32
MARLA INTERRUPTED MYmental pacing with a bright, “Hey, girls!”
She emerged through the screen door of Bag End waving, decked out in her usual khaki shorts and white Pine Lake T-shirt.
“Good morning!” Sam and I shouted back, practically in unison. The delight in her voice matched my own, as if we both relished the feeling of still being seen as a kid in someone’s eyes. No matter how old we got, we’d always be campers to Marla, and there was something deeply comforting in the thought.
Steve stuck his head out behind her, offering up a quick hello as Marla made her way down the stairs.
“Do you still have time to help me find all the ice cream stuff in the kitchen?” I asked.
“Sure do.” She nodded, watching me with the studious gaze of a pleased professor.
“I’m also trying to get all the wish boat stuff together for tomorrow night,” I added.
“Steve’s already on it,” she said. “He’s going to grab it and meet us in the dining hall.”
“You two are amazing,” I said as her eyes lingered on my face.
“Camp looks good on you, Clara,” she said finally.
“Right?” agreed Sam. She glanced over at me, a devious curl to her lips. “What’s your secret, Clara?”
Of course, I knew what she was suggesting.
“I swear to god if you weren’t pregnant,” I muttered as Marla tried to contain a laugh.
“You’d, what, challenge me to a swim race?” Her brows twitched in amusement.
“Oh my god,” I groaned.
“I’m sorry, Clare-bear, I had to,” she said, giving my shoulder a squeeze. “All right, I’m gonna get my steps in!”
“Shall we?” Marla asked as Sam kept moving, headed down the mulch-covered path toward the water.
“Take me to the ice cream,” I said, pumping my fist.
I followed Marla into the dining hall, walking along the rows of tables with chairs stacked neatly on top. Most of my memories here involved endless singing and camp cheers, some that included extravagant clapping routines performed on the table itself. To walk through this giant room when it was silent felt eerie, almost like being in a cemetery.
Once inside the kitchen, she scanned the shelves slowly. “Okay, so what are we looking for? Toppings? How about cookies?”
“We could use all of it,” I added, opening the giant freezer chest in the corner. “And ice cream, obviously.”
“Well, I know we have plenty of that left over,” she said. “We overbought for the ice cream social, so you guys’ll be doing us a favor getting rid of it.”
“Sure, let us eat your problems for you,” I joked as I counted up the containers inside. Four chocolate, four vanilla, three strawberry. More than enough for our group to gorge ourselves on sundaes.
“How did you become the ringleader for all these festivities?” she asked, grabbing the reading glasses that dangled from her collar and sliding them onto her face as she examined a stock list that hung from a clipboard nailed to the wall.
“I guess when I heard you guys were selling, it just really made me want to tap into my old self, and all the things I loved about being up here.”
“And how is she doing?” Marla crouched down, tugging at a bin on a lower shelf. “Your old self, I mean.”
“I’m not sure,” I said, considering the question for a moment. From anyone else, it would have seemed judgmental, asked with the purpose of making a point. But Marla was inquisitive and open, someone who genuinely wanted to know.
“I guess she’s happy my current self is here, out of my comfort zone,” I said finally. “I haven’t really let that side out in a long time.”
“Yeah?” she said, cracking open a bin’s lid and examining the contents inside. “Why do you think that is?”
“Well,” I said, “I’ve spent my entire life—or I guess, since my parents got divorced—trying to do everything the right way, you know? No surprises. But I’m starting to think all this overplanning and thinking has just led me in circles.”
Marla began unloading jars of chocolate sauce onto the industrial-size island in the center of the kitchen.
“I remember how hard that summer was for you,” she said, pausing to glance up at me. “It makes sense that you’ve tried to carve out a life that feels good to you.”
“I’m working on it,” I said.
“I think it’s great you’re making the most out of this week,” she continued, “and I’m not just talking about you know who.”
“Oh my god, Marla.” My face flushed, unable to hide my mortification, and I briefly pondered jumping into the freezer to avoid her beaming smile.
“I’m sorry, I’m not trying to embarrass you,” she said sweetly. “But I’ve just known Mack for so long. And I know he’s always pined for you.”
“That is an amazingly appropriate pun,” I said, still blushing as I arranged the glass containers of chocolate sauce in a perfect line in front of me, just to do something with my fidgety hands.
“I know, and I don’t get to use it all that often.” She chuckled before pointing at a giant cupboard. “Plates and bowls stored in there.”
I wandered over in that direction and swung open the wooden doors. “Reconnecting with Mack this week has really been nice.” This was the understatement of the century, but it was as far as I was going to go with someone who had second mom status in my life.
“He’s a good egg, that one,” she said as I dug around a crate of plastic bowls. “Mack’s really made this place into something extra special, over the last few years especially.”
My skin prickled at the mention of his name, and suddenly I could feel every drop of sweat on my skin. She swung open a cabinet door. “Jackpot. Did you want cones?”
“Uh, sure, we could use cones.” I opened up a drawer in my search for spoons and then paused. “Marla, I hope it’s okay to say this, but, if he’s been so great, why didn’t you guys offer to sell Pine Lake to him? It’s so obvious that he wants to stay, and we all know he’s sitting on a trust fund, so he could afford it, I would assume. I know money is money, and I’m not trying to judge the choice you and Steve made. But, like, a glamping company? Over Mack? I just don’t get it.”
