Chapter Eight
Miles
Miles had been grating cheese when his father called to say he and Lily’s mother, Dorothea, had reached the Appalachian Trail’s halfway point in Pennsylvania. In keeping with trail tradition, they’d each eaten half a gallon of ice cream. Miles hoped his father had chosen the lactose-free version.
Dorothea had never tried to replace Miles’s mother.
If anything, she’d done everything she could to honor her, including accompanying Mark Magrum on this hike.
Thirty-two years ago, Mark had met Maisie out on the trail.
Halfway through their trek and halfway through their half gallon of ice cream, Mark Magrum had proposed to Maisie with a paper ring he’d fashioned from a trail map.
They’d married atop Mount Katahdin, at the journey’s end.
A year later, they’d named their son after the miles they’d walked in the woods.
Today’s stop made Mark miss Maisie and Dorothea had encouraged Mark to call the other person who missed her just as much—his son.
Miles relayed the promising news about Sam, who had moved to a rehab facility a day ago. If his healing continued, Sam could come home to the lake in a couple weeks.
Miles had also been thinking of his mother when his dad called. Before she left this world, Maisie Magrum taught her son how to make his favorite dish, macaroni and cheese. It was also his father’s favorite.
Upon hanging up, Miles whisked the roux.
Milk and the heap of shredded Maine cheddar sat nearby, on the counter Wes had installed three days ago.
As Avery had promised, the white granite with gold specks brightened the space.
She had a gift for finishing a room, and Miles had enjoyed seeing the sparkle in her eye as she’d reimagined the Boathouse the day before.
He’d been thankful she’d diffused the tension Wes created with his not-so-subtle innuendos.
Wes could be bothersome in more ways than one.
As soon as the counters were installed, Wes started sending reminders to pick a backsplash.
Ten texts in the last day. Samples sat propped against the wall, but every time Miles considered them, he became more confused.
The one he’d picked in the morning grew too dark in the evening light.
If only he could convince Avery to come to dinner, he could get her input.
But she remained insistent on keeping some distance between them.
A heat rose in his cheeks at the memory of Wes noticing the condoms and embarrassing Avery and Miles.
And it wasn’t just Wes. Nate had hinted at them getting back together in the staff meeting.
If it struck Miles as invasive, Avery must be feeling it too.
Everyone should respect her privacy, especially if she didn’t want to get back together.
The next time he saw Wes, he’d ask him to tone it down.
In that awkward moment, Avery’s diversion tactics had worked.
The tension evaporated when she’d enlisted Wes’s help with the magical tree bed.
Miles couldn’t figure out if she wanted to erase the memories they’d made in that bed or lovingly care for their special place.
Either way, a wave of guilt and regret over how he’d ruined their euphoric summer washed through him, and he’d shut down.
When she asked if everything was okay, he’d awkwardly brought up her painting to hide his anxiety.
He should talk to his therapist about why he’d frozen and disengaged, but it had been a while. Maybe when he returned to the City.
His phone vibrated on the counter, breaking his spiraling thoughts.
His realtor had promised to get back to him today.
Maybe she finally knew whether the corporate retreat was for sale.
On his morning paddle, he’d sat offshore in his blue canoe and envisioned the healing that could happen there.
He and Hayes wanted to call it Camp Luciole.
Hayes was FaceTiming him. They’d been phone-tagging all week. Miles answered, propping his phone against the backsplash samples so he could keep his hands free.
“Miles! What up? What up?” Hayes’s million-dollar grin filled the screen.
“Our late-night idea over grilled cheese sandwiches is gathering enthusiasm. Every day we get closer and closer to opening our camp. NYU has four grief counselors willing to come to Maine next summer. They suggested rounding out the staff with graduate students.”
Hayes lifted his arms in victory.
“Excellent.” Miles pumped his fist. “I think I found the ideal spot. There’s an abandoned corporate retreat—”
“Ooh, an abandoned retreat.” Hayes wiggled his fingers in front of his face. “Like in Scooby Doo.”
“I hope not. I’m no match for those meddling kids.” Miles laughed. “Seriously though, it’s got log cabins for the families, a couple of common buildings, and a sandy waterfront. I have my heart set on it. If only it was for sale.”
