Page 139 of Until Next Summer

Returning to the property this past spring felt like having a missing piece of my soul restored. Nothing I experienced during my time away—the musicals, the delicious food, the scenic vistas—could compare to the feeling of being here, where I belong. My world has expanded this past year, but this place is still my home.

Once camp started, I worried that Luke and I would struggle to balance our relationship. But we navigated it like we’ve navigated everything else this year: together. When I’m busy, Luke feels free to disappear into his fictional worlds, which he appreciates. He made a point to come to most of the meals and bonfires (a gesture of love, since the noise and chaos give him a headache) and he led a weekly writing workshop for the campers. For my part, I realized that being “on the job” 24/7 all summer isn’t healthy, so Istarted putting Dot in charge for one full day each week. She encouraged me to carve out a few hours here and there on other days, too, so Luke and I can get some alone time.

“Hey, you,” he says, and I look up. He leans back in his chair and stretches, running his hands through his messy hair. “How did the big send-off go?”

“Good.” I walk over and lean against his desk. “How’s the draft coming?”

He grimaces. “I spent three hours rewriting three paragraphs.”

“Sounds like you deserve a break,” I say, grinning as he stands and pulls me against him. With me in my hiking boots and him in socks, we’re exactly the same height—something he loves, saying it makes for easier access.

“Youdeserve a break,” he says, and kisses me on the mouth. “Have to admit, I’m looking forward to a night with the guarantee of no interruptions. Or even a couple hours without that damn walkie-talkie going off.”

I laugh. “I’m looking forward to that, too, but I need to meet Dot in…” I look at my watch. “Twenty minutes. Do you think you can be that quick? And remember, we’re doing dinner with Cooper and Hillary at the lake later.”

“I can be quick,” he says immediately. “But then I’ll be slow later tonight.”

I grin. “Deal.”

—

That evening, Luke and I meet Hillary and Cooper down at the lakefront, where Cooper has prepared an incredible dinner for the four of us still on the property. Dot cleared out to catcha plane to Austin, and the Zimmerman-Takahashis drove to town because Zoey was craving Funyuns and rocky road ice cream, both of which are out of stock at the canteen.

We eat picnic-style on the dock, talking and laughing as the sun sets and the fireflies come out. Cooper says he’s looking forward to cooking for adults next week—the kids adore him, but he’s grown tired of their limited palates.

“I think it’s time for some champagne!” Cooper says, once we’re all stuffed. “It’ll be our new end-of-summer tradition.”

“Sounds lovely,” Hillary says to him, “but you forgot to bring it.”

He grins, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “We better run to the kitchen, then. Back soon!”

They take off, giggling as they disappear down the path.

“Did that seem a little scripted to you?” I ask Luke.

Luke shrugs. “Maybe they wanted to get it on in the kitchen again.”

I snort a laugh. “Probably.”

“But since I have you alone for a minute, have I told you about the dreams I’ve been having?”

I look at him, expecting to see a teasing glint in his eyes. Instead, he looks pensive. Almost somber.

“What kind of dreams?” I ask. “Not like the ones back then, I take it.”

He shakes his head. “Not like that. But still…well. Unsettling. They always start the same way: I wake up and you’re not in bed with me, so I go look for you. I realize I’m in an unfamiliar house—at least, it’s a place I don’t recognize, though it feels familiar in the dream, if that makes sense?”

I nod, and he continues.

“I step out of the bedroom and into a hall where there are two doors. I open the first one, and it’s an office. My laptop is on the desk. My notebooks and scrap paper are cluttering everything.”

“Your writing space,” I say, smiling.

“Yeah, it’s nice. But I still don’t know where you are, so I step out of the room and open the next door in the hall. And there’s…” He pauses, sneaks a glance at me. “A child’s bed and a crib. A few toys on the floor. A changing table.”

I hold my breath. The only sound is the gentle lapping of the water against the dock, the crickets singing around us.

“No one’s in that room, either,” he continues, “so I head downstairs to the kitchen and there you are. You’re sitting at the table with a little boy and a baby girl with strawberry blonde hair. There’s a dog lying next to your feet. And you smile and say good morning.”

---