Epilogue

epilogue

Jessie

One Year Later

As always, the last day of summer camp is chaos, but it's the best kind: loading kids and duffels onto buses, calls of "See ya next summer" echoing as they head down the dusty road.

Once they're cleared out, it's time for the counselors and staff to do the same. And then it's over, and I'm standing alone in the middle of the big lawn, that familiar wistfulness crawling over me as I realize I won't see these kids for ten months.

But I'm not too sad.

Because adult camp starts next week.

The past year has been a wild ride. There were times I thought we'd made a mistake in believing we could turn the co-op into a successful business venture. Luckily, I have a wonderful team. The Camp Chickawah Cooperative includes hundreds of former campers, with a twelve-person board of directors elected by the members. The board hired me as chief camp director and Hillary as chief operations officer. Her clear financial vision and business acumen have been guiding lights through our most challenging decisions. Running this camp with her is the fulfillment of my childhood dream—though I never imagined doing it with my best friend, my platonic soulmate, whose strengths complement mine perfectly.

"Welp, we made it through another summer," Dot says from behind me.

I turn to smile at her; I was thrilled when she agreed to come back as assistant director. Dot isn't a year-round employee anymore—she's spending the off-season in Austin with Yvonne—and I couldn't be happier for her.

"It was Chick-amazing, wasn't it?" I say.

"Damn right, boss."

I throw my arm over her shoulder as we head back toward the office. Hillary is heading toward us, and I'm struck by how different she looks compared to last summer when she arrived for training week. Her hair is wild and curly, her hiking boots are scuffed, and she has a huge smile on her face.

"Hey, Jessie, hey, Dot," she calls. "Congrats on finishing an incredible summer!"

"Thanks!" I throw my arms around her, squeezing extra tight. "How was Chicago?"

She spent most of the summer here, working with me on plans for the camp (and hanging out with Chef Cooper, because they're obsessed with each other), but she spent the past week in Chicago, meeting with a consortium of women small business owners and visiting her dad.

She'll be running the Arts and Crafts cabin during adult camp this fall, for old times' sake.

"The trip was great—I'll tell you more later," she says. "I've got to find Cooper, but we're still planning on dinner at the lake, right? Seven o'clock?"

I nod. "That should give me and Dot time to wrap things up this afternoon."

"I'll meet you in the office in thirty minutes, boss," Dot says.

"Sure thing," I say.

Dot heads to the office, and Hillary to the dining hall. Cooper bursts out the doors and races toward her, nearly tackling her in a full-body hug, as if they've been apart for months rather than a week. Their laughter floats on the breeze as I head down the path toward the lake, where Zac and Zoey are wrapping up at the waterfront.

His blond hair has grown out to his shoulders, and Zoey has a cute baby bump. They'll stay here through the fall to help with adult camp, then head to Australia for a second summer, scoping out locations near Zac's hometown for a future kids' camp. Zoey is due in February, and they plan to return to Camp Chickawah next summer, baby in tow. I figure if we can make it feasible to raise a child here, someday in the future, if I'm lucky, I can, too.

I walk past the Lodge, which was our second construction project, after winterizing the cabins. Thanks to a big grant from a former camper, it's been renovated and refurbished with big picture windows and a wide porch facing the lake. The garden around it is in full bloom—the campers helped tend the flowers and herbs. Next summer, Cooper wants to add a raised vegetable garden.

Down the shore from the Lodge is a new construction site—Mary Valentine's lake house. She's the largest shareholder in the co-op and retained a half-acre lot for herself, where she'll build a small vacation home that'll be deeded to the co-op when she passes away.

I take the path toward the boys' cabins, climb the stairs of the smallest one, and knock before letting myself in. The air is cooler in here, slightly musty. The beds are gone, but the table remains where it was last year, pushed against the largest window, covered with papers and notebooks. Luke sits there with his laptop. His hair is messy and he's glaring at the screen with that blue-fire stare that lets me know it's been a rough writing day.

He needs a moment to transition back into the real world, so I sit in a chair and wait. Camp Shadows came out in July, and it's done well—no bestseller lists, but steady sales, and readers are loving it—so he's working on another novel as part of a new three-book deal. It's not a half-million-dollar deal like last time, but he's happy to be a mid-list author as long as he can keep doing what he loves. He's taken the lead on planning writing and artist retreats here, too, during the off-season.

Last September, I spent a couple weeks in Chicago with Hillary, then headed to Luke's family cabin in Michigan. We spent our days paddleboarding on the lake, playing Settlers of Catan (I finally beat him after two weeks of trying), belting show tunes in the kitchen while cooking dinner (he can do an impressive Phantom), and talking under the stars. Every day I fell more in love with him, but I couldn't shake the nagging question in the back of my mind: did he really feel the same? Or did he get caught up in the emotions when we were back at camp?

Then, one day during our last week there, I accidentally overheard him talking to his mom on FaceTime.

