Chapter Twenty-Six

twenty-six

Jessie

"You sure everything's all right?" I whisper to Hillary as we hustle down the path toward the lakefront. She seems dazed.

Zoey is about thirty yards behind us with Jack and Mary, charming them with stories of her childhood summers here. Zac's on the sailboat, ready to go, and Cooper has hopefully finished the salad (all fingers intact).

"Aaron just proposed to me," Hillary says in a soft voice.

I whip my head around like a cartoon character. "What? Aaron? The guy you were dating in Chicago?"

That part of her life feels like a separate universe now. Like I forgot that she doesn't live here , that summer camp isn't her entire world.

"That was him in the car you saw speeding away," she says. "It was…unexpected."

"What did you say?" I whisper. We've neared the lake, and Jack, Mary, and Zoey aren't far behind.

Hillary opens her mouth to answer, then sees Cooper coming toward us, wearing a plain white apron (seems boring for him, but he's trying to look professional), balancing several covered bowls and platters in his arms.

"Cooper!" Hillary calls. "I need to—"

"Excuse me," he says, his voice curt. He climbs on board the sailboat and disappears belowdecks without a backward glance.

I turn to Hillary. "What was that?"

"He saw the proposal and seemed upset."

"He knew you and Aaron broke up, right?"

"Yeah, so I don't—"

"And here we are!" Zoey calls out behind us, and I whirl around.

Jack and Mary are standing there—Jack with his usual peeved expression, Mary slightly behind him with her usual soft smile.

The show is about to begin.

—

Everyone boards the sailboat, and Zac guides us out to the middle of the lake, where we'll drop anchor. The ride is smooth, with a light breeze. Cooper serves everyone a glass of wine and sets out an elaborate charcuterie board. Hillary sits next to me, Jack and Mary across from us. I introduced Hillary as our Arts and Crafts director, and if they're confused as to why she's eating with us, they haven't let on.

"Well, this is unexpected," Jack Valentine says, glancing around like he's wondering where all this luxury has been hiding.

"I hope you're hungry," I say. "I don't know if I mentioned that we have a classically trained chef on staff? Before this summer, he worked at one of the hottest restaurants in Boston."

"That's nice," Jack says absently.

"Very nice," Mary says, smiling timidly. "Doesn't everything look lovely?"

It's sunset on a cloudless evening, the lake a shimmering mirror reflecting the sky. The big, old sailboat has been strung with twinkle lights, which are beautiful—and help draw attention away from the peeling paint and worn deck. Looking back toward shore gives a perfect view of the camp: log cabins peeking out between pine trees, the green roof of the dining hall in the background.

While Zac drops anchor, Zoey comes out with the first course, fresh spring rolls and broccolini gomaae. Cooper is bustling around belowdecks and Hillary and I are making small talk; she's on point—I'm dazzled by how cool and confident my best friend is. We've got this.

Back on shore, Dot is getting everything ready for the next group of campers to arrive tomorrow—much to my surprise, Luke offered to help her. I'm overwhelmed with gratitude for all the work my team has put in.

A team that is going to come out on top.

Zoey carries out a tray with the main course, beautifully plated: cold poached salmon over a sesame noodle salad. I take a big sip of wine and remind myself about Nurse Penny's advice: rip off the Band-Aid and get back on the horse.

"There's something I'd like to talk to you about," I say to Jack once we start eating.

He looks up from his dinner, eyebrows raised. "Yes?"

"When she's not running our Arts and Crafts cabin, Hillary is a successful business analyst," I say, "and she's had a bunch of ideas about how to make the camp more profitable."

"That's right," she says, giving a professional smile. "We've implemented quite a few changes this summer, and already we've increased the camp's profits by twenty-three percent."

"Well done," Mary says, smiling.

Jack raises an eyebrow. "I'm not sure why that matters—"

"The adult camp has been a huge hit," I continue. "And there are so many other ways to utilize this property during the off-season, like—"

"What do you mean, utilize the property?" Jack cuts in.

"We…" I take a deep breath and get to the point. "We'd like to buy the property ourselves. We're prepared to make a very competitive offer."

Jack lets out an incredulous laugh. "An offer? The property is already under contract—it's too late."

"Hear us out," Hillary says calmly. "I've pulled comps in the area, and your buyer appears to be underpaying. We're offering you full market value, plus any penalties for backing out of the original contract. I have the details here—"

"I don't need to see any of that," Jack says. "You have no idea what you're doing, that's clear."

