Chapter Thirty

thirty

Jessie

Every day of this last week at camp has been bittersweet, in the truest sense of the word.

Bitter: Jack Valentine's smug expression as he watched me pour my heart out in my speech at the dance. The impending goodbyes with my staff, who have become like family. The knowledge that the place I love will soon be wiped away.

Sweet: the smile on Hillary's face when she was snuggling with Cooper. The cream cheese brownies Cooper made. And, of course, waking up with Luke each morning.

I wasn't sure what he meant by, "You're mine until camp ends," but apparently it means sleeping together every night, holding hands wherever we go, and staying up late talking. In short, acting like we're in a real relationship.

A relationship I have for one more week.

Which is the cause of this morning's sob session. Luke is asleep, his body curled behind mine. I'm crying quietly, letting the tears slip down my face onto my pillow.

I care about him. More than I ever did for Nick even after eight months together. Though lately I've been wondering if the appeal of Nick was that having a boyfriend made the off-season feel less like a waiting period between camp sessions. With Luke, it seems impossible that we'll survive out of the beautiful bubble we're in—our lives are too up in the air, taking us in totally different directions. There's no use imagining anything long-term.

Still, every once in a while, the intensity of my feelings for him washes up and nearly drowns me. It's ridiculous. It's way too soon. But that's how time works at camp: a day feels like a week, a week feels like a month.

And I can't stop wishing we had more time together.

The morning light filtering through the windows is soft. I should get up; it's the last day of camp, the day the final campers leave. We have less than a week before the staff and I clear out, too. And shortly after that, the sales documents will be finalized and demolition will begin.

Yesterday, I started to pack up my cabin. I was shocked at how quickly it went. Two duffel bags and a few boxes hold everything I own.

I start to roll away, but Luke holds me tighter.

"Don't leave," he murmurs.

My heart aches. Because I am leaving. We all are.

But it's warm and comfortable here, so I stay where I am. No sense rushing past the sweetness of this morning to the bitterness of the day ahead.

—

By lunchtime, the campers have checked out, the property is silent, and I'm overwhelmed with the wistfulness I always feel at the end of summer. Only this time, that wistfulness is layered with a piercing grief.

The staff disperses to work on their individual tasks—Zac and Zoey down at the lakefront, Hillary in the Arts and Crafts cabin, Cooper in the kitchen. Mr. Billy is wandering around with his trash picker-upper, grumbling. It feels futile, all of it, because what's the point of putting the watercraft in order, or organizing the craft supplies, or picking up trash, when it's going to be bulldozed anyway?

"Hey, boss."

I turn to see Dot walking across the lawn toward me.

"Hey," I say, and try to summon a smile. But I've been trying to keep it together all morning and I can't anymore, so I burst into tears.

Dot sits on a bench and pats the spot next to her. "Ah, Pippi, come here."

My old nickname makes the tears come even harder. I sit, and I cry, and she pats my back.

"Why aren't you as much of a mess as I am?" I say after a while.

She snorts out a laugh. "Oh, so how hard you cry is a measure of how much you care?"

"That's not—"

"No, I get it. Here's the thing—I've lived more life than you. I have a different perspective. For me, this is a chapter in my life that's closing, and yes, I'm sad, but I'm looking forward to whatever's next."

"You're going to Austin, right?" I say, wiping my eyes. "To stay with Yvonne?"

"Yep."

"I wish I had something to look forward to," I say.

"You do!"

"I really don't."

Dot sighs and shakes her head. "This is why I wasn't so sure about Nathaniel and Lola hiring you full-time right after college."

I look up sharply. "What?"

"Don't give me that look. I knew you'd do an amazing job. I was worried you'd get stuck here."

I bristle. "Stuck? What about you? You've worked here for decades!"

"Yes, in the summers. But I was forty when I started on full-time. Did you know that?" I shake my head, and she says, "Yeah, before that, I did all sorts of things in the off-season. I was a ski instructor. Taught English in Thailand. Spent winters in New Zealand, Greece, Costa Rica—all over the place. Working odd jobs, exploring, meeting new people."

She smiles at the memories, and I think back to my childhood decision to make summer camp my career so I wouldn't have to "live ten months for two."

Seems like I ended up doing that anyway.

"I've never wanted to do anything else," I say, not able to help being defensive.

She pats my thigh. "I know. Camp is your world—that was obvious even when you were a kiddo. But the longer you've stayed here, the more you've closed yourself off to the rest of life. It's like you and that old canoe—"

"I love that canoe—"

"Yeah, and it weighs a ton and is a beast to navigate. But you never considered switching to one of the newer ones, right?"

