Page 28 of Until Next Summer

—

The next morning, my tongue has the texture of sandpaper and it feels like someone’s tightened a vise around my head. I’m pretty sure I’m still wearing—yep—the uniform I wore all day yesterday. It reeks, a pungent blend of campfire smoke, booze, and sweat.

Sitting up, I take a greedy sip from the cup of water beside my bed. I can’t remember coming back to the Lodge, and I hope I didn’t say or do anything unprofessional. That’s what I get for drinking on an empty stomach. It’s not like me to be so careless, to get that drunk and lose control.

But there’s no time to dwell on what might have happened. Today is the first full day of camp, and I’ve got a job to do!

It’s just past nine, and the first activity in the Arts and Crafts cabin doesn’t start until ten thirty (we’re making God’s eyes with yarn and popsicle sticks). I tame my increasingly wayward curls into a high ponytail, grab clean khaki shorts and a new Camp Chickawah polo, and head out in search of coffee and food.

There’s a chill to the air, and judging by the yelping coming from the lake, the water is freezing. I walk toward the dock, where a group of campers are treading water.

“No touching the dock, mates!” Zac shouts in his delicious accent. “Or each other!”

“My arms are going to fall off!” one camper exclaims.

“My balls are going to fall off!” another calls out.

“Your balls and your arms will be fine!” Zoey says. “Three minutes down, seven to go!”

A collective groan sounds, and I laugh, grateful the water test is one experience I don’t have to relive.

In the dining hall, I’m disappointed by the picked-over selection of breakfast pastries, granola, and yogurt. Hardly the greasy food I need to quell my stomach. I glance toward the kitchen, wondering if there are any leftovers from dinner.

According to my dad, I got my love of leftovers from my mom. It’s strange to be like someone in a way you never knew she was. Nearly everything I know about my mom is secondhand. My dad doesn’t talk about her much—it makes him too sad—but growing up, I’d always look forward to marking heryahrzeit, when we’d lay a rock on her headstone and he’d tell me stories until his voice got scratchy and his eyes grew misty.

There’s a light on in the kitchen, but I still pause at the door. It’s not exactly off-limits—I’m staff—but it feels illicit as I slip inside and head toward the two industrial-sized refrigerators.

The first one is filled with fruit and vegetables—too healthy. The second contains rows of eggs, dozens of chicken breasts marinating in glass bowls, and…yes!Two beautiful containers filled with leftovers. My mouth waters as I reach for the container of roasted baby potatoes I was too busy to taste last night.

No sooner do I lift it than I hear someone clearing their throat behind me.

Shit!I turn to see Cooper, his arms folded across his broad chest. The chest I ran into a few days ago while wearing almost nothing. Today he’s wearing a cat-themedapron that readsit’s meow or neverand that same Red Sox cap. I wonder if he’s a really big fan or trying to cover a bald spot.

“Can I help you?” he asks, a playful grin on his face. I wonder if he’s remembering the one-third of a nipple he saw.

“I’m so sorry,” I tell him. “I was just…”

“Snooping through my fridge?”

My cheeks flush. “Technically, it’s the camp’s fridge.”

“Touché,” Cooper says. “Here, let me.”

He takes the container from my hands, and I follow him toward the prep area—a metallic island on wheels, parked in the middle of the room.

“I really am sorry,” I say.

“It’s all good,” he says, popping the lid off. “We might have to rethink this whole continental breakfast thing. It doesn’t do the trick for hangovers.”

“I…” I stammer, not wanting to fess up to my current state. But Cooper quirks an eyebrow, and I know it’s silly to pretend otherwise. “I may have been overserved last night.”

“It was fun, though, wasn’t it?” He turns back to the fridge, grabbing five fresh eggs.

“What I can remember of it,” I admit.

He chuckles, and I curse my poor alcohol tolerance.

“I didn’t do anything stupid, did I?” I ask. The last time I let myself lose control like that, I ended up passed out on top of a pile of coats at a party with Aaron’s friends.

---