The words spilled out before I could censor myself, and I knew, when her lips formed a straight line, that I’d pricked a sensitive spot, and I immediately regretted asking.
“I’m sorry, it’s not even my place to ask that,” I said, scrambling to figure out how to back out of this conversation.
“No, it’s okay, Clara.” She sighed, like someone who so badly wanted to solve a puzzle in front of them but wasn’t sure how. “I just assumed you two had talked about this already.”
“About what?” I said, an anxious lump growing in my throat. “Did something happen?”
“Oh, no, honey, I’m sorry.” She paused in thought for a moment, running her fingertips up the bridge of her nose. “It doesn’t quite feel like it’s my place to say anything, but we’ve already opened the door to this conversation, so…”
I pushed the drawer I’d been digging through closed and leaned my elbows on the counter, sliding closer to her, in anxious anticipation over what she was about to tell me.
“See, we actually asked Mack first, right before we listed the place,” she continued. “We had hoped he’d say yes. But he had his reasons for saying no, which we respected.”
“Wait, I’m not sure I’m following,” I said, though the dread thumping through my stomach told me otherwise, that maybe I was following along too well.
“He came back to us a couple of days ago, right after you guys got back from the hospital, and asked us to reconsider, but as you know, we’ve already moved forward with Glamp Camp.” Marla’s forehead creased, and it was clear she’d been agonizing over this. “Steve almost cried when he had to turn Mack’s offer down, and that man never cries. Not even when the Red Sox finally won the World Series.”
I was silent, speeding through my memories of these last few days with Mack, on the boat, in the car, in his bed, the art barn. Our conversations about the shoulds of life, him moving back home, my job. Me, self-righteous and so certain I knew what was best, trying to convince Mack to talk to Marla and Steve, assuming they’d overlooked him somehow. But no—they’d offered it to him first.
This was the big decision he’d mentioned cryptically the other night, the stuff that hadn’t worked out. He’d been so pissed off that night on the boat, but as the timeline shifted into place I realized why: He’d just tried to fix his mistake and had been told it was too late.
He could have told me. I’d confided in him about my life’s disappointments, laid myself bare about my struggles, because he’d felt safe, and because whatever this was between us had me thinking he felt the same. But he didn’t; that much was obvious now.
A flush of foolishness sank through my body; how dumb had I been to read into a few days of sex and whispered feelings? I’d been a distraction for him, a convenient escape from the shit he’d been wallowing in secretly. This really was just a fling, a passionate love affair like I’d once wanted, but nothing more.
At least I’d gotten a check mark out of it.
Marla reached into a box, grabbed two giant containers of caramel syrup, and handed them to me. “Here. My favorite.”
I accepted them without thinking; my hand was moving like a robot’s as I lined up the containers on the counter. I was both stuck in my own head and floating far out in space.
Why hadn’t he told me? Why had he told our group that he’d just found out about Steve and Marla selling when it was clear he’d known for way longer?
And why hadn’t he said yes to them, when he so clearly wanted to be here?
“Clara?”
“Mmm?” I said, landing back in the present.
“Your phone’s ringing.”
“Oh. Oh!”
The name on the screen was my own, which could only mean one thing.
Oh, shit.
“Hello?” I answered.
“It’s me.” Lydia’s voice was low and conspiratorial.
“I figured.”
“I’m hiding in your office,” she said, her voice hushed. “Amaya got your email to Gabbie and just called an emergency meeting of the creative team. She’s been hovering over Delilah’s desk for the last twenty minutes.”
“Oh, shit.” My phone suddenly felt like a rock in my palm, tempting me to run down to the waterfront and toss it into the lake. “Is that good or bad?”
“I don’t know, but it’s definitely something,” she said. “I thought you should know.”
“You’re the best,” I said. “She basically ignored my first message, so I kinda took a leap of faith.”
“I mean, your list did tell you to do scary shit,” she replied. “Are you still crossing things off?”
“You could say that,” I said bitterly, envisioning Mack’s name scribbled directly under the words “take a lover.” “I don’t have a dog yet, but otherwise, I’m feeling pretty accomplished.”
“Where on the list did it say ‘go rogue at work’?” she asked with a nervous laugh.
“I think it qualifies as ‘do something that scares you,’” I guessed, the nerves in my stomach doubling, work anxiety piling on top of what I’d just learned from Marla about Mack.
“Well, you’ve definitely scared Amaya. I’m proud of you,” she said. “Shit. I gotta go, I’ll call you back as soon as I know what’s going on.”
When I finally looked up from my phone screen, Steve was in the doorway to the kitchen, a massive cardboard box cradled in his arms.
“Special delivery for Clara Millen,” he said in his deep Maine accent. “A box of wishes.”
I let out a tight laugh, a sad sound of disbelief. Just hours ago I’d known exactly what—and who—I’d wish for. But now it was clear—no matter how much I wanted something more with Mack, there was no way that would ever come true.