She asked him if things were serious between us, and Luke said, "Let me put it this way, Mom: this relationship can only go one of two ways. Either we'll spend the rest of our lives together, or this will be the most painful breakup I can imagine." "Worse than the divorce?" she asked. And he replied, "So much worse."

That night, I told him that I wanted to figure out how to stay together, and he closed his eyes and said, "Thank god."

Over the winter, we made time for traveling. He took me to New York in January, and we spent an entire week seeing Broadway shows— Hadestown and Moulin Rouge! and Chicago and Sweeney Todd . We met up with Hillary and Cooper in New Zealand for two weeks in February, after which they took a monthlong culinary tour through Europe and Asia, and we visited my mom and stepdad in San Diego.

But as much as I enjoyed all this traveling, I was itching to get back to camp.

Returning to the property this past spring felt like having a missing piece of my soul restored. Nothing I experienced during my time away—the musicals, the delicious food, the scenic vistas—could compare to the feeling of being here, where I belong. My world has expanded this past year, but this place is still my home.

Once camp started, I worried that Luke and I would struggle to balance our relationship. But we navigated it like we've navigated everything else this year: together. When I'm busy, Luke feels free to disappear into his fictional worlds, which he appreciates. He made a point to come to most of the meals and bonfires (a gesture of love, since the noise and chaos give him a headache) and he led a weekly writing workshop for the campers. For my part, I realized that being "on the job" 24/7 all summer isn't healthy, so I started putting Dot in charge for one full day each week. She encouraged me to carve out a few hours here and there on other days, too, so Luke and I can get some alone time.

"Hey, you," he says, and I look up. He leans back in his chair and stretches, running his hands through his messy hair. "How did the big send-off go?"

"Good." I walk over and lean against his desk. "How's the draft coming?"

He grimaces. "I spent three hours rewriting three paragraphs."

"Sounds like you deserve a break," I say, grinning as he stands and pulls me against him. With me in my hiking boots and him in socks, we're exactly the same height—something he loves, saying it makes for easier access.

" You deserve a break," he says, and kisses me on the mouth. "Have to admit, I'm looking forward to a night with the guarantee of no interruptions. Or even a couple hours without that damn walkie-talkie going off."

I laugh. "I'm looking forward to that, too, but I need to meet Dot in…" I look at my watch. "Twenty minutes. Do you think you can be that quick? And remember, we're doing dinner with Cooper and Hillary at the lake later."

"I can be quick," he says immediately. "But then I'll be slow later tonight."

I grin. "Deal."

—

That evening, Luke and I meet Hillary and Cooper down at the lakefront, where Cooper has prepared an incredible dinner for the four of us still on the property. Dot cleared out to catch a plane to Austin, and the Zimmerman-Takahashis drove to town because Zoey was craving Funyuns and rocky road ice cream, both of which are out of stock at the canteen.

We eat picnic-style on the dock, talking and laughing as the sun sets and the fireflies come out. Cooper says he's looking forward to cooking for adults next week—the kids adore him, but he's grown tired of their limited palates.

"I think it's time for some champagne!" Cooper says, once we're all stuffed. "It'll be our new end-of-summer tradition."

"Sounds lovely," Hillary says to him, "but you forgot to bring it."

He grins, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "We better run to the kitchen, then. Back soon!"

They take off, giggling as they disappear down the path.

"Did that seem a little scripted to you?" I ask Luke.

Luke shrugs. "Maybe they wanted to get it on in the kitchen again."

I snort a laugh. "Probably."

"But since I have you alone for a minute, have I told you about the dreams I've been having?"

I look at him, expecting to see a teasing glint in his eyes. Instead, he looks pensive. Almost somber.

"What kind of dreams?" I ask. "Not like the ones back then, I take it."

He shakes his head. "Not like that. But still…well. Unsettling. They always start the same way: I wake up and you're not in bed with me, so I go look for you. I realize I'm in an unfamiliar house—at least, it's a place I don't recognize, though it feels familiar in the dream, if that makes sense?"

I nod, and he continues.

"I step out of the bedroom and into a hall where there are two doors. I open the first one, and it's an office. My laptop is on the desk. My notebooks and scrap paper are cluttering everything."

"Your writing space," I say, smiling.

"Yeah, it's nice. But I still don't know where you are, so I step out of the room and open the next door in the hall. And there's…" He pauses, sneaks a glance at me. "A child's bed and a crib. A few toys on the floor. A changing table."

I hold my breath. The only sound is the gentle lapping of the water against the dock, the crickets singing around us.

"No one's in that room, either," he continues, "so I head downstairs to the kitchen and there you are. You're sitting at the table with a little boy and a baby girl with strawberry blonde hair. There's a dog lying next to your feet. And you smile and say good morning."

My eyes fill with tears.

