Chapter Eighteen
B rooke had forgotten how good hot dogs were. Their clothes and hair were beginning to dry as they held the second round of skewered meat over the fire. “Do you know what I miss most about camp?” Brooke asked.
“Chiggers?”
She laughed and shook her head.
“Oh, I know. Spaghetti nights.”
“I swear they used roadkill to make the meat sauce.”
“That was the rumor. And the cook had no idea that Italian seasoning was a thing.”
“Or salt.” She laughed. “The noodles were mushy and tasted like water.”
The hot dogs actively sizzled. She handed him her skewer and set two buns on a paper towel.
“I give up,” he said. “What do you miss the most?”
“The duck hunt.”
“That was my favorite too.”
They used the buns to pull the meat from the stick and added their condiments.
“I didn’t go back my senior year,” she said. “None of us did. Not Jessa or Gates or Libby.”
“I know,” he said, taking a bite.
She chewed and swallowed, afraid of what he was going to say before he said it. “You do?”
“I was finally allowed back.”
“No.” She set her food down. “No, no, no.”
He nodded sadly.
“Why did everything go wrong for us? Why did we keep missing each other?”
“Timing.”
She was lost in what he’d just said—in the fact that they could have had a summer together without Gates or Jessa or Libby. Her whole life would have been different. “Where did you go afterward? What have you been doing all of these years?”
“I’ve been trying to right some wrongs.”
“Well, that’s vague,” she laughed.
He stuffed the rest of the hot dog in his mouth and smiled slyly. Then he held up a finger and went down the spiral stairs at astonishing speed. He came back up seconds later dragging one of the old black-and-white-striped mattresses. He placed it on the floor in front of the fire, and she crawled over to sit on it. He put his legs on either side of her. “I’ll be your chair,” he said, sitting firmly so she could lean her back against his chest. She finished eating, her tummy and her heart perfectly content.
Spatters of rain blew in through the broken windows, but it wasn’t enough wetness to bother them. If the wind changed direction, it could become a problem, but it felt like the storm would soon blow over. Thankfully, like so many Southern summer storms, it was still warm, and despite the humidity, the encroaching night didn’t portend too much misery. “I grew up south of Broad,” he began. “The first nine years of my life were perfect. My dad was a lawyer, so he had everything in order. When they passed, I should’ve been taken care of. I should’ve been able to go to college and have enough inheritance for a good start in life.” He spoke softly and matter-of-factly.
“But then, your uncle.”
“Then my uncle.”
“You’ve been in Charleston this whole time?”
“He sold that house the first year my folks were gone. Put the money into property not far from Goose Island. Had dreams of building himself a big house and raising horses, and at that time I had no idea that he was using my money to do it. We lived in a trailer on the property. No neighbors, no friends, just him and me all the time.” He wrapped his arms tightly around her.
She wanted to thread her fingers into his but placed her hands on top of his instead. “How bad was it?”
“You know, the usual stuff that happens when someone gets a bunch of money they don’t know how to handle. Gambling, drugs, and the next thing you know, he’s lost everything but that terrible trailer, and he hates me like I was the one who did it to him.”
She picked up his hand and kissed it.
“Back then, I thought maybe some of my old Charleston friends might be going to camp, and it was like a switch flipped inside of me. I had to figure out a way to get here. I have never felt so much determination in my life. It was like Camp Dogwood was my grandparents and my parents all mixed together. I thought it would somehow save me. Which is ridiculous, of course.”
Brooke wanted to cry for him—for the little boy who showed up to camp with nothing but a bad suit and an almost-empty plastic bag.
“How’d you do it? Did you get a scholarship?”
“Not that first year. I made a deal with my eighth-grade teacher. I had an idea, and she said she would be my first investor. She drove me to Walmart and paid for three boxes of those Otter Pops—the ones that come liquid in the plastic—and a little red cooler. My uncle had a deep freeze outside the trailer where he kept his deer meat, and I put the popsicles in there. I took that little red cooler to school every day and filled it with ice from the machine in the teacher’s lounge. Then I sold the popsicles for a dollar each at the end of the day.” He laughed. “That first day, I made twenty-seven bucks.”
“Really? That’s incredible!”
“I tried to give it all to that teacher, to pay her back, but she refused to take it. Then every week, she’d show up with more Otter Pops for me.”
“I love that woman. Don’t know who she is, but she deserves an award.”
She felt his body soften and the hard edge left his voice. “She does. She deserves everything good in the world.”
“What’s her name?”
He waited a beat before he said, “Mrs. Warter. Cornelