Page 121 of Until Next Summer

“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 campbeing 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.”

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