"We eat breakfast together," he says, smiling, "and then you kiss the kids goodbye, and we walk you to the door. And when you go outside, I see the lake and the trees and the cabins in the distance, and I realize that we live here. Right here." He pauses. "That's when I wake up. And every time, I lie there in bed and wish I could go back to that dream." He glances over at me, a few stray tears caught on his lashes. "I want that life, Jess. I want it so badly it hurts."

I want it, too—my heart is overflowing with longing. "But are you sure you'd be happy here? Living in the woods away from society?"

"I don't like society that much."

I let out an incredulous laugh. "But kids, Luke? I mean, I want kids. But how would we make it work? I don't want them to end up like Jack Valentine, resentful of their parents for being so focused on camp."

"I know, but we don't run this camp, you and Hillary do. So during the summer, I'd take the primary role in parenting. And I'll do my best to make sure that my deadlines are during the off-season, when you can take more of the primary role. I'm sure there will be challenges, but I think we can figure it out together."

Then he pulls something out of his pocket, and my breath catches.

He's holding a ring. And he looks more nervous than I've ever seen him.

"Those three paragraphs I was working on today?" he says. "They were for this, and I've completely forgotten them now. But I want to marry you more than anything I've ever wanted in my entire life. I want to make those dreams a reality. Please say yes."

My entire body seems to soften. "Luke…"

He looks down at the ring, a slim gold band with a channel of diamonds. "I figured you'd want something simple, something you can wear while setting up tents and putting sunscreen on kids and all that, but if you want something else—"

"It's perfect," I say.

And I don't just mean the ring—I mean the life he's imagined for us. It's almost too beautiful to believe, my wildest dreams come true. He pulls me toward him and kisses me, a deep, aching kiss that feels full of promise for the future.

A branch cracks behind us, and I whirl around to see Hillary and Cooper watching, huge, ridiculous grins on both their faces.

"You guys knew about this?" I say, shocked.

"Of course," Hillary says, "but don't leave him hanging, answer him—he's been nervous about this for weeks!"

I whirl back to Luke. "YES!" I shout. "A thousand times yes!"

Luke's face lights up in a smile, and Hillary and Cooper cheer as he kisses me again.

After that, Cooper pops the champagne and pours a glass for each of us. Hillary's sitting on his lap, snuggled against him, and I'm sitting between Luke's legs, leaning against his chest.

"So…" Hillary says, "are we thinking a wedding here next year? I can imagine it on the big lawn, twinkle lights strung through the trees, Cooper in charge of the food."

"I love that," I say, and send her a sneaky grin. "But what if we make it a double wedding?"

She blushes and looks away, but Cooper catches my eye and gives me a grin that makes it clear he has his own plan in the works.

We shift to other topics—Cooper tells us about some new menu offerings during adult camp, and Hillary tells us about her trip to Chicago. She says one of the business owners she's working with is an architect who's going to draw up plans for a house for me, not far from Mary Valentine's lot.

"Me?" I say. "Why?"

"Because if you're going to be here on the property with Luke and a family, you can't live in a musty hundred-year-old cabin," she says, smiling. "The entire board is in agreement."

"What about you and Cooper?" I ask. "I want you guys to have a place, too."

"We'd love to be your neighbors," Hillary says, "but for now, we're going to split our time between Chicago and here—maybe stay in your cabin once you move into the house."

After a while, Cooper and Luke gather up the dishes and leave me and Hillary to finish off the champagne. We sit on the edge of the dock, our bare feet in the water, and chat. Each time my eyes catch on the new ring on my left hand, I feel a bubble of excitement. It won't be easy, building a life here with Luke, raising children and balancing our careers, but it's a journey worth taking.

"Remember that button you had on your backpack when you were a kid?" Hillary asks after a while. "What did it say—something about living all year for the summer?"

"?‘I live ten months for two,'?" I say, nodding. "I spent the entire year waiting for camp because it felt like the only real thing in my life."

"And now?"

I lean back on my hands, gazing up at the starry sky. "This past year has pushed me to create a life that's bigger than this camp. I mean, don't get me wrong, I hope we can run this place until we die—"

"You're gonna croak out there in the middle of the lake one morning in your canoe when you're ninety-eight years old," Hillary says, pointing across the water.

"You'll probably die in that Arts and Crafts cabin making friendship bracelets," I say, laughing. "However. Even with our co-op going strong now, there's no guarantee it'll last forever."

"True."

"But if this camp has to close someday, it won't feel like I'm losing everything I love." I shrug. "I know that I can still have a full, rich, beautiful life."

"I feel the same way," Hillary says, smiling. "But I have faith in us. I think we're going to be doing this for a long, long time."

She leans her head on my shoulder, and I rest my cheek on the top of her head, the same position we've sat in since we were children. Our feet dangle in the cool water as we stare across the shimmering moonlit surface, our summers to come stretching out in front of us. And I'm filled with an overwhelming assurance that this is just the beginning, that we'll be sitting exactly like this, right here, next summer—and the next, and the next.

Together.