Page 127 of Until Next Summer

Thirty minutes later, Jessie is taking a long, hot shower at my suggestion, and I’m sitting in front of her computer, about to confirm my suspicions.

But first, I have to face the very confrontation I was hoping to avoid. I finger comb my hair and take a deep breath before pressing the button to start the Zoom call.

My father joins moments later, and my heart squeezes at the sight of him sitting in his office, his silver hair perfectly coiffed. I always had the urge to tousle it, but I only made that mistake once. Stephen J. Goldberg doesn’t like being ruffled.

“Hi, Dad,” I say, my voice cracking with emotion. I’ve missed him.

“Hillary,” he says. His voice is stern, but his expression softens as he takes me in. “Is everything okay? Your email said it was urgent.”

“I’m okay,” I tell him.

“Clearly you’re not,” he says. “Aaron is devastated, by the way.” My shoulders shoot up, anxiety coursing through my veins. “I told him this camp place turns you into a different person.” He’s not wrong. “When you were a kid, it would take you weeks to get back to your old self.” Again, not wrong.“That was fine when you were a child, but you’re an adult, Hillary. Though recently you seem to have forgotten that.”

My voice is gone, and I find myself nodding, even though I don’t agree with him, not one bit. Not anymore.

“I told Aaron not to worry,” he continues. “When you get back home, you’ll come to your senses and see what’s good for you. That he’s good for you.”

Something happens with his words, like a melding of my mind and my body. And they’re both screaming:No!

In the tiny Zoom box, I see myself shake my head in protest. This is my life. My decision. Apparently, it took me walking away to realize how little I was in control of my own destiny. I’ve been a puppet, doing whatever it took to make my dad and boyfriend happy.

Well, no more. I’m taking the strings back. I’m going to do what makesmehappy.

“Stop,” I say.

The sharpness of my voice must catch my dad off guard, because he does in fact stop. He looks at me through the screen, one eyebrow raised. I never interrupt him, and I certainly never tell him what to do.

“I’m not marrying Aaron,” I tell him. “And nothing you say will change my mind. He’d make a great partner for the law firm, but not for my life.”

My father is speechless.

I’m not.

“Besides, my personal life isn’t the reason I wanted to talk. I need your advice. Yourlegaladvice.”

This gets his attention. He clears his throat, then motions for me to continue. I share my screen and show him the pages of the will, which I scanned for his review. He’s not anestate lawyer by trade, but he knows his way around a contract. As he looks them over, I tell him the whole story—starting with how Jack Valentine has been purposefully vague about Jessie’s role in the will, how he and Mary turned down our offer for the co-op to purchase the land, and finally, the clause we just discovered.

When I finish, my father looks impressed. He’s in problem-solving lawyer mode now, not disappointed-dad mode.

“You’re telling me you raised more than two million dollars?”

“We did,” I tell him. “This place means a lot to a lot of people. Including Mom. And me.”

His expression softens again, but only briefly. “Show me the page with that clause again.”

I bring up the page in question and zoom in so he can read it, word for word.

“Does this mean what I think it means?” I ask, crossing my fingers beneath the desk.

“It does. As a named beneficiary, Jessica has the right to keep running Camp Chickawah as a camp.”

“Thank god!” I say, but my relief is short-lived. I haven’t told my father just how imminent the sale is.

He must read the shift in my expression, because he asks, “The contract hasn’t been signed yet, has it?”

“Tomorrow morning,” I tell him.

He blows out a breath and shakes his head. “It won’t be easy—but it’s not impossible. Here’s what you need to do.”

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