Page 6 of Red, White, and You

Barely stepped foot back at summer camp and I’m already talking about bodily functions. Gross. I knew I shouldn’t have come. Just a few moments here and I’m regressing. Soon I’ll be skipping showers in favor of skipping rocks.

Where is the smog? Where is the uniquely Manhattan scent of burnt street meat and garbage?

I can’t possibly be expected tobreathehere for a whole week.

What have I done?

Gripping Clarence’s hand tighter as my pulse begins to race, I scan the area. I’m surrounded by Subarus and pickup trucks with cargo strapped to their rooftops and bike racks on their trunks. Their owners wear various shades of khaki and green, hiking boots and sneakers blending in with the surrounding flora and fauna. Some of them even wear orange. Bright, safety cone orange that hurst my eyes nearly as much as it hurts my soul.

I drop my head and focus on my black pumps. “These were a mistake,” I whisper, then force myself to look up at Cabin 17.

Thoughcabinis an exaggeration. This is atent. Well, half of it is. The base of Cabin 17 is wood, coming up to about waist high, then the rest of the structure is fabric.

Actual fabric. Will that keep the bears out? The insects?

As if on cue, something buzzes near my ear. Squeezing my eyes shut, I swat it away and count to ten, then open my eyes again and focus on my lodging for the next seven days.

“It’s not exactly a tentora cabin, is it?” I ask Clarence, still holding onto his hand for dear life. It’s just an odd hybrid of both… “Is this what a yurt looks like?”

Clarence makes a sound that could be a chuckle, but when I glance at him, he’s a perfect mask of stoicism.

Cabin… yurt… it doesn’t matter, does it? Either way, I’ve made a mistake thinking I could do this.

Clarence clears his throat again and I purse my lips. “Do you need a throat lozenge, Clarence?”

“No, Ms. Donovan-West.”

“Hm.” I look down at our clasped hands, frowning. What does it say about me that my closest friends are my business partner and my driver—who won’t even use my first name when he addresses me?

But if I release the death-grip I have on his hand, he might leave, and that would mean I’d be stuck here, so…

“Is everything all right, Ms. Donovan-West?” Clarence asks slowly. His deep-set eyes are hidden behind his dark glasses, but I can feel him watching me in that knowing, fatherly way of his.

I shake my head, then decide to answer honestly. “I think I’ve made a mistake,” I whisper. “We should go back to the city.”

His eyebrows rise and he opens his mouth to reply, but he gives me a curt nod instead of commenting about how many hours we’ve just spent in the car, or the fact that he’s fully aware I’ve spent those hours clearing my schedule for the week. Or that my assistant spent the morning shopping for andfilling not one buttwomassive suitcases and a duffel bag that now wait at my feet.

No, Clarence says none of those things; instead, he gives my hand a quick but unmistakable squeeze and waits for me to climb back into the car. I turn around to do just that when a door squeaks on its hinges as it opens behind me, then closes with a loudbangthat makes me jump.

“Don’t tell me you’re leaving already…”

I suck in a gasp as my ex-husband’s deep, familiar voice steals my breath.

Memories flood me, a bombardment of happier times. Moments I haven’t allowed myself to think of in years, pushed safely to the back of my mind and tucked away so I could live a life without him, so I could function with only one half of my heart.

Because the other half has always remained with him.

Emotion squeezes my chest. Nearly twenty years without that man and my body still reacts the same way to his presence.

Relief.

Desire.

Desperation.

My pulse speeds.

Tears sting behind my eyes. Fuckingtears.

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