"I don't—"

"Hear me out," Dot says. "I'm not one of those Pollyanna types who believes there's always a silver lining—this camp being sold is a flat-out crime. But I hope you'll take it as an opportunity to explore, to spread your wings and see what the world has to offer outside of camp."

"I want to work in a camp, though," I say, stubbornly.

"And you can. But don't rush. Figure out what else you love. Travel. Have fun in Chicago with Hillary. Go to New York and see some of those musicals you're always listening to. You're getting a little money from this sale, and that gives you some breathing room."

I look down at my hands, feeling a twinge of guilt for profiting off the loss of my camp.

"You know about that?"

"Of course. Lola told me they wanted to make sure you were taken care of."

I look at her, confused. "Me, specifically? I assumed they meant the current camp director."

"You, specifically," Dot says, nodding. "It's your name in that will, Jessie May Pederson. Whether you worked here or not. Though I bet they suspected their rat bastard kids would sell it while you were still the director."

My heart warms like a glowing campfire. It's not the money that's meaningful—although I've seen the sales numbers; even one percent will be sizable. It's the fact that Nathaniel and Lola thought of me almost as family. Which is how I always thought of them, too.

"Listen, it sucks that this is all ending," Dot says, nudging me with her shoulder. "But don't forget about the possibilities that are just beginning. Okay?"

I hesitate, then nod. "Thanks, Dot."

"Thank you, boss. It's been one hell of a ride."

—

An hour or so later, I'm organizing the first aid supplies (another pointless task, but I need to stay busy or I'll start crying again) when Hillary comes over the walkie-talkie and says I'm needed in the dining hall.

When I get there, I'm surprised to see Hillary, Cooper, Dot, Zac and Zoey, Mr. Billy, and Luke sitting at a table.

On the floor in front of them are two full backpacks.

"What's this?" I ask. "Who's going hiking?"

Hillary grins. "You are! You missed the overnight campout last week, and we know you were looking forward to it."

I shake my head, confused. "I can't. There's too much to do today."

"We'll take care of it," Cooper says, and Mr. Billy nods solemnly.

"You don't have a choice," Zac says with a smile, and Zoey adds, "We got your backpack loaded up and everything."

Dot chimes in: "We knew you'd never agree to go unless we practically forced you."

I cough out a disbelieving laugh. "But if both Dot and I leave—"

"Oh, I'm not going," Dot says. "I'll stay here and keep everyone on track."

I'm confused; she's the only other person who cares about this activity. "Who's the other backpack for, then?"

"Uh, me," Luke says, speaking for the first time. "If you're okay with that."

My heart fills with gratitude as I look at this dear group of friends. Family. They're not just giving me an opportunity to do the overnighter one last time. This is a chance to step away from the sadness of closing down the camp.

"Thank you," I manage to say. "This is exactly what I need."

Hillary beams. "We know."

"Now get going," Dot says. "You have six miles to cover before nightfall."

Before I can pick up my backpack, Mr. Billy comes over. "You did good, Pippi," he says to me, his voice gruff. "Real good. You should be proud—I know I am."

A lump comes to my throat; I'm not sure I've ever heard him say so many words all at once. "Thank you for all your hard work over the years, Mr. Billy."

He peers down at me from his full height, his expression grave. "It was an honor."

—

It usually takes a full day to reach the spot where we camp during the overnighter—young teenagers plus heavy packs equals a slow pace, countless snack breaks, and lots of whining. But Luke keeps up just fine, so even though we set out around three p.m., we're on track to reach our destination with daylight left.

As we hike, he asks me what I'm always listening to on my canoe rides, and I tell him about my favorite musicals; turns out he's seen a lot of them—most recently Dear Evan Hansen . This leads to a spirited discussion about poor Evan. Luke insists he's a "lying schmuck who deceived everyone he claims to care about" and I argue that he's a confused teenager searching for meaning in a big, scary world.

Then we talk about what we were like as teenagers. Luke claims he was a "consummate geek," and when I say that's hard for me to believe, he says he started a Settlers of Catan club in high school (which isn't too geeky, I tell him) and later wrote his college admissions essay about how Catan is a metaphor for life (okay, I agree: total geek move).

We talk about our families; Luke's parents have been happily married for nearly forty years, and he has two younger sisters. In more recent years, he tells me, he was sharing an apartment with a friend, but then the friend's boyfriend moved in, and Luke was in the way. At the start of the summer, he put all his belongings in a storage unit and came to camp.

I remember the time I asked him where he lived, and he said he lived here. I assumed he was joking—but no, he's as untethered now as I am.

I ask where he's going after this, and he says he's heading to a cabin his family owns in Michigan. It's booked all summer, but it'll be empty in the fall. He's planning to finish the draft of his book there. After it's revised and turned in, he'll look for a teaching job in New York state, where he's licensed—a small town, hopefully.