“No way! That sounds perfect. We need to get the word out. Anna and I were thinking a gala in August would be a fun way to raise awareness and bring in some capital. Something big, with a camp theme. What do you think?”
“Great idea,” Miles said as the timer beeped on his digital watch.
It had been his running watch in college, and he’d kept it because it reminded him of the day he’d run a sub-four mile.
He shut off the burner and strained the pasta.
“The seed money you and I put up can carry us some of the way, but we’ll need money to purchase a property and renovate it.
I’ve signed up for fundraising and grant writing classes this fall. ”
“Wow, Camp Luciole is happening, and it feels good. Right?”
Hayes was right. Their camp would provide grieving families with a comforting and nurturing space to heal, share stories, and remember loved ones.
They’d experience moments of sadness, but the goal was for everyone to leave with hope, support, and coping strategies for the real world, including referrals to services in their hometowns. Miles and Hayes just needed a place.
“I can’t believe it.” Hayes wiped away a tear.
“Same. Imagine when it opens.”
Miles felt a pang of excitement and a tingle of nervousness.
After his mother died, he and his father hadn’t shared their pain.
In the rare moments they’d caught each other crying, they hadn’t talked.
His father had patted him on the back and mumbled to carry on.
It wasn’t until Miles first met Avery over a year later that he slowly began to share his pain.
But he’d been reticent to truly open up and reveal how much sorrow he held back in order to keep his composure.
Holding it in came with a price.
Ten years ago, in the days leading up to his breakup with Avery, Miles had come to dread summer’s end.
Avery had been a break from his cycle of perpetual grief and in a matter of days, there would be eight states between them.
Money and distance would keep them apart, not to mention his busy cross country and track schedules.
Rescuing young Max Perry unleashed an emotional logjam in Miles.
Parts of that day were a blur, and others were a vivid photo montage that still swept through his mind at random times.
Miles remembered spotting Max out in the lake and hurdling a picnic table on his way to the water.
His reaction was so quick and so instinctual, that he’d heard his own heartbeat and nothing else.
Supposedly, Nate was beside him, checking the child’s pulse, but Miles didn’t remember that.
He recalled the Max’s first breaths, and the moment he opened his hazel eyes.
Through tears, Mr. and Mrs. Perry had called Miles a hero.
Everyone declared it a miracle, except for Miles.
That moment confirmed his worst fear. Forever didn’t exist. Anything could be taken away at any moment.
It hurt worse when it was someone you loved.
Maybe not loving someone could protect him from that pain.
He’d callously discarded Avery, who was headed elsewhere anyway, pushing away the one person who kept him afloat.
The nagging sense he had transformed her sunshine into rain kept him up at night for months, his chest pounding beneath what felt like a granite boulder.
Racked with guilt and a swirling vortex of emotions he didn’t understand, Miles started running late at night and taking extra showers so no one would see him cry.
The following spring, halfway through his last semester, he walked into Yale’s student health center at his lowest low and found therapy.
Seven years later, he met Hayes at the Met Gala.
Finally, a friend who had also lost his mother.
Camaraderie was its own therapy. He hoped their camp provided that for others.
The roux was ready.
“I’ve never said this, but every day, you help me heal.” Miles added the milk into the pan. “And Anna Catherine too. Thank you.”
“I feel the same way about you.” Hayes wiped away another tear. Tears were okay in their friendship, not something they hid. “Anna says we should celebrate when we visit. She wants you to bring Avery.”
Miles whisked the milk and turned down the burner to let the sauce thicken. Avery coming felt possible, but not certain.
“It’d be nice if Avery came,” he said. “There’s been a tiny bit of progress, but we aren’t at ‘let’s celebrate with my best friends’ yet.”
“I’ll take a little progress.” Hayes pumped his fist.
“Avery was the first girl who understood me.”
“I know, man. I—hold on.” Hayes’s voice got farther away.
Miles stopped stirring. On his phone’s screen, Anna Catherine battled with Hayes for the phone. As always, she eventually won.
“Ooh! Ooh! Ooh! I heard my name. And did someone say Avery?” She did a double-take and leaned closer to the screen. “Miles, are you cooking?”