Page 61 of Until Next Summer
“When you overheard Hillary,” Luke says, “I imagine itbrought up all those old feelings. Like she’s still rejecting what matters most to you. Like she’s rejectingyou.” He shifts his weight, and the bed squeaks. “Am I getting close?”
I can’t meet his eyes. It’s taking all my strength to contain my emotions, so I nod.
He exhales. “Have you told her any of this?”
“Of course not.”
“Why not?”
“Because she’s not responsible for my feelings.”
“True.”
“So what’s the point of telling her?”
“So she can understand how you feel. Someone who cares about you would want to know.”
I jolt upright. “How is talking about this with her going to make things better? The property is being sold. Facts don’t change just because I have feelings.”
“Fair enough,” he says. He’s remarkably unshaken by all this emotional energy I’m pouring into the air. “But you still haven’t answered my question.”
I exhale and shake my head; it’s easier to pretend to be exasperated than to be vulnerable. I haven’t allowed myself to examine my feelings in so, so long. I sealed them in that metaphorical box in my mind and shoved it in a corner and tried to forget about it.
But he’s right; the emotions are still there. Ignoring them hasn’t made them disappear.
Luke sets down his mug. In a quiet voice, he says, “Jess.”
Goose bumps rise on my skin. My name in his mouth feels almost intimate, like he’s telling me a secret—or asking for one of mine.
“I guess I feel…” My throat tightens, and it takes all my effort to whisper the next word. “Betrayed.”
He nods, like he’s encouraging me to go on.
“Abandoned,” I whisper.
He nods again.
“Rejected.” My voice gets louder, emotion rushing over me in waves. “Like she never cared as much about me as I did about her. Like she never loved this camp like I do. If she did, she wouldn’t be in such a hurry to leave. Which makes sense—she has to get back to her real life. Once this place is history, she’ll still have that life. But me?” I swallow. “I won’t know who I am anymore.”
“And how does that make you feel?” His voice is gentle.
“Sad.” My voice breaks. “I’m so sad, Luke.”
“Of course you are.”
His words feel like permission. I rest my head on his shoulder. Luke sits with me, his cheek resting on my head, as I close my eyes and cry.
Hillary’s face appears in my mind, her shocked expression when I agreed that she should leave. I wonder if she regrets coming here, wasting her summer on something that doesn’t really matter.
I wonder what she’s doing right now, if she’s somewhere crying, too.
Tomorrow morning, I promise myself, I’ll find her. At the very least, we can talk like adults before she leaves.
I sit up, wiping my eyes. “Sorry for getting your shirt wet,” I say, motioning to Luke’s damp shoulder.
“I don’t mind.”
I glance at my watch; it’s nearly four, and I spring to myfeet. “I have so much to do for the events tonight. Are you coming to the canoe parade?”
