Page 70 of The Summer Intern

Matt

Thetalentshowmademe more convinced than ever that Casey was right about the arts program.It added a whole new dimension to camp life, giving the kids a way to express themselves that hadn't been available before, and I could see the way Casey had built community.I just didn't know how to convince him of it.

The days leading up to the Session 2 Talent Show had been busy for Casey, and he hadn't had time to talk, so I'd waited, giving him space.Now I was second-guessing myself, wondering if it was the right move.He was still sleeping in my bed, but more often than not, he was too tired.Something had shifted, making him more reserved, more worried than usual.

Perhaps it was just his anxiety flaring up.

Our bonfire area had transformed into something magical tonight.String lights zigzagged overhead, casting soft golden pools that melded with the dying sunset.The plywood backdrop—painted just yesterday by Casey and his art campers—depicted a stylized mountain landscape that echoed the real peaks silhouetted against the darkening sky.It wasn't fancy, but it was perfect in its earnest, handmade glory, just like everything else about Camp Eagle Ridge.

I made a big speech at the beginning of the talent show, then hung back at the edge of the crowd, letting Casey and Sutton take the lead with the kids, watching music, dance, and even magic tricks.It was amazing, hilarious, and beautiful, and it had gone off without a hitch, exactly as we'd rehearsed it.

At least until Casey had come on stage, his pastel pink hair catching the glow of the single spotlight we'd rigged up over the makeshift stage.The sight of him there—confident yet vulnerable, so utterly himself—sent a warm current through my chest, an electric sensation I recognized as love, followed by the uncomfortable prickle of regret for all the words I'd left unspoken.

I scanned the crowd, tallying faces automatically—a camp director's habit.Every counselor, every staff member, and nearly all the campers had shown up.Even my brother Ben and his wife Sutton had claimed spots near the front, their hands intertwined in that casual, unconscious way of people who never questioned their connection.I envied that certainty.

Casey adjusted the microphone, sending a brief squeal of feedback across the clearing that made everyone flinch and laugh.His smile flashed in response—that disarmingly sweet expression that somehow managed to be both apologetic and not sorry at all.

"Sorry about that."His voice was carrying easily now."My campers insisted I share a song tonight."He glanced toward a group of teenagers who whooped at the mention."I tried to get out of it, even warned them my songs are pretty personal, but they didn't seem to care."

The crowd laughed, and someone toward the front—probably Javier from Cabin 12—shouted, "You got this, Casey!"which triggered a cascade of cheers and playful catcalls.

Casey laughed, the sound light and genuine.My attention snagged on the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, how he ducked his head in a moment of shyness that contradicted his outspoken nature.These little details about him collected in my mind like treasures, continually surprising me with their abundance.

He settled the guitar across his lap—the one I'd given him for his birthday, which was never far from his side.I'd stretched my personal budget thin to afford it, but the look on his face when he'd unwrapped it had been worth every penny.Even now, I watched him stroke his thumb reverently across the polished wood inlay before positioning his fingers on the strings.

The first chord rang out clear and true, silencing the last whispers from the audience.I'd heard Casey practice countless times over the summer—through cabin walls, across the meadow, by the lake at sunset—but never like this, never with such deliberate intent behind every note.This wasn't just playing; this was offering something of himself.

I found myself holding my breath as his voice joined the melody, beautiful and strong.The lyrics started simply enough, painting vignettes of summer days and starlit nights that could have applied to anyone at camp.

Then the second verse began, and my pulse quickened.

"City boy with opinions sharp as knives," he sang, "fighting battles with his words, not afraid to criticize."A few knowing glances turned toward Casey, who smiled self-deprecatingly without missing a beat."Pushing boundaries, questioning the rules, finding beauty in the broken, making music out of fools."

The chorus posed a question that hit me like a physical blow: "Have I pushed too hard, demanded too much?Can someone love a heart that's always rearranging?"

Wait.Was this—could this possibly be—about us?

My mind raced backward through our summer together, cataloging moments: Casey challenging our outdated activities schedule, insisting we needed more arts programming; Casey arguing passionately for gender-neutral cabins; Casey pushing the budget for a music program that had transformed our talent show into this vibrant celebration.Each memory flickered through my consciousness like slides in an old projector, illuminating patterns I'd somehow missed.

I'd always seen his suggestions as ways to improve the camp—which they were—but now I recognized them as something more: attempts to carve a place for himself here, in my world.

The song continued, shifting focus in the third verse: "Nature's son with patience deep as lakes, listening heart that bends but never breaks.Tied to land his family always knew, giving others room to grow while staying true."

My throat tightened.This was me—unmistakably me—through Casey's eyes.I'd never thought of myself as particularly patient or understanding.Running the camp my family had owned for generations just meant doing what needed to be done, adapting when necessary while preserving what mattered.But hearing Casey describe me this way—as someone steady and nurturing—made me want to live up to that perception.

The chorus returned, but with new lyrics that pierced straight through me: "Can we bridge the gap between your world and mine?Make something last beyond just summer time?"

There it was—the worry that had been shadowing our relationship all along.Casey would return to Oregon State in just over three weeks.I would stay here, bound to Eagle Ridge by duty and love for the place.We'd never discussed what would happen after the summer ended, both of us avoiding the topic as if saying it aloud would make it real.

I'd been telling myself that uncertainty was fine, that living in the moment was enough.But now, hearing the naked vulnerability in Casey's voice as he sang about our differences—city versus country, activism versus tradition, his academic future versus my rooted present—I realized how deeply unfair that had been to him.

Because the truth was, I wasn't uncertain at all.I loved him.Not casually, not temporarily, but with a solid, grounded certainty that matched how I felt about these mountains and this lake.I'd known it for weeks but had hesitated to say the words, afraid they might pressure him into promising something he couldn't deliver once he returned to his real life.

Casey's final verse dropped to almost a whisper, forcing everyone to lean in: "What if distance is just space and not goodbye?"

My vision blurred.The hundred little details I'd been noticing all night—the way the fireflies had begun to flicker at the edges of the clearing, how Casey's fingers moved so surely across the strings, the collective held breath of the audience—suddenly coalesced into perfect clarity.Casey wasn't just singing about our differences; he was asking if they mattered.If we could find a way despite them.

And I knew, with an absolute certainty that vibrated through my bones, that we could.

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