Chapter Twenty-Seven

twenty-seven

Hillary

It's over. Really, truly, officially over.

And it's all my fault. Jessie says she doesn't blame me, but I don't know how she can't. It was my job to convince the Valentines our plan wasn't just the best option; it was the only one. I had all the data I needed to speak to Jack's wallet and Mary's heart, but I failed.

And I can't even blame Aaron for throwing me off with his surprise proposal. I was on top of my game, but I still couldn't close the deal. And now, Jessie is going to lose the one thing that matters most to her. Camp Chickawah isn't just her job. It's her home, her family. Her whole life.

Jessie has every right to be upset with me, but somehow, she's not.

It's Cooper who's treating me like I have the plague. Mr. Billy has said more words to me in the last forty-eight hours than my so-called fling. Cooper can barely look at me, which makes no sense. I've been honest with him from the start; he knew everything about my history with Aaron: how we were on a break, and—most importantly—that I ended things before I slept with Cooper.

Not that it should have mattered. See aforementioned detail about the break.

And it's not like Cooper's past is squeaky-clean. He admitted as much last week on our stupid, wonderful picnic date. Even so, if one of his former conquests showed up at camp and tried to win him back with a ridiculous unromantic gesture, I wouldn't freak out. I mean, I might be uncomfortable, but I wouldn't push him away.

It wouldn't make sense to get upset over it, because this is just a fling. Sure, we broke some of our rules, but none of the major ones. It's still casual. Purely physical. All that emotional stuff, the way I feel around him, about him, that's just in my head.

Right?

So why is he so upset? And why do I miss him so much?

My ridiculous heart is galloping in my chest, so I take a deep breath and remind myself why I came here in the first place. Having the best sex of my life was just a bonus, and if it's over, so be it. The relationship I came here for was—and still is—a platonic one.

I look down at the friendship bracelet in my hand, the one I've been working on for the last three days. Its base is bright yellow (Jessie's favorite color) with blue accents (mine). I know it's a poor substitute for losing the camp, but I needed to do something. To give her something.

Now, I just have to find her.

She's not in her office, but Dot is, organizing some paperwork. She glances up when she sees me come in and sets it down. "How're you holding up, Goldberg?"

I shrug. It feels wrong to complain to someone who is losing their livelihood because of my inability to close a deal.

"I should be asking you that," I say. "How are you?"

"I'm on this side of the earth, and the sun is shining, so I'm not so bad."

"You're not sad? Or angry?"

She gives a wry smile. "I have my moments—and I'd be lying if I said I didn't look into getting a voodoo doll of that rat bastard."

A laugh bursts out of me, despite how sad I am. "We might have the supplies to make one in the Arts and Crafts cabin. Or an effigy to burn."

"Now you're talking," Dot says, laughing. Then her expression softens. "I know you're disappointed, Goldberg, but you can't control how other people respond. And you did good. Your momma would be real proud of you."

She clearly reads the confusion on my face, because she kicks out a chair on the other side of her desk and motions for me to sit. "Did you know I went to camp with your mom and aunt?"

My jaw drops. "What? You knew my mom?"

"Damn straight," Dot says. "Your aunt Carol was in my cabin, and Becky was like her shadow, always hanging around." She pauses, considering my face. "You remind me a lot of her. She was artsy, and fearless, too—I remember one summer her cabin was doing an overnight hike, and the counselor got stung by a bee. Girl was allergic, and your momma ran all the way back to camp to get help. Three miles, in the dark, all alone. Saved that girl's life. Real brave."

I glance down at my hands. My mom saved a girl's life; I couldn't even save the camp.

"I wish I'd inherited her bravery," I say softly.

"You did," Dot insists. "It was damn brave of you to come back here. You knew Jessie was upset with you. And you didn't know a thing about running an arts and crafts program. But you showed up. That took a lot of guts."

My cheeks flush, embarrassed. I'd hoped my ineptitude wasn't obvious—but I've got the swing of it now, and it turns out I'm not bad at it.

Dot's still talking. "Not to mention this ballsy plan of yours to buy back the camp."

