Page 69 of The Summer Intern

"But retention does," Sutton interjected, leaning forward with the confident air of someone wielding data like a weapon."We're seeing a ninety-two percent re-enrollment intention rate in our mid-season surveys.That's fifteen points higher than last year."

I glanced between them, trying to follow the financial chess match.My parents owned a restaurant—I understood profit margins and operational costs in theory, but this was different.Camp Eagle Ridge wasn't just a summer diversion; it was Matt's inheritance, his passion, his life's work.

And I'd pushed him to spend more money.Encouraged him to expand beyond the traditional outdoor focus into arts and music.Insisted that the renovated studio space needed proper acoustics, quality instruments, and sustainable materials.

"The arts program is a hit," Matt was saying, his enthusiasm palpable as he pushed a different set of figures toward his father."And believe me, I was resistant.Look at these participation numbers.Kids who never showed interest in our traditional activities are fully engaged now.It's broadening our appeal, diversifying our camper base."

Walter nodded slowly, acknowledging the point."I don't disagree with the direction, Matt.The vision is sound.It's the execution I'm concerned about.This—" he tapped the expense column "—is not sustainable."

"I'm happy to put up additional funds," Linda offered, her hand covering Walter's on the table."The arts program is exactly the kind of expansion we've talked about for years."

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.Linda was funding my ideas?Out of her own pocket?The cobbler turned to cement in my stomach.

"That's generous, Linda," Walter said, his voice softening as he looked at his wife, "but we can't keep dipping into your salary to cover spending gaps.Not forever.The camp needs to be profitable on its own."

"I make plenty of money, Walt," Linda said, rolling her eyes."If we can invest in our children's future, it's worth it."

"It will be profitable, though," Matt insisted, flipping to another page."These are projected revenues for next season, assuming we maintain the enrollment increase and implement the modest fee increase we discussed."

Sutton leaned in."And now that we have the arts program, I have some ideas about expanding our offerings into the off-season.Why let all of these buildings sit empty."

Walter frowned."It's a summer program.We'd have to clear snow, maintain a staff–—there are substantial expenses to staying open."

"But substantial opportunities for profit, too," Sutton insisted.

Projected revenues.Next season.The words swirled in my head, colliding with the memory of Matt's earlier comment about my plans for next summer.Had he been counting on me staying?Factoring my continued involvement into his financial projections?

I studied Matt's profile as he continued explaining the numbers to his father.Sutton, for his part, seemed undeterred by Walter's questions, hurtling forward with new ideas.

What had I done?

"Even with the fee increase, these projections seem optimistic," Walter was saying, his finger tracing a line on one of the charts."You're assuming every family will be willing to pay more for these new offerings."

"They will," Sutton said, leaning forward with a confident smirk."We've done the market research.Comparable camps with arts programs charge twenty percent more than we're proposing, and we have the entire outdoors curriculum that none of them can offer.It's a blend of both worlds, and the curriculum can expand.Spring break camps, fall hikes, winter music classes."

"And you're also assuming Casey will be here to run it," Ben spoke up, his voice quiet but pointed.All eyes turned to him, including mine, widened in surprise.It was the first time he'd joined the budget discussion."The program's success is tied to his expertise.If he's not here next summer—"

The room seemed to shrink around me, five pairs of eyes awaiting my answer.My mouth went dry.Would I be here next summer?I hadn't planned that far ahead.My life was in Portland, my studies at Oregon State.Camp Eagle Ridge had been a summer job, an experience to add to my resume, a chance to implement some of my ideas about inclusive education.And I didn't even like the outdoors, I was a city boy at heart.

And then it had become something else entirely.A place where Matt Blackstone pulled me behind the boathouse to kiss me senseless.Where morning coffee meant watching mist rise off the lake from the porch of his tiny home.Where I'd started to imagine possibilities I'd never considered before.

But now...

"I...haven't committed to anything yet," I managed, the words feeling inadequate."I haven't decided if I want to do a graduate program—"

"Of course," Linda cut in smoothly, saving me from the awkward fumbling."No one expects you to make career decisions over dessert.But we'd love to have you back, if it works with your studies."

Matt's hand withdrew from my knee, leaving a cold spot that seemed to spread throughout my body.

Matt had overspent, taking financial risks for my ideas.His family was covering the shortfall.The camp's future financial stability was partly riding on my continued involvement.

The rest of the budget discussion passed in a blur.Numbers, projections, strategies.Matt defending his decisions with the passionate certainty that had drawn me to him in the first place.Walter tempering that passion with pragmatic concerns.Sutton providing analytical support.Linda mediating with gentle suggestions.

And me, silent, picking at the remains of my cobbler, the sweet taste now cloying and excessive.

How could I make this up to him?

twenty-seven

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