Page 137 of Until Next Summer

I swallow a laugh, and when Cooper lets out a snort, I elbow him in the side. No doubt it was stressful for Jessie, but it was hilarious.

“But the real thorn,” she goes on, “was that gut punch that came in the moment after something wonderful happened, when I realized this could be our last summer here.”

“But it’s not,” I say, my voice wobbling with emotion.

“It’s not,” Jessie agrees.

We’re all quiet, and I lay my head on Cooper’s shoulder. I close my eyes and try to memorize this moment: the slow and steady rhythm of his breath; the crackling of the fire; the scent of pine, smoke, and Cooper’s woodsy cologne.

“Trade spots with me?”

I open my eyes to see Jessie standing in front of us.

Cooper gives my waist a squeeze before getting up and giving Jessie his seat. “You’re pretty, man,” he says to Luke. “But I’m not going to spoon you.”

He sits down on Luke’s bench with a good foot of space between them.

“You okay?” I ask Jessie.

“Never better,” she says. “Thanks to you.”

“What you said earlier, about my ideas…if you’ll have me, I’d love to stay and help you.”

Jessie grins at me, her eyes wide and bright in the firelight. “Really? You want to stay?”

“I do,” I tell her.

“I do, too,” Cooper says. “You’ll need a cook, right?”

“And I can write from anywhere,” Luke says.

“We didn’t come this far to stop now.” Cooper glances at Jessie, then back to me, and we share a secret smile.

“I love you guys,” Jessie says, smiling. “I know it will take a while to get things going, but Hill, I loved the idea of having an adult session or two after the regular kids’ camp wraps up for the season.”

“Yes!” I say, excitement coursing through me. Before, we were discussing theoretical ideas. Now that the camp is ours,it feels like we’re making real plans. “And maybe retreats in the fall for artists.”

“You could offer a writing residency,” Luke says.

“A cooking camp,” Cooper suggests.

“We could have a session before the regular season starts with just older kids, where they choose tracks to focus on—sailing, theater, or cooking,” I suggest.

“How about a family camp during spring break?” Luke offers.

“It’s still snowy here then,” Jessie says. “But we could do a snow-themed camp, once we get the cabins winterized.”

By the time the fire is reduced to embers, the champagne bottle is empty, and our hands are sticky with the remnants of the sweetest s’mores, we’re buzzing with possibilities. With plans for the future of our beloved camp. Plans we’re making together.

I think back to that day two months ago when my car pulled up. I had no idea what was in store, but I hoped that familiar sign withyou belong herecarved into the wood was still true.

Turns out, those words have never been truer. This summer, I didn’t just find love. I found myself again. And like Dorothy said in the script Jessie and Luke wrote for the play: there’s no place like camp.

epilogue

Jessie

One Year Later

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