"I realized this summer that the city was too crowded and hectic for me," he says. "From there? I guess I'll figure it out as I go along."

His words bruise my already sore heart. I didn't expect him to say anything about us, obviously. But I'm going to miss him. More than I should.

—

When we reach the camping spot—a clearing next to a slow-moving river—I spot a ring of rocks still filled with the charred remains of last week's campfire. The flat areas surrounding it seem to hold the ghosts of tents pitched there in years past.

The sun is dropping toward the western horizon, so we get to work: starting a fire, cooking dinner, setting up the tent. We eat as the sun sets, and after we finish and clean up, it's fully dark outside.

"There's only one thing left to do," I tell him.

He grins. "Skinny-dipping?"

"You got it."

When we came here with the campers, the girls would head upstream and the boys down, far enough apart (especially in the dark) for privacy. But tonight, we both know damn well we're doing this together.

We undress on the riverbank, then head into the cool water. He's staring at me with such intensity, it sucks the oxygen from my lungs.

"You've seen all this before," I say, motioning to myself, laughing.

His voice is low and gravelly: "Not sure I'll ever get used to a view like that."

"Well, you don't have to just look ."

Luke lunges toward me, and I let out a scream of delight as he tackles me, plunging us into the cool water in a tangled heap of limbs. We resurface, sputtering and laughing as we float apart. I'm struck by how relaxed he looks—playful, almost boyish—so different from the gloomy, unapproachable man who arrived two months ago.

"What happened to you this summer?" I blurt out.

"What do you mean?"

I motion between us. "When you first showed up at camp, I never in a million years would've expected this."

"Probably reasonable to not expect to end up naked in a river with someone."

"Oh, I end up naked in rivers with lots of people," I say. "That's not what I mean."

"Lots of people, eh?" He drifts closer, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "And do those other people do this?"

He grabs me by the hips, pulling me flush against him. I suck in a breath at the warmth of his skin against mine. We're inches apart, eyes locked together. Droplets are caught on his lashes, his lips, pooling in the shallow dimple in his chin.

"Usually, yeah," I say, holding his gaze.

He slides a hand up my neck, wraps my hair in his fist and tugs, tilting my chin up to expose my neck. "What about this?" he says, kissing my throat, teeth grazing my skin.

"Occasionally," I say, breathless. Needing to be closer, I wrap my legs around his waist and pull us together. He kisses my jaw, then cups my breasts in both hands, his mouth following in a wordless prayer.

"This?" he whispers.

I'm losing the ability to speak, but I manage to say, "Sometimes."

He sighs, like he's disappointed in me, and puts his mouth next to my ear. "Liar."

Laughing, I lean back into the water, letting my arms drift out to my sides as I gaze up at the night sky, the endless glittering stars. My legs are still around his waist, and he traces my skin with his fingers as we float. The moon slips behind a cloud, lining it with silver. I want to stay like this forever, weightless, breathless, pretending tomorrow will never come.

"You want to know what happened to me this summer?" he says, and I lift my head to look at him. "You did, Jess."

He's gazing at me with an expression I've never seen before—a fierce tenderness that makes my lungs constrict.

"Because I wouldn't stop banging on your door when you wanted to be alone?" I ask, aware that I'm being cowardly, teasing him instead of leaning into the conversation.

His expression softens, like he understands exactly what I'm doing but doesn't blame me. "That's part of it." He pauses, swallows. "I'll never be the same after this summer. I want you to know that."

He's saying goodbye, and my throat tightens. Unsure how to respond, I choose the cowardly route again: reaching for him, pressing my mouth to his. We drift into deeper water, touching, tasting, biting, until I'm so turned on I can hardly breathe.

"I can't get enough of you," he murmurs into my mouth. "This isn't enough. I need more."

Soon we're rushing back to our campsite, drying ourselves with the T-shirts we plan to wear tomorrow. He pulls me into the tent, pressing me down as he comes over me, whispering words that are filthy and tender at the same time, and I close my eyes and pretend this will last forever.

—

Hours later, I'm still awake. I don't want this night to end. Come morning, we'll pack up and go back to camp, and it'll be over.

Luke's arms tighten around me. "Stay with me," he murmurs.

"I'm not going anywhere tonight."

"I'm not talking about tonight."

I twist around to look at him; he's rumpled and soft, his eyes half-lidded, like he's mostly asleep.

"I want you to stay with me for a while," he says. "At my family's cabin in Michigan."

His voice is warm and gentle, and I want to wrap myself up in it. But something holds me back, something I can't put into words, so instead I say, "I told Hillary I'd stay with her."

He lifts one shoulder in a lazy shrug. "Stay with her while I finish my draft. Then come visit me. It'll take my editor a month or so to get back to me. I'll have nothing to do."

