Page 4 of Summer in Kentbury
“We’re organizing a summer camp here. I thought you might want to help out,” he replies, a chuckle softening his voice.
“A summer camp? What do you need, luxury tents? A spreadsheet to track marshmallow stocks?” I tease, raising an eyebrow.
Paul’s response catches me off guard. “Something like that. Maybe design a few things, help us plan . . . but mainly we need a swimming instructor.” His tone turns more serious as he continues, “McKay and I thought, who better to do that than our almost Olympic star, Sinclair McFolley.”
I sputter and nearly choke on my own saliva in disbelief. “A what?” I manage to croak out. Sitting up straight now, my free hand grips tightly onto the armrest of my chair. “Paul, I’m a businessman, not a lifeguard. I don’t have time to teach kids how to doggy paddle.”
The mere thought of spending my summer days in a swimsuit, shouting at children to stay afloat, sends shivers down my spine. I can already feel the sunburn and chlorine stinging my skin, and the exhaustion from wrangling kids all day.
“Come on, Sin. You were the star swimmer in high school. And it’s not just about the swimming. It’s about being a mentor, shaping these kids into better versions of themselves.” Paul’s voice is filled with a passion that I struggle to understand.
“Yeah, I was good enough at swimming. Before Itraded in my goggles for suits and spent my days staring at financial reports.” I glance out at the bustling city below. The idea seems ridiculous, but there’s something strangely appealing about it. A glimmer of excitement ignites in my chest, a sense of possibility that I haven’t felt in years.
“Don’t sell yourself short. Besides, you’d love it here, Sin. It’s peaceful, and who knows, maybe you’ll even find something that feels more real than those boardroom battles you’re so fond of,” he adds with a hint of mischief in his voice. “I’m not asking you to give up your life. Just a couple of weeks—a month tops. You have enough PTO for that.”
“Find something real? Like realizing I have a hidden talent for campfires and canoeing?” I chuckle lightly, the idea taking root in my mind. I can almost imagine myself there, surrounded by nature, teaching eager children how to conquer their fear of water and embracing the simplicity of life away from the chaos of the city.
“Exactly. And you might finally understand why McKay, Lou, and I decided to make this place a home. It’s not about giving up what you’ve built, Sinclair. It’s about adding something to it that you never knew was missing,” Paul encourages, his voice radiating warmth and nostalgia for the close bond we once shared.
As the pressure builds again behind my eyes, I instinctively reach up and pinch the bridge of my nose. The headache is just beginning to take hold, and I can feel my patience wearing thin. “Paul, I appreciate your offer, but I simply cannot dropeverything and become a camp counselor in Vermont. My company requires my complete attention.”
But despite my protests, I can feel myself wavering. Maybe Paul is right. Perhaps a change of scenery is exactly what I need—a chance to reconnect with my siblings and the things that truly matter.
“Look, I’ll think about it, okay?” I concede, sighing heavily. “But don’t expect me to move there like you.”
“That’s all I ask, Brother,” Paul replies, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “Just give it some thought. And always remember, we’re here for you.”
I nod, even though he can’t see me, a lump forming in my throat at the sincerity in his words. “Thanks, Paul. I’ll let you know what I decide.”
We exchange our goodbyes before ending the call, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the overwhelming possibilities before me. A summer in Vermont, teaching kids to swim and reconnecting with family—it’s a striking contrast from the busy city life I’ve built for myself in Boston. But perhaps this unexpected opportunity could be exactly the change I need to find true happiness and fulfillment in life that Clara insists exists.
Chapter Three
Lavender
After almost sevendays and a four-hour drive, I finally roll up the gravel driveway of the old lake house, my car kicking up clouds of dust that settle slowly behind me. I lean back in my seat, taking a deep breath as I try to calm the nerves fluttering in my stomach.
It’s been a whole week sinceI decided to escape to Kentbury for a few weeks—or forever. Though, in order to do so, I had to leave a few things in order—including LuxLumens. It felt like setting up dominos; one thing inevitably knocked into the next. I run a hand through my hair, the weight of my decisions settling heavily on my shoulders.
The house looms ahead, its once-bright blue paint faded to a weathered gray, shutters hanging at angles that suggest there was a tornado, or my parents forgot they own a house in Kentbury. I haven’t been here for ten years, and as I step out of the car, the air heavy with the scent of damp earth and pine, overcome with peace.
Summers in the Northeast are a magical time, filled with lazy days spent swimming in the lake, catching fireflies at dusk, and roasting marshmallows over a crackling campfire. I close my eyes for a moment, letting the memories wash over me, a bittersweet ache settling in my chest.
The front door creaks ominously as I push it open. It’s dusty and dirty. Everything is covered in a fine layer of grime, the furniture draped in ghostly white sheets like a scene straight out of a gothic novel—or a Scooby-Doo episode. I chuckle softly, shaking my head at the absurdity of it all.
A bittersweet ache blooms in my chest. How many summers did I spend here as a child, bare feet pattering across these old wooden floors? How many times did I leap from the dock into the cool lake waters? How often I danced around while s’mores roasted over the crackling campfire?
Those long summer days were magical. Thefreedom of endless afternoons stretching out before me, no worries or responsibilities. Just the shimmering water, dappled sunlight through the pines, and the laughter of childhood.
I close my eyes, letting the memories wash over me. The scuff of little feet running down the hall. Screen doors slamming as we dashed outside. Cannonballs off the dock and breathless games of Marco Polo. The inky night sky lit up by a thousand fireflies.
Those carefree days are gone now. I’m not that child anymore. But being here again, breathing this familiar air—maybe some of that magic still remains. Maybe this place can be my refuge, my escape from the churning world outside.
I open my eyes, feeling the weight on my shoulders lift just a little. If I listen close enough, I can almost hear the echoes of those childhood summers calling me home.
I drop my bags by the door, my heart sinking a little as I take in the state of the house.
“Looks like no one’s been here in ages,” I mutter, my voice echoing slightly in the empty foyer.
