Epilogue
JEREMY
The setting sun turns the sky above the camp stage into a brilliant mix of orange and purple that makes Colorado natives feel sorry for people who live anywhere else.
Joel stands at the microphone with Mariel beside him, both of them a little sunburned, but grinning wildly. Behind them, the hand-painted NorthStar Way banner ripples in the early evening breeze.
I’m sitting on a log bench next to Avah and Sloane, surrounded by fifty-some people I’ve come to know and care about over the past two weekends.
Glenn from Nebraska is in the front row, while the BME major whose mom has ovarian cancer is on the bench in front of us with a gaggle of younger campers and volunteers.
The retired firefighter, a total softie, is wiping his eyes before Joel even gets to the emotional part of his closing remarks.
“We had a heck of a week,” Joel says, and the crowd responds with whistles and applause. “Every year I think, okay, that was the best one, we’ve peaked. Every year this community proves me wrong.”
He talks about the talent show, the relay races, and the bonfire sing-alongs. He shouts out the twelve-year-old kid who caught the biggest fish of the week and then released it because—direct quote—“he looked like he wanted to go home.”
“Most of you know our story.” His voice holds steady, but his knuckles tighten around the microphone.
Mariel rests her hand on his forearm. “When Erin died, we were afraid the light had gone out of our lives for good. There’s no manual for that kind of loss, and I’m not going to stand up here and pretend we found one.
” He swallows. “But this community has been our north star. The fact that you show up, year after year, to take care of each other the way you do—” He stops.
Shakes his head. “It gives us a reason to keep going.”
Avah has her arm around my sister, both of them swiping at their cheeks. I drag the back of my hand across my own face, not at all surprised to find it wet.
Avah and Sloane glance at me at the same time.
“Allergies,” I mutter.
“The worst,” Sloane agrees, her voice thick.
Avah reaches over and laces her fingers through mine, and I hope for the millionth time in the past four days that she never lets go.
Maybe I haven’t earned forever quite yet, but that might be the point. Avah and I chose each other with our whole hearts, just like the people in this community have come together despite the challenges they each face.
That’s what NorthStar is. That’s what Avah is for me.
Joel clears his throat. “For now, I’m going to hand things over to my better half.”
“Ditto on everything my husband said,” Mariel announces as she takes the mic and then waits for the laughter to settle. “But I do have a special announcement, and if I don’t get through it before I start crying again, blame Joel’s speech.”
She takes a moment to breathe in and out, and I feel myself following along.
“The NorthStar Way has accomplished more than Joel and I ever imagined. But we’ve always dreamed of doing more.
One of those dreams is to have a permanent home for this community, a place families can come year-round, instead of borrowing one week each summer. ”
The crowd quiets.
“We’re thrilled to announce a new partnership with Jeremy Winslow of Winslow Ventures that will allow us to purchase land and build a permanent facility for retreats, special programs, and community support. Our NorthStar trifecta.”
The eruption is immediate, with campers and volunteers clapping and cheering. As the crowd turns to me, I raise my hand in a wave that I’m sure looks as awkward as it feels.
I’ve stood on stages at tech conferences and shareholder meetings, lauded for my supposed tech brilliance.
I’ve been feted by rooms full of people who wanted my money or my connections.
These people are cheering because they believe that what NorthStar is going to build with my help will change lives.
The fact that I’m the one making it possible is far less important than the promise itself.
Which is exactly why it matters so much to me.
My face is burning as Avah squeezes my hand and whispers, “Breathe.”
The college girl turns from the row in front of us and fist bumps me. “Hell yeah, Lumbersnack.”
Sloane snorts.
Avah grins. “I’m going to call you that for time immemorial.”
“You love my flannel,” I say and wrap my arm around her neck, pulling her back against my chest. I drop a kiss on the top of her head. She smells like sugar and sunscreen from the camp supply shed, and I kind of love that fifty people are watching us right now.
The excitement continues as Mariel transitions into the camp ribbon ceremony—awards for archery, the talent show, even the “Best Campfire S’more Technique,” which Firefighter Dave wins to thunderous applause.
While she works through her list, I lift Avah’s hand and press my lips to the Band-Aid on the back of it.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“It’s a minor burn, Jeremy. I’ll survive.”
“And you’ll kick ass while doing it.”
The morning had been chaos after a family of raccoons broke into the camp kitchen overnight and demolished the ten dozen cupcakes meant for tonight’s dessert table.
Mariel discovered the carnage at dawn and was halfway to a full-blown crisis when Avah volunteered to bake replacements if the ingredients were on hand.
What followed was three hours of Avah commanding a squad of volunteers, most of whom readily admitted to never having baked anything more complex than boxed brownies.
