Page 4 of Until Next Summer

I pull it out to see texts from my parents. Mom sent a picture of her and my stepdad Mitch with my half brothers, Milo and Colin, at the beach near their home in San Diego. Dad sent a picture of him and my stepmom Amanda with my twin half sisters, Amelia and Abigail, after they won their high school basketball game.

I tap out a quick text to each and promise I’ll FaceTime later. My parents are good about keeping in touch, but sometimes their messages are a reminder that I don’t fully belong to either of their families. The only place I’ve ever belonged is camp, and it won’t be here much longer.

“What’re you working on?” I ask Dot, hanging up my coat, hat, and scarf.

“Money’s gonna be tight this year,” Dot says, her brow furrowed. “We haven’t gotten any early registrations yet.”

I grimace; this has real financial consequences. Mary Valentine convinced Jack to agree that any profit we make next summer can be used as end-of-season bonuses for my staff. I haven’t told Dot and Mr. Billy about this yet, not wanting to get their hopes up, but my plan is to split it between the two of them; I get one percent of the sale of thecamp, but they won’t have anything but their own savings and retirement.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have told the parents that next summer will be our last,” I say, worried.

Dot harrumphs. “Not your fault—you’re not the one selling this place. Got an email from Jack Valentine that the property was officially listed.”

My body stiffens. I knew this was coming, but it still hurts to hear the words.

“Those rat bastards,” Dot says gruffly.

I stifle a laugh, thinking of Jack’s squinty eyes. Theyarerather ratlike. “I’m not sure Mary should be included in that. It’s thanks to her that they’re delaying closing until next fall.”

“She allows her rat bastard brother to walk all over her, which makes her a rat bastard enabler, which is just as bad.” Dot clicks her fingers on the keyboard, punctuating each word. “Nat and Lola must be rolling in their graves. But Jack was never a camp person, not ever.”

My eyebrows shoot up. This is the ultimate insult from Dot. In her mind, you’re either a camp person…or not. And if you’re not? You’re pond scum.

My eyes drift to the huge bulletin board on the far wall, where we’ve stuck letters and cards from campers over the years. There’s a crayon rendering of Cabin Eleven, signed in blocky lettersRYAN AGE 9; a pencil sketch of the big tree near the archery area withto Nathaniel and Lola from Kat Swritten in careful cursive. There are countless wedding invitations from couples who met at camp—Lola always said that camp love is the best kind of love, and that was true for her and Nathaniel.

I used to dream of having a marriage like theirs, withsomeone who was as passionate about this place as I am. Running the camp together, raising our kids right here on the property.

But after my last failed relationship, I realized that’s a silly fantasy. Even more so now that the camp is closing. So I turn my attention to the many handwritten thank-you notes from former campers, now adults.

Camp Chickawah will always be my favorite place in the world.

Thank you for making my childhood so magical.

All my most important life lessons were learned at camp.

Card after card expresses gratitude and appreciation. And something else, too, something I’ve never noticed before: yearning. An intense longing to return.

I wish I could come back to camp. I know that’s ridiculous, but the place meant so much to me.

If only I could capture the magic of camp as an adult.

I’d give anything to experience just one day of camp again.

Goose bumps lift on my arms and legs as an idea sparks.

If we have to say goodbye to Camp Chickawah, I think I know the perfect way.

To:Camp Chickawah Campers Listserv

From:[email protected]

Subject:One last summer at camp

Hello, former campers and friends!

Jessie here with some good news, and some sad news. I’ll start with the sad news—because like Nurse Penny always said,You gotta rip off the Band-Aid and get back on the horse!(In hindsight, I’m pretty sure she was mixing two different metaphors, but we all survived!)

Anyway, the sad news is that Jack and Mary Valentine have made the difficult decision to sell the Camp Chickawah property, which means this summer will be our last.

---