"Ah, so you want something to do," I say, teasing.

"I want someone to do." His eyes dance, then turn serious. "You'd love it there, Jess. It's right on a lake, we have kayaks and paddleboards, there's a bike path and hiking trails."

"It sounds amazing. It's just…"

I trail off, once again not sure how to say what I'm thinking.

"What's holding you back?" His voice is probing, inviting me to dig deeper, like the time he helped me unpack my feelings about Hillary.

If I was totally honest, I would tell him that I'm already losing so much this summer. I'm not sure I can handle losing him, too, because inevitably I would have to leave, and the more I allow myself to care about him, the more it'll hurt.

But thinking about this makes my chest feel like it's caving in, so all I can manage is, "Aren't you the one who said everything has to end?"

"Ah," he says, nodding. "So why prolong the inevitable?"

"Exactly."

He tucks his arm under his head, looking up at the tent above us. His expression is pensive, the groove between his eyebrows deepening. "Let me ask you something. Back when you were offered the job as director of the camp, if you'd known it would end like this, would you have taken it?"

"Honestly? I don't know. Yes, I have some great memories, but are they worth how painful it's going to be to walk away?"

"I've thought the same thing about my marriage. And those first two books. If I'd known ahead of time how nasty the divorce would be, that the books would bomb—would I have done any of it?"

"Would you?"

"Probably not."

I huff and shake my head. "Great. More nihilistic thoughts from Luke."

He chuckles. "But if we knew the ending before we started, we'd cherry-pick our way through life, only doing things that are guaranteed to work out."

"That sounds kind of ideal."

"Yeah, but if I'd known how fucking awful it'd be to bury Scout, I never would've taken her when my uncle died. And I would've missed out on some great years with her."

"Okay, fine," I say grudgingly, "but are you ready to get another puppy and do it all over again?"

He immediately grimaces. "No."

"See? I put my heart and soul into this camp, especially this summer. So forgive me if I'm wary of letting myself care that much about anything—or anyone—ever again. I'm sorry to be so negative; that isn't usually my style. But what's the fucking point?"

Like in some of our previous conversations, Luke is unshaken by my emotional outburst. He runs his fingers gently through my still-damp hair before speaking again.

"You love Hadestown , right?"

I nod, surprised. The musical is a jazz-infused retelling of the Greek myth of Orpheus and Eurydice; after they fall in love, Eurydice ends up in the underworld, and when Orpheus tries to save her, he fails.

"In the opening number," Luke says, "Hermes tells the audience that it's a sad song. A tragedy. He repeats that at the end, too, after you've watched the entire tragic story unfold, right? But then he says—"

"We're gonna sing it anyway," I say, sighing. "Okay, I hear you. I always loved that message, going on a journey, even when you know it won't end well, simply because it's worth taking. But facing it in real life?" Tears flood my eyes, and my throat constricts. "I fucking hate it, Luke."

"I know. Same." He pauses. "But in real life, we can't know ahead of time how something will turn out. We don't know if the book will sell, if the plan to save the camp will work…" His eyes dart toward me, then away. "Or if the relationship will last."

"So what do we do?"

I'm not just asking about us—I'm asking about life. About starting over after losing everything I thought mattered.

"I think we ask ourselves if the journey is worth taking. And if the answer is yes…then we go for it."

"Why?" My voice catches on a sob.

Beside me, Luke goes silent, like he's wrestling with this as much as I am.

"This sounds trite," he says finally, "but maybe it comes down to deciding what kind of people we want to be. The kind who believe nothing is worth attempting if the outcome isn't guaranteed?" He pauses. "Or the kind of people who try ?"

He's right. I could have let Camp Chickawah close without a fight. But that's not the kind of person I want to be. I hate what's happening, and I'm not sure I'll ever be fully myself again after losing this place, but I don't regret trying.

Luke shifts so we're inches apart, his gaze intense, searching my face. "You have every reason to be wary. So do I. But finding someone who makes me feel like this? It's rare, Jess. So even if we have no idea how it'll end—if we fall apart after a month, or if we spend the rest of our lives together—I think we should try ."

I force myself to maintain eye contact, to let this penetrate all the way to my core. Dot's words come back to me, how she hopes I'll spread my wings, take some risks, find out what else I love besides camp.

"All right," I say. "After I spend a few weeks with Hillary, I'll come and stay with you."

His face breaks into a smile like the sun, the kind of smile I tried to coax from him for weeks. Now he gives it to me effortlessly, wrapping his arms around me.

All the time I spent this summer trying to get him to smile, to laugh, to engage—none of it was wasted. If nothing else, it led us to this moment, to us holding each other as we open ourselves to the possibilities contained in all these endings.

Bitter, yes.

But also: oh, how sweet.