She had them measuring and sifting with the calm authority of a Great British Bake Off judge, patiently demonstrated the technique she uses so her buttercream frosting doesn’t break—whatever that means—and then showed everyone how to cut and fold parchment paper into liners sturdy enough to hold their shape.
When the cupcakes came out golden and fluffy, the cheer that went up in that kitchen was almost as loud as the one happening now.
My girl gets plenty of recognition in Skylark for her brilliant baking skills, but it was clear she loved the teaching part just as much. And she was a natural at it. I don’t think she dropped one F-bomb in the process.
“You were incredible today,” I tell her. “So patient and kind.”
She elbows me gently. “Keep it on the down low. I have a rep to protect.”
“Your secret’s safe.”
Her eyes narrow as she tips her chin to look up at me. “You filmed that shit, didn’t you?”
“Multiple moments.”
“You’re the worst.”
“I know,” I say and hold her tight.
Mariel finishes awarding the ribbons and hands the mic back to Joel.
“All right, folks. We have a special treat to close out the week. We’ve got a guest in our midst who’s kind of a big deal in country music.
He was already in Colorado for a concert, and he’s agreed to do a private set for the NorthStar community tonight.
” The older man’s grin could power the entire campground. “Please welcome Cody Cassidy.”
A collective gasp bursts from the crowd, while a few of the younger volunteers actually scream.
I’m not much of a country music fan, so I recognize the name but not the guy who walks out of the side door of the main lodge with an acoustic guitar slung over his shoulder.
He can’t be older than twenty-four, with a square jaw, easy grin, and the build of someone who grew up throwing hay bales.
He waves, and the crowd loses it all over again, everyone back on their feet.
Avah’s cheering wildly, and I glance at Sloane to make a crack about the noise level. My smile fades at how still she’s gone, lips pressed into a line so tight they’ve lost color. As Cody settles onto the stool and adjusts his guitar, her shoulders drop a fraction, and she exhales.
Weird, but whatever.
“Thank you all for having me.” Cody’s smooth tone carries a soft southern drawl that I can imagine causing panties to spontaneously combust in the back of a dozen tour buses.
“I’m honored to be here, and I’ve almost adjusted to the altitude after a couple nights at Red Rocks.
If I pass out mid-chorus, just prop me up and keep clapping. ”
Laughter ripples through the crowd.
“I found out about the NorthStar community through a friend of mine, and when he told me what y’all were doing up here, I knew I wanted to be part of it.
” He adjusts a tuning peg. “Speaking of big deals, I’d like to bring out my band leader and the man who connected me to this incredible organization. Help me welcome Jensen Grant.”
A tall, rangy man moves toward the stage carrying his own guitar.
He’s older than Cody by a good decade or so, with thick hair longer, several days of scruff and the relaxed gait of someone who I’d guess has spent most of his adult life on stage.
The crowd claps, though the name doesn’t seem to register the way Cody’s did.
Beside me, Sloane makes a sound like she’s been punched.
It’s barely audible over the applause, but I hear it. She drops to the bench like her legs gave out, her face drained of color, blue eyes blown wide and locked on the stage.
“Sloane.” I crouch down low. Avah moves to her other side as if to form a protective bubble around her. “Are you okay?”
“I need to go.” A whisper so thin I have to strain to make out the words. “I need to get out of here.”
“Is it—let me get the camp nurse—”
Her hand clamps around my wrist hard enough that I flinch. She looks up at me, then to Avah. Her eyes are wild with an emotion I can’t name because I’ve never seen it on her face before.
“I’m not sick.” She draws in a shaky breath. “But I need to go home.” Her grip tightens until I can feel her pulse against my skin. “Right now.”
Her gaze flicks toward the stage where Cody and Jensen have settled into the opening chords. When she looks back at me, the desperation in her dark eyes shuts down every question I want to ask.
Avah and I share a look over Sloane’s bent head. I can tell she doesn’t know what’s going on either, but she places a hand on Sloane’s elbow to support her as she stands.
“Okay.” I straighten and take my sister’s hand. “We’re leaving.”
I lead the way out of the row, stepping over legs and murmuring apologies.
Sloane’s hand is cold in mine, and Avah is right behind her as we move between the benches and onto the gravel path toward the cabins.
Cody and Jensen’s voices follow us through the trees, melding together in the darkness falling over camp.
I don’t know who Jensen Grant is to my sister or why his name blasted the color from her face.
But Avah and I have her, and we’re not letting go.
Skylark taught me how to show up for the people you love.
More specifically, Avah taught me that. And Sloane has a posse of ride-or-die friends who’ll circle the wagons for her before she even asks.
Love isn’t about solving someone’s problems. It’s staying by their side with support—and sometimes Snickerdoodles—when they need it.
And right now, my sister needs to me to take her home.
I hope you loved Avah & Jeremy.