"Which wasn't successful," I say, slumping forward in my chair. Jessie was my motivation for saving the camp, but part of me wanted to save it for my mom, too. Camp Chickawah was a place she loved. A place we shared, decades apart, even if she never knew I came here.

"I guess that depends on how you define success," Dot says thoughtfully. "It brought you and Jessie closer together—and a friendship like yours doesn't come around every day, or even every decade. So take that for the win it is."

Dot's right, and I'm grateful for her perspective. I'm about to ask if she knows where Jessie is when the phone rings. Dot answers it, and I slip out so she can get back to work, marveling at the idea of her and my mom knowing each other. I wonder what other stories Dot can tell me about her, more things I never knew we had in common.

I continue my search for Jessie, trying the dining hall next. The light is off in the kitchen, and I don't know whether I'm sad or relieved that I won't have another awkward run-in with Cooper.

I'm about to leave when I notice the old camp photos lining the back wall. More than one hundred years of history, black-and-white photos that turn to sepia and, eventually, to color. I don't know why I never thought to look for my mom here.

I locate the summer of 1978 and press my finger against the cool glass of that frame, then the next, looking at each and every girl in the annual camp photos. So many of them could be Mom—brown hair, wide eyes, a button nose, and a shy, knowing smile.

And then I find her. In the second row of the 1984 photo—my mom, Rebecca Katz. She must be around thirteen or fourteen. Her hair is parted down the middle. It's not as curly as mine, but it's just as dark, and she's wearing a Camp Chickawah T-shirt knotted on the side. Her smile is wide and unguarded, a hint of mischief in her eyes. Her arms are linked with two girls on either side of her, and a lump forms in my throat as I remember gathering for that same group photo every summer, surrounded by my own camp friends.

What would my mom tell me if she was here? Would she be proud of me, like Dot said, for coming back and trying to set things right? Or would she be disappointed that I've spent most of my life chasing a future I didn't really want? Checking off boxes I thought would lead to happiness, when it turns out the joy I craved was here all along?

In the place where I belong.

—

I manage to find more photos of my mom, my aunt, and a much younger Dot. Part of me wants to stay here forever, searching these memories in the hopes of finding answers about who I am and where I ought to go from here. But staying alone in the dark isn't going to give me what I'm looking for. I need to find Jessie.

After striking out on the girls' and boys' sides of camp and at the Lodge, I head down to the lake. Jessie isn't by the boats or near the swimming dock—but then I remember a place we used to go when we were kids. We called it our secret cove; it's just north of the Lodge, past a bend in the lake. No one could see us from land, but it was close enough that we could hear the counselors calling.

Sure enough, Jessie's there, sitting on a patch of sand, her arms wrapped around her knees, staring out at the water. She looks so peaceful and serene that I regret hunting her down. The woman is about to lose everything she cares about; she deserves some solitude.

I'm about to turn and go when she looks up.

"Hey," she says. The emotion in her voice, soft and sad, catches me off guard. But I'm grateful she isn't putting on the smiley veneer she's been wearing the last few days for the campers. This simple act of letting me in means so much more than a silly friendship bracelet.

"I don't want to bother you," I tell her.

"You're no bother," she says, patting the sand beside her.

I accept her invitation, mimicking her position and tucking my knees up to my chest. The sound of the water is soothing, and again my mind drifts to my mom. My brave and beautiful mom. I wonder if she had a best friend here, someone who was to her what Jessie is to me.

I glance over at Jessie, grateful that our friendship has survived so much.

"Thank you," I tell her.

"For what?"

"Being my friend. Despite everything."

Jessie rolls her eyes and knocks her shoulder against mine. "You're stuck with me, Hilly Bean—as long as you stop apologizing. You've hit your quota."

"But I am sorry," I say. "So sorry."

"Zip it," Jessie says. "I will accept no more apologies."

"How about gifts?" I ask. "Will you accept gifts?"

"Always," Jessie says, her eyes sparkling.

I pull the bracelet out of my pocket and hand it to her.

"It's beautiful," she says, turning it around in her hands. "I could never get that V pattern right."

"I can show you," I offer. "It's not that hard."

