Page 8 of Until Next Summer

“Who?”

“WilliamLucasDuncan,” Dot says, and this rings a faint bell in my mind. “He went by Luke at camp. All the girls had crushes on him—tall, blue eyes, looked like a young Paul Newman?”

Thatdefinitelyrings a bell.

“The one Nathaniel used to call Cool Hand Luke?”

She gives a knowing smile. “Yeah. He was The Man.”

“Ugh,” I say, grimacing, and Dot laughs.

Nearly every summer there’s one male counselor who receives this title from Dot. “The Man” is good-looking, charismatic, adored by the campers. Everywhere he goes, he’s accompanied by an entourage of kids, doting on his words, laughing at his jokes.

I have mixed feelings about counselors like that. Some can be a director’s dream, using their influence to make every activity more fun. But others become arrogant, walking through camp with a vibe that says, “I don’t give a shit about any of this.”

The first summer I knew Luke, he was the former.

The second? Definitely the latter.

“He’s an author now, right?” I say. “Nathaniel and Lola had his books in the library, I think.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Dot says. She doesn’t read much; neither do I. But I used to. As a teenager, I read nearly every book in the camp library—a dusty bookcase in the Lodge.

That’s how I got to know Luke. I was a CIT, he was a counselor; he’d recommend books to me, and later we’d discuss them. That was the first summer. When he came back the next year, he totally blew me off. And somehow got every single other male counselor to ignore me, too.

“I’ll send him an email,” I tell Dot, shaking the sting of that memory away as I open my laptop.

Hello Luke,

I’m happy you’re coming to our adult camp. We’re going to have an incredible time!

I think there was a miscommunication when you registered, though. We hadn’t planned on campers coming for more than one week at a time, but I’m happy to be flexible. However, we aren’t able to reserve an entire cabin for one person, so other campers will be sharing the staff cabin with you. Dot will be in touch with a new registration form to reflect this.

Thanks for understanding! I’m excited for the summer—it’s going to be Chick-amazing!

All my best,

Jessie Pederson, camp director

I send the email as our waitress comes up. “Hi, Lisa!”

Lisa gives us a big smile. She’s about fifty, with curly hair and an apron tied around her generous waistline. “Morning, ladies. Ready to order?”

Dot orders pancakes and a side of sausage, and I order two eggs over easy with bacon.

Lisa refills our coffee mugs. Then she glances out the window behind me, and her smile fades. She leans in and says, “Have you seen Nick since you’ve been back?”

The blood drains from my face. Nick and I dated last year, and our breakup was…difficult.

“No,” I whisper. “Why?”

“Because he’s coming in,” Lisa says, straightening as the door chimes. In a louder voice she calls, “Morning! Just the two of you today?”

“Yep.” Nick’s familiar voice reminds me that the last time we talked, I made him cry. And Nick’s a big, tough firefighter.

There’s no way he won’t see me, so as he’s walking by, I say, “Hi, Nick, how’s it going?”

He flinches, then turns toward me. Nick is stocky, bearded, and exactly my height—which bothered him. He’d constantly ask me to change my boots to flats when we went out.

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