"Our plan is solid," Hillary says. "Hundreds of former campers have pledged to join a co-op to purchase the camp and run it together, with a board of directors and a transparent profit-sharing agreement. The capital has been secured; the business plans are ready."

"That's an interesting idea," Mary says, so quietly I barely catch it.

I turn to her. "You could join the co-op. It would mean a lot to everyone if we had a Valentine on the board."

And if Mary doesn't want to sell, we'd only need the co-op to purchase half the camp, which would reduce the risk for our members.

"There's no way," Jack snaps. "You can forget it."

"But why?" Hillary asks. "Why does it matter to you who purchases the property?"

"First off, if I back out of the contract, I'll have to pay a penalty—"

"Which we already said we're prepared to cover," I cut in, but Jack goes on as if he hasn't heard me.

"Secondly, I'm selling to a developer that's going to put this place on the map," he says, tapping his finger on the table between us. "Make it an important destination."

"It already is an important destination," I protest. "And we're going to preserve it for future generations. It's what your parents always talked about."

I direct the last part at Mary; she's about to respond when Jack shoots her a glare, and she shrinks back in her seat.

Jack then turns his glare on me. "You don't need to tell me what my parents always talked about—I know very well. Everything in their lives revolved around this damn camp! As for the current buyer underpaying me?" He leans forward, his small eyes locked onto mine. "You don't have all the information about this sale."

Hillary and I exchange glances.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"As part of the contract, Mary and I are each keeping a prime piece of property. The plans for my lake house are already underway—it's being designed by a world-renowned architect whose work is regularly featured in Architectural Digest ," he says proudly. "I'll finally feel at home in this place!"

My heart sinks.

"Isn't there anything we can do to change your mind?" I say, desperate. "You know how much this place meant to your parents. Do you really think they'd be okay with you selling it?"

I glance between the two siblings, panic rising in my chest. Mary's eyes are shining with tears, but Jack's jaw is set. My heart plummets into my stomach. All the time we've spent on this plan, wasted.

"The decision has been made," Jack says. He wipes his mouth and leans back, waving at Zac. "Take us back to the dock, please. Now."

"Mary," I say to her, "is there any way—"

"I'm sorry," she whispers, looking down. "I can't."

We wait in awkward silence as Zac pulls the anchor up and navigates the sailboat back to the dock. I'm struggling to contain my emotions, refusing to break down in front of Jack Valentine. Under the table, Hillary grabs my hand, and I concentrate on the feeling of her warm palm against mine.

As soon as we reach the dock, Jack heads off, followed by Mary, who trails after him like a sad duckling.

I look at Hillary. Her face is white; she looks as stunned and devastated as I feel. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "I really thought—"

"It's not your fault," I say. My throat is so tight I can barely get out the words. "I—I need a minute. Okay?"

I stumble off the boat, onto the deck, and away.

—

Tears flood my eyes as I take the path that leads north, past the boys' cabins, before diving into the wooded, undeveloped part of the property. It hits me all over again that this won't be undeveloped for long—a year from now, most of these trees, some of them a hundred years old, will be gone. Wiped away. Along with everything else.

Stepping off the path, I rush through the trees, branches catching on my clothes and hair. A sob collects in my throat and my knees feel like they're going to buckle, so I lean against a tree, wrap my arms around myself, and cry.

It's over.

I will never welcome another group of children to camp. I'll never tell another ghost story to a wide-eyed group of eight-year-olds, never take the fourteen-year-olds on their overnight backpacking trip, never cook tinfoil dinners in the firepit with the new counselors during training week. This place, these experiences, are an essential part of my soul.

I don't know how I can go on without them.

I have nothing else that matters to me. All these years, I've thought of my life as adventurous, as brave and important. But I've let my world shrink to three hundred acres, all my efforts focused on two months out of the year.

This camp is my life. And I have no idea who I'll be without it. I lean against the tree and let myself cry.

Eventually I hear footsteps approaching, and straighten.

It's Luke, ducking under branches and stepping over logs as he picks his way toward me. Quickly, I wipe my eyes.

"I heard the news," he says. His expression is all gentle concern. "Can I—do you want to talk about it?"

I swallow and shake my head. "I don't know if I can."

"You could try. I'll listen."

My eyes immediately fill with tears again. All my emotions bubble over, and my words rush out of me, raw and aching:

"What was the point of any of this? I put all my eggs in this basket, and now the basket is broken, and the eggs are splattered on the ground." My voice catches. "I was so stupid, investing my entire life in something that could end."

"Jess, everything ends."

I look at him, my cheeks flushed. "What?"

"Nothing lasts forever. We like to pretend it will, because it's too painful to confront the truth that we'll eventually lose everything we love."