"Maybe," Jessie says. "I'll have plenty of free time." Her shoulders slump, her body deflating at the intrusive reality of just how close we are to the end of summer.

"That rat bastard," I say, borrowing Dot's nickname. Jack Valentine spent all day yesterday with the buyer, traipsing around the property, talking loudly about the plans for the new development. His custom lake house is going to sit right smack where the Lodge is now—and the thought of him sitting on his porch gazing at the lake while the land behind him is parceled out and sold makes me want to punch someone.

Jessie sighs. "It's going to take all of my acting chops not to be rude when they come up on Saturday for the dance."

"They're still coming?" I say, shocked.

"Yup," Jessie says. "It's tradition—the family comes every year, and this is the last."

"Thanks to them," I mutter, digging my toes in the sand.

Neither of us says anything then, and the sound of campers laughing and splashing in the lake drifts down to our hiding spot. The last end-of-summer dance, ever. My heart clenches. There's got to be a way to make it extra special for Jessie.

I look at my best friend, wearing her usual colorless, comfortable, functional clothes.

"Speaking of the dance," I say. "You aren't going to wear khaki, are you?"

Jessie barks out a laugh. "What's wrong with khaki?"

"Nothing—for everyday wear. But you said yourself, this is the last dance. You should wear something special."

"I don't think I have anything special," she says. "Unless I raid the costume closet."

"You are not going to the dance dressed as Dorothy."

"We did Beauty and the Beast last summer," she says. "I could be Belle."

"And Luke could be the Beast," I suggest, knocking my shoulder against hers.

Jessie huffs and shakes her head. Looks like I've stepped on another land mine.

"Do we need to pull another prank?" I ask, cracking my knuckles. "Because I will. I'll cover his toilet bowl with Saran Wrap."

Jessie laughs, but her heart's not in it. "No. I don't know. Maybe."

"What happened?"

"Nothing," Jessie says flatly. "Literally nothing. And I don't know why I keep expecting anything different. One moment, he's ridiculously sweet; the next, he's a total jackass again. He's just so frustrating."

"Aren't all men?" I say, my cheeks burning with the thought of my now-former fling. "Tell you what, he and Cooper can have each other."

"He's still being weird?" Jessie asks.

"Very," I admit.

There's a lot of hurt in that single word. But I'm sure I wouldn't feel this awful if I could have just let this summer be fun, so in a way, it's my fault. I blatantly ignored the rules we made—rules I made, to try and protect myself from the very things I'm feeling now. Confused. Sad. Missing him so much my heart aches every time I wake up and he's not with me.

"Have you talked?" Jessie says. "Asked him what's going on?"

I shake my head. "I tried, but it didn't go well."

"What did you say?"

My stomach clenches at the memory of Cooper's vacant stare. How he looked at me like he didn't know me. Like he didn't want to know me.

"I went to the kitchen to talk to him," I tell Jessie. "I said, ‘Hey.'?"

"And he said…"

"He said ‘hey' back, then turned and started washing dishes."

Jessie exhales a puff of air, which captures how I felt in the moment. Like the wind had been knocked out of me. It should have been fine; it would have been fine if I'd kept things light and fun. Instead, I had to go and fall for the guy.

My stupid, stupid heart.

"And then what?" Jessie asks.

"Then nothing. I walked away."

I think back to what Dot said about my mom. About me. But she was wrong. I'm not brave. I'm a coward, afraid to hear the boy I like—the boy I really like—say he's not into me anymore.

"I wonder if something else is going on," Jessie says. "This doesn't seem like Cooper."

"Yeah," I say, although I wonder if the Cooper we've gotten to know is the real Cooper. Or if the real Cooper is the one that woman from Boston talked about. Maybe he just got tired of pretending.

"I'm really proud of you, by the way," Jessie says.

My eyebrow arches.

"It couldn't have been easy saying no to a proposal," she says. "I remember you wanted to be engaged by the time you turned thirty."

I forgot Jessie knew about my plan and my timeline—I was pretty open about it when we were teenagers. I think I even told Cooper about it once. Maybe that's what happened—seeing Aaron propose reminded him of how much I wanted to get married. Maybe he pushed me away out of fear that I'd try and rope him into a commitment.

