moves. I hope she knows that she's not alone, that I'm here to help shoulder the weight of this immense loss.

The silence is interrupted by the static of her walkie-talkie, pulling us back to the reality at hand.

"Go for Jessie," she says, transforming back into the happy, shiny camp director she lets the world see. With a small wave, she's off.

The door closes behind her, and I rub my aching chest, trying to make sense of the swirl of emotions. I hate that she's hurting, but I'm grateful she turned to me. For the first time all summer, I feel confident our friendship will survive, even if the camp won't.

—

Later that afternoon, after the campers have made patriotic flags for the parade and revealed the red, white, and blue (or, in some cases, purple) tie-dyed shirts we made yesterday, I rush out to find Cooper. The kitchen is abuzz with his staff getting ready for tonight's BBQ, and ingredients in various stages of prep cover the counters.

"Has anyone seen Chef?" I ask, trying to sound casual, like I'm seeking Cooper out for a completely legit, work-related purpose. Which I suppose I am.

Somehow, we've managed to keep our fling under wraps, acting professional, yet friendly, when others are near, then sneaking around camp to private places like the walk-in pantry or the empty archery range to make out like teenagers.

Except neither of us was that kind of teenager, which is probably why we're having so much fun with it.

Nothing's gone past heavy "necking and petting," as Nurse Penny used to call it, but that's somehow made it even better. It's like when you become an adult and start having sex, you forget how fun it is to get all hot and bothered, then back away, over and over again until you're both so breathless and horny that a simple touch, a brush of skin against skin, can threaten to undo you. It's been two weeks of nonstop edging—and Cooper seems to be enjoying it as much as I am, dragging out the anticipation until we decide to reach the main event.

"He's out by the grills," one of the guys answers, and I wave in appreciation before heading outside and around the far corner of the dining hall toward the lake.

There's Cooper, standing in front of the grill with his hat on backward, wearing an apron with the words suck it, england under a picture of George Washington in shades. His face lights up at the sight of me, and I feel a flutter in my belly that stops me in my tracks. The elusive butterflies. So they do exist.

"Hey," he says as I get closer. A quick glance around confirms we're alone, so I slip my arms around his neck and bring my lips to his for what's supposed to be a quick kiss.

But the sweep of his tongue against mine sends the butterflies into a frenzy, and I forget everything that isn't us. Cooper's hand slides down from my waist to cup my butt, pulling me closer. Heat flushes through me, and I can tell he's getting excited, too. The press of his erection against my stomach brings me back to the moment: standing out in the open, in broad daylight where anyone could see us. I quickly step back to a platonic distance.

Cooper clears his throat, then adjusts himself. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Huh?" I say, before remembering myself. "Oh! I have news."

Cooper's smile falters when he sees the look on my face. "It's not good news?"

"Afraid not."

I fill him in on what Jessie told me and explain the way sales of this size work. How being under contract is just the first step in a very long process that could likely take until the summer is over, if not beyond.

"Shit," Cooper says. "Jessie must be a wreck."

"Yeah," I say, twirling a strand of hair around my finger. "It's crushing—and I hate knowing that I could've saved this place for her if things were different."

Cooper quirks an eyebrow. "How so?"

"Finding ways for failing businesses to turn things around is what I do. That's my job." I sit on top of one of the picnic tables, trying to think of the best way to explain the thoughts that have been niggling in the back of my mind for the last few weeks. "But it only works if the owners want it to be saved. The Valentines are set on selling—from everything I've heard, Jack has his eyes on the money, and this land is worth millions."

"So you couldn't have saved it?" Cooper asks, confused.

"Not if the Valentines are set on a quick payout," I say. "They'd have to be on board, or at least give Jessie the power to make the decisions. But even then…"

"What?" Cooper asks. "You don't think she'd do whatever it took to save Camp Chickawah?"

I shrug. "It would take some drastic changes, and Jessie loves this place so much—maybe even too much. She's still running it the same way Nathaniel and Lola did. And when you do things the same way for so long, you don't evolve. You get stuck. That's why a lot of these old businesses are run into the ground—they refuse to change. But that's what happens when you make one thing your whole life and get way too emotionally invested in it."

A creak of a floorboard rings through the air, and Cooper and I both turn to find Jessie standing mere feet away on the porch outside the dining hall.

Her face is frozen into a mask of shock and hurt.

Shit.

I'm about to explain what I meant—that my frustration is with the Valentines, not her—when she turns and speed-walks away. I take off after her, trying to catch up, but her long legs make it difficult, and I end up running.

"Jessie! Wait! Let me explain."

"Not necessary," she calls back, picking up her pace. "Hey, Noah," she says, smiling and waving to a camper walking by. "Looking good, Jenna!"

If I wasn't actively pursuing her, I would stop in my tracks, stupefied at the way she can carry on like her world isn't falling apart at the seams. But I am, so I keep going.

"Jess, slow down!" I shout, my chest burning from the exertion.

She walks even faster, breaking into a run herself as she approaches her cabin. She takes the stairs in two big steps and closes the door behind her, right in my face. I don't think there's a back door, and I can't imagine her climbing out the window to escape, so I take a minute to catch my breath.

Once my pulse has reached non-cardiac-arrest levels, I knock.

Unsurprisingly, she doesn't answer.

Surprisingly, I push past my inner rule-follower and go inside anyway. Jessie is sitting in front of her old desktop computer, staring daggers at the screen while typing furiously.

"Can we talk?" I ask.

"I'm busy," she says, pummeling the keys like she wishes they were my face.

"Listen, about what I said. Out of context I can see how—"

"Don't patronize me, Hillary," she says, her tone cold.

"That's not what I'm trying to do, I just want you to understand."

"Oh, I understand," Jessie says, looking up at me for the first time. Her blue eyes fill with tears, and she blinks them away. "Actually, I don't. Why were you trying to help me at all if you thought I was such a bad businesswoman? Running this camp into the ground?"

"Jessie, that's not—"

"That's exactly what you told Cooper." There's more hurt than anger in her voice, and deep down, I know I deserve it—I was venting to Cooper, processing my own feelings about losing this place, but I should have been more aware of how what I said could have been perceived.

"I wanted to help you," I tell her. "If the Valentines—"

"Oh, please," Jessie says, her voice wavering with emotion. "It's over, Hillary. We both know that."

I recoil at her words. Is she talking about the sale of the camp or our friendship? The first, I understand. The latter, I won't accept. I get what happened the last time: I broke a promise and she was rightfully hurt. But this time, I didn't make any promises. I came back to help. I did help—she'll be able to give Dot and Mr. Billy hefty bonuses with the increase of cash flow this summer. And my being here—to help her —came at the detriment of my own career and personal life. Aaron wouldn't have asked for a break if I wasn't leaving him for two months.

"Everyone in my life said coming back here this summer was a big mistake," I tell her. "I walked away from clients that wanted to pay me a lot of money. But I came back anyway, for you."

Jessie laughs, but there's no amusement in the sound. "Gee, thanks."

My head is a cyclone of emotions, and I stop, trying to find the words that can fix this. But I'm not sure they exist. And the thought of being here four more weeks without Jessie's friendship feels like torture.

"Maybe I should just go home," I say, my voice small and uncertain.

"Maybe you should," she says, her eyes focused on the computer screen.

I blink. Why did I suggest such a stupid thing? I don't want to leave. I want her to turn around and tell me to stay. To say she's sorry she overreacted, that we'll get through this together.

"Jessie, I hope you know I'd never say or do anything to hurt you on purpose. Not in a million years."

"It's fine," Jessie says. Then she stands and, without so much as looking in my direction, walks right past me and out the door.

And just like that, it really is over.