I gape at him, aghast. "Do you think this nihilistic bullshit is the best thing to say to me right now?"

"Sorry." He grimaces and runs a hand through his hair. "I'm not good at this. What can I do?"

He says it so earnestly, like he feels inadequate but wants to help anyway.

My response surprises me: "You could give me a hug."

His eyebrows shoot up, as if it's a ridiculous request.

"Ugh, never mind," I say, turning to go.

But he grabs my hand, pulls me toward him, and wraps his arms around me. For an instant I'm frozen, stunned at being this close after all these weeks at a distance. Then my body relaxes, the air emptying out of my lungs in one long exhale, and I lean against him.

"I am so, so sorry," he whispers.

I don't know if he's apologizing for being kind of a dick, or if he's sorry that the camp is doomed, but either way, I appreciate it. I'm trying not to sob, but when I take a shuddering breath, Luke rubs my back gently, and that's all it takes for me to start crying again.

I'm not sure how long we stay like this, locked in an embrace in the middle of the woods, but at some point I become aware that this hug is shifting from friendly and supportive to…something else. Luke is touching the loose hairs at the base of my neck, his fingers brushing my skin, sending goose bumps down my spine. His other hand slides lower, to the curve at my waist, pressing me closer.

My breathing goes shallow. I'm exquisitely aware that his mouth is an inch from my cheek. He smells so good I want to bury my face in his neck. My hands are itching to dip under his shirt and feel his skin; my pulse is throbbing between my legs.

Somehow, in the midst of my sorrow, I'm getting turned on.

And so is he, I think; his heart is beating way too quickly for a man standing still. His hand moves up into my hair, his fingers rasping against my scalp, and I bite my lip to hold in a moan. I ought to step away. Luke has been doing this kind of thing for weeks, getting close and then pulling back—but instead, I run my hand up the back of his neck into his hair.

His breath rushes out in a sigh of pleasure. I let my hands roam over his shoulders, feeling the planes and ridges of his back. He's doing the same, running his palms down my spine, up the sides of my ribs.

Slowly, he presses his mouth to my jaw, a gentle kiss that makes me sag with relief. With one arm he pulls me flush against him; he's hard. I don't move a muscle, silently praying that he doesn't stop. He kisses my jaw again, then down the side of my neck, his lips parting so I feel his tongue on my skin as he gently sucks. This time, I can't hold in my moan.

Luke pulls back slightly and I get a glimpse of his face: his eyes hazy with desire, the groove between his eyebrows deepening in concentration, his mouth full and soft.

"God, I want you," he murmurs.

I can't seem to find any words, so I nod. Same.

His lips curve in a smile as he leans in, and—

My walkie-talkie crackles on my belt. "Jessie? Jessie, where are you?"

It's Hillary. She sounds worried.

I hesitate, not wanting to stop, but Luke takes a step back, turning away so I can't see his face. My heart sinks; is he doing this again? This stupid push-and-pull he's been doing all summer?

"Jessie? Are you there?" Hillary says on the walkie.

Luke is still facing away from me, so I sigh and grab the walkie-talkie off my hip.

"Here," I say into it. "I'm in the woods north of camp."

"On my way."

I replace the walkie on my belt. Luke turns to face me. He's shut down again, all the softness erased from his face. It's like looking at a brick wall, and I'm so fucking sick of this response after he initiates something with me .

"I should go," he says.

"Yes, you should," I say, not bothering to hide my irritation.

His mouth falls open. "That's not—"

"I'm done with this," I say, motioning between us. "Okay? Don't tell me you want me and then pull away and act all shocked that I'm annoyed." I shake my head. "Have the day you deserve, Luke."

I head back toward camp, leaving him speechless behind me.

—

It doesn't take long before I see Hillary on the path, her face red and blotchy. Behind her is the rest of my staff: Dot, her eyes glassy with tears; Zac and Zoey, arms linked, faces etched with sadness; and in the rear, Mr. Billy, his angular face wrinkled with worry.

No Cooper, though, and I'm about to ask where he is when Hillary pulls me into a hug. She's crying, which makes me start crying again, and this is exactly what I need in this moment: friendship. Support. Understanding.

"I'm sorry," she whispers. "We're all so sorry."

I shake my head. "We did the best we could, and I'm proud of us."

Dot puts her arms around Hillary and me and squeezes. Zoey does the same, followed by Zac, and finally Mr. Billy, his long arms wrapping around all of us.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Luke moving past, through the trees, watching us.

I close my eyes and pretend like this hug will never, ever end.