"At the start of the summer, I probably would have said yes to Aaron," I tell Jessie. "But spending the last two months here has made me realize I want something different from my life."

"Like what?"

"Wouldn't it be nice if I knew," I say. A small part of me hoped that after the deal with the Valentines went through, I'd be able to stay involved with the camp and Jessie in some business-advisor capacity. But that dream went bust on the sailboat.

"You'll figure it out," Jessie says. "Just follow your heart—it won't steer you wrong."

Maybe she's right. Following my head certainly hasn't worked for me.

"Speaking of your heart," Jessie says, "I wouldn't give up on Cooper just yet. I've seen the way he looks at you."

"What way?" I ask, desperate for even the tiniest bit of validation. Because rules be damned, what we had wasn't just physical. If it was, he wouldn't have been so thoughtful, listening to me and paying attention to the stories I told him. If he didn't care about me, why would he ask me about my mom? Go out of his way to save me leftovers or take me on a romantic date? Spend so much time learning my body, focusing on what makes me feel good. Make me come and laugh and cry and feel things. For him.

"The same way you look at him," Jessie says, pulling me back to this moment. "The two of you, I don't know, it's like you always know where the other one is in the room, like there's an invisible string connecting you. And he makes you smile. I swear, Hilly, you smile more around him than anyone else."

Her words make me grin, until I remember I'm not that happy anymore.

"You know," Jessie continues, "when you first got here, you seemed so…tense. Like you were here, but not here . You were on the edge of everything. Observing, one step removed. But with Coop, you're fully present. You are unapologetically yourself. And I like yourself."

"I like this version of me, too," I say.

Jessie reaches over and brushes a tear from my cheek. I didn't realize I was crying, but the gesture makes the tears fall faster. I'm so incredibly grateful to have her friendship back.

"Cooper's not the only reason I've been more myself," I tell her. "You're a big part of it, too. I haven't been this close—or close at all—to anyone since you."

Her blue eyes fill with concern. "Really? Why not?"

I shrug. "It's not easy for me to open up to new people. And losing your friendship hurt so much that I think part of me was scared to let myself feel like that about anyone else. Not that I'm blaming you—"

"I wish I'd handled things differently, too." She puts her arm around my shoulder and squeezes me against her. "And I get what you're saying. When I lost you, it felt like I lost part of myself. Like my heart was that necklace you gave me—all jagged and half-broken."

"People always talk about soulmates as being romantic," I say, leaning my head against her shoulder. "But is it weird that you're the closest thing I've ever experienced to that?"

"Not weird at all," she says, and rests her head on mine.

We used to sit like this all the time as kids, sometimes here in this exact spot. Just like back then, I gaze out over the lake, feeling the warmth of the sun on my bare arms, the tickle of one of Jessie's braids dangling against the back of my neck.

And for the first time since the terrible dinner with Jack Valentine, I feel like maybe things will be okay. The camp is ending, Cooper isn't talking to me, and I have no idea what I want to do with my life. But like Dot said, this summer has been a success—it brought me and Jessie together again.

"Will you be my date to the dance?" I ask after a beat.

"Duh," Jessie says.

I grin and exhale a sigh of relief. The Valentine Dance—named after the camp owners, not the Hallmark holiday— was never a big romantic event. It's a party, a fun celebration to mark the end of another incredible season.

And in spite of everything that tried to bring us down, this summer has been incredible.

"Tell you what," Jessie says. "You can have the Belle costume, and I'll find something else."

"Hard pass," I say. "But I have a better idea."

Jessie looks at me, her head tilted in anticipation.

"Think Dot can cover for you during dinner?" I ask.

"Maybe?" Jessie says, her voice wavering.

"Because you are driving the two of us into town to shop for party dresses. Make those boys drool and realize what they're missing."

Jessie laughs. "I hate to break it to you, but our shopping options are Walmart and Walmart."

"I'm up for the challenge if you are," I say, standing. I extend a hand to help her up, and after a long moment, she takes it.

"You're crazy," she says. "But I'm in."