Page 74 of Until Next Summer

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Within two days, we have over a hundred thousand dollars pledged. I’m having trouble believing it. But like Dot said, these campers seem to be at a stage in their careers and lives where they have extra money to invest. One, an attorney with a practice in Minneapolis, has offered to draft sample articles of incorporation. Two successful entrepreneurs volunteered to help Hillary with the business plan, and several others are interested in being on the steering committee.

I’m out on the lawn, talking with a group of campers about the co-op, when Dot comes up to me. She looks nervous, and my anxiety spikes. I haven’t had to bring a single camper to the emergency room yet, which is unusual this far into the summer.

“Is something wrong?” I ask.

“Not with the campers,” she says quickly; she knows where my mind is heading. “I…need to talk to you about something. Something personal.”

My stomach clenches. “Okay, sure. Do you want to go somewhere private?”

She glances around; a group of campers is playing Frisbee on the lawn, but no one’s close enough to hear. “This is fine. Listen, what you said during training week. About staff not getting involved…romantically.”

“Oh!” I get it now. “You mean Hillary and Cooper? I know—I keep meaning to talk to her about that, but—”

“Not them. Me.”

I stare at her for a beat. Dot’s never been romantically involved with anyone as long as I’ve known her.

“Okay…tell me more.”

“There’s someone here this week that I…” She pauses. “Well, we—”

“A camper?”

She nods. “I know you said nothing should happen with staff and campers, and I didn’t anticipate this, but—”

“It’s fine,” I say firmly. “I know I’m the director, but you have decades more experience than I do. I trust you implicitly.” Her shoulders droop in relief, and I nudge her, grinning. “So, who’s this lucky camper?”

She brightens, flashing me an unexpectedly sweet smile.“Yvonne. Yvonne Schafer. We knew each other as teenagers here, but times were different back then, so…anyway. We’ve reconnected.”

I call Yvonne to mind: warm brown skin, long gray braids. “She seems wonderful, Dot. I’m happy for you. And you know what Lola always said about camp love…”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get all sappy about it,” Dot says, but she’s smiling. “Yvonne’s only here for the week. But I wanted to be honest with you. So you aren’t surprised when you see us together.”

Her voice softens on the last word, and it’s so out of character for Dot that I impulsively pull her into a hug. When we pull away, I wipe a stray tear from my eye.

“Enough of that,” she says, her voice mock-stern. “Back to work, boss.”

I smile. “Back to work.”

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As I head to the campfire that evening—after a delicious meal of roasted salmon, freshly made bread, and sugar snap peas—I hear singing on the breeze. There’s a new energy this week, a sense that we’re all in this together, working to save Camp Chickawah. I’ve spent hours with Hillary, crafting emails to former campers about the co-op, including some with big connections they might leverage. Already, quite a few have responded that they’re interested.

It’s a little glimmer of hope, but that’s all I need right now.

I reach the campfire and breathe deeply, taking it all in: the scent of roasting marshmallows, the flickering firelight, the laughter and singing. All the benches are packed. Dot is sitting next to Yvonne, their heads bent together, handsclasped. Zac and Zoey are cuddled up, and I can hear Zac’s voice—loud and off-key—as he joins in the song.

Hillary is sitting across the circle from Cooper, who is playing his guitar, but she’s clearly making eyes at him. I haven’t talked to her yet—but what will I say? Hillary’s an adult. She doesn’t need me to police her romantic decisions any more than Dot does.

My chest feels hollow, looking at all the couples.

Back when I was a counselor, I’d have some kind of romantic attachment each summer—some that even lasted a couple months into the school year. But then I became director, and it wasn’t appropriate for me to hook up with my employees, so I invested in a good vibrator instead. That’s when I gave up my silly dream of falling in love with a fellow camp person, too. During the off-season, I dated a few guys in town, but nothing serious, not till Nick. We weren’t right for each other, but I did enjoy being half of a couple. Knowing there was one person in the world who wanted to sit next to me in the dark and hold my hand.

I take a step back. Maybe I’ll head to my cabin and read more of Luke’s book. No one has even noticed I’m here; they don’t need me.

I’m tiptoeing off into the darkness when I hear a voice:

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