Page 41 of Until Next Summer

My chest constricts. What’s more real than waking up before sunrise to make fifteen dozen pancakes for breakfastbecause the cook isn’t feeling well? Or taking a group of campers out on a clear night to show them the constellations? Fixing a broken tent in the middle of a rainstorm during our annual backpacking trip is real. Wiping the eyes of a frightened new camper after a night of ghost stories around the fire is real. Calling an anxious parent to reassure them that their child is doing just fine is real.

And when it ends, a huge part of me will go with it.

Tears fill my eyes as memories roll through me. I’m still sniffling when I hear a sound below and look down.

It’s Luke and his dog, out on a walk.

I freeze, hardly daring to breathe, hoping he’ll leave without noticing me. Over the past few days, he’s been slightly more sociable—eating his meals in the dining hall, though he doesn’t talk to anyone—but he’s hardly a paragon of compassion.

He’s passing beneath me when a breeze rustles the leaves. His dog looks up—maybe she caught a whiff of my scent?—and gives a soft, surprised bark, which makes Luke look up, too.

“What the…?” he says, his forehead wrinkling in confusion.

“Hi,” I say, giving a sheepish wave.

“Are you all right?”

I force a bright smile and wipe my damp cheeks. “I’m great! Just hiding something in the tree.”

“As one does.”

“It’s for the scavenger hunt tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

I expect him to walk away—in fact, I kind of wish he would, since I’m sure he can tell I’ve been crying. But heshows no sign of leaving, so I begin my descent. I’m clumsier going down than up, especially with an audience, and my cheeks warm with embarrassment.

When I’m six or seven feet from the ground, my boot slips, and I gasp. But Luke is right there, his shoulder coming under my butt, his hands gripping my thighs. The contact of his palms on my bare skin feels like static electricity.

“Easy there,” he says, his voice muffled.

I give an awkward laugh. “Thanks. I got it now.”

He backs away, releasing his grip on my thighs, and I lower myself to the ground. Luke’s dog comes over to me, so I go down on one knee to pet her, which conveniently lets me delay making eye contact with Luke. My thighs are still tingling from where he touched me; I don’t remember the last time I shaved my legs, and I hope he didn’t notice the fuzz. Not to mention the fact that he had my entire weight resting on his shoulder and I’m a “solid gal,” as Nick once said.

“How long have you had her?” I ask Luke. Scout is so sweet, with her gentle brown eyes.

“Since she was around two years old,” he says. “She was my uncle’s, but he…”

He pauses, and I look up. His blue eyes meet mine for a half second before darting away.

“He died. Someone needed to take the dog, so—yeah. It was hard on her, losing him.”

“That was good of you,” I say, straightening up. “I’m sorry about your uncle, though.”

He scratches at the light stubble on his jaw, like he’d rather not be talking about this. “Yeah, well. It is what it is. You heading back to camp?”

I nod, and we start walking together, Scout trailing after us.

“Is she okay?” I ask Luke after a minute or so, remembering how he had to help her up the stairs to his cabin. “Seems like walking is difficult for her.”

“Arthritis in her hips,” he says. “The vet said she could do a hip replacement, but with her being so old, it didn’t seem fair to put her through it.”

“That makes sense,” I say.

We fall silent again, but it’s a comfortable silence, which surprises me. Luke, aka William Lucas Duncan, aka The Man, is being…not awful.

The afternoon sunlight filters through the trees, and the leaves crunch softly beneath our feet. I sneak a glance at Luke, remembering how Lola said he looked like a young Paul Newman, how Nathaniel called him Cool Hand Luke. Yes, there’s a resemblance—not just the striking blue eyes, but the straight nose, the full lips, the hint of a dimple in his chin. His forehead is creased, and there’s a deep frown line between his eyebrows. But there are also laugh lines around his eyes, which means he must smile sometimes, even if I haven’t seen it.

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