Page 11 of Until Next Summer

I understand it must be frustrating to have your plans changed unexpectedly, and I recognize that this was an error on our part. But it would be so appreciated if you could find it in your heart to be flexible on this. This campmeans everything to me. I’m just trying to make the last summer special.

I would be eternally grateful if you would consider.

Please.

Within thirty seconds of pressing send, I receive his answer:

No.

What an absoluteass. I grab a piece of bacon and take a vicious bite. Not even the smoky, deep-fried goodness can assuage my anger.

“Boss?” Dot says. “You okay?”

I clench my teeth. “Looks like we’re stuck with William Lucas Duncan, aka The Man, all summer.”

five

Hillary

June

It’s been four months since I applied to run Arts and Crafts at Camp Chickawah. Despite being both ridiculously over-andunderqualified, I got the job. And against the advice of my father and my boyfriend, I accepted it. I’m flying out bright and early tomorrow morning, and the pre-camp jitters are just as rampant as I remember. Only back then, it was all excitement and anticipation.

Now? I’m not sure how to describe this feeling. Nervous, sure. Anxious, definitely.

Also, hungry.

At least tonight’s farewell dinner will solve one of the three. The food at camp was never anything to write home about, so Dad always sent me off with a good meal at the restaurant of my choice. Usually somewhere with a Zagat rating. I was a foodie before being a foodie was a thing, taking sushi in my lunch box when my classmates were still getting the crusts cut off their PB&Js. Just one of the many ways I didn’t fit in with my peers.

Sometimes I wonder if I would’ve been such a seriousand anxious kid if we hadn’t lost my mom so unexpectedly. I was five when she lay down for a nap and never woke up. Back then, I didn’t understand what an aneurysm was. I just knew that life could be scary and uncertain. I became a stage-five clinger, afraid to leave my dad’s side. Which meant I tagged along for a lot of fancy dinners, learning to favor coq au vin over chicken fingers and lobster over Lunchables.

My aunt Carol was the only adult I knew who wasn’t impressed by how mature I was for my age. To hear her talk, it was a travesty.Iwas a travesty. I knew that word, and it was not something I wanted to be.

So when my dad signed me up for the sleepaway camp my mom and Aunt Carol went to as kids, I didn’t protest. Still, it felt like I was being shipped off. At eight years old, I was a problem that needed to be solved.

In hindsight, going to Camp Chickawah was one of the greatest gifts of my life. A gift I ultimately turned my back on.

But now, I’m getting a second chance.

“Sweetheart,” my father says, greeting me with a kiss on both cheeks.

“Hi, Dad.”

We’re on the patio at Quartino, one of my favorite spots in Chicago for Neapolitan pizza and Italian small plates. As soon as we order, Aaron and my dad start talking work. I don’t mind; if anything, I’m relieved. I’ve had a hard time staying present this week. I’ve got one foot stuck in the past; everything seems to take me back to camp.

The sunset? Even more beautiful on Camp Chickawah’s Steamboat Lake, where the sun casts a kaleidoscope of color across the waters. A cheap plastic cup tossed in the trash? We used to turn them upside down and use them as instruments.A young girl with strawberry blonde braids skipping down Michigan Ave? Jessie.

She’s somehow the root of all my excitement and my fear. Because she isn’t just my former best friend. She’s the person who took away her friendship without a second thought because I made one decision she didn’t like.

Jessie was the first, and quite possibly the only, person who managed to unearth the silly, carefree child hiding beneath my mini-adult exterior. She had a way of finding joy in every single moment, and her enthusiasm for camp and for life was contagious. Whether she was dreaming up a moonlit prank or orchestrating my first kiss, Jessie made everything an adventure. And to my delight, I discovered that Ilikedhaving fun, liked smiling until my cheeks hurt, laughing until I almost peed my pants.

Over the past decade, I haven’t just missed Jessie. I’ve missed the version of myself I was around her. It’s like those cheesy BFF necklaces I bought for us the summer we were twelve, the kind where two halves come together to form a complete heart. Jessie completed me. Not in a romantic way. But losing her friendship left a massive hole in my heart that no romantic relationship could ever fill.

“Earth to Hill,” Aaron says, knocking on the table by my plate. “Your father’s talking to you.”

“Sorry,” I say, turning to face my dad. It’s seventy degrees out, but he’s still wearing a suit jacket. I should have him come out to camp for a week, see ifhecan unlock a more carefree version of himself. I can’t picture it—although there’s apparently a week we’ll have campers as old as seventy!

“We were just talking about how well your business is going,” my dad says, and I brace myself for thebutthat’ssurely coming. “How many clients did you have to turn down this summer?”

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