Page 59 of Until Next Summer
He heats water for tea as I ramble on about the pact Hillary and I made to become counselors together; how she bailed on me; what I just overheard. How she told Cooper that I’ve run this place into the ground. That I’m too emotionally invested in it.
As I finish my story, I start unraveling my braids so I can avoid looking at Luke. He’s been weirdly quiet as I’ve talked, and I hope he’s not silently judging me.
He walks over, a mug of tea in each hand. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.” I take a sip. The intensity of my initial reaction has faded, and I’m dazed, like I’ve suffered a blow to the head.
Luke sits next to me on the bed-turned-couch and takes a sip from his mug. He’s dressed in a soft gray T-shirt and sweatpants, his hair rumpled, a couple days’ worth of stubble on his jaw. It’s oddly intimate being here, in this space he’s kept closed off to everyone. I wonder if he regrets inviting me, now that he’s heard my tale of woe.
“How are you feeling about all this?” he asks.
I take another sip of tea. How to put this into words? The heat of my anger toward Hillary is cooling. Mostly I feel deeply, deeply stupid for allowing myself to get close to her again.
“Well. I guess I should’ve realized Hillary didn’t really care about me or this place. She was barely here a weekbefore she started suggesting all these changes. No respect for tradition. And anyone who loves this camp would never want to change itthatmuch.”
Luke takes a sip of tea. “Okay.”
I frown; does he think I’m overreacting? “I know, I know—she did have some good ideas.” I huff, exasperated. “I’m not a total bitch.”
Now Luke frowns. “I didn’t—”
“No, you’re right,” I say. “It’s not her fault Jack and Mary are selling. It just felt like she’s blamingmefor the camp being a ‘failing business’—like if I’d been better at my job, I wouldn’t have lost their confidence in the first place.”
“Yes, but—”
“I know I’m not great at financial stuff, but I tried my best! There’s more to consider than turning a profit. She has no idea how to hire and train counselors, or develop programs for kids, or communicate with parents.”
“Right, but—”
“I’ve given this place everything I have, poured my heart and soul into it, and she’s acting like it’s pathetic to devote your life to a silly summer camp. And of course she’s leaving, just like she did the last time. I’m not going to beg her to stay and let her tell me I’m too ‘emotionally invested’ in her.”
I sink back against the pillows and run my hands through my hair, struggling to contain my emotions.
“Can I say something now?” Luke asks.
My cheeks warm with embarrassment. “Sorry. I was talking too much.”
“No, I’m glad you could think through all of that out loud. But I’m still waiting for the answer to my question.”
I look at him, confused. His eyes are piercing blue, like he’s trying to burrow into my thoughts. “What question?”
“How are you feeling about all this?” he repeats.
“Um…I just told you.”
“No, you told me what you’rethinkingabout all this. How do you feel?”
I give him a sideways glance. “That’s a very shrink-y thing to ask.”
“It’s a very writer-y thing, too, I guess.” He takes another sip of tea. “And stop dodging the question.”
Scout gets up from her mattress across the room and ambles over; Luke gently helps her onto the bed between us, and she rests her head in his lap.
I pet her absently as I consider. “Honestly? I’m fine. I mean, I’m hurt by what she said, but this whole thing with Hillary doesn’t change anything—the camp is still closing.”
As I say the words, my throat tightens up.It’s really, truly closing.For good.
Luke shakes his head like he’s disappointed in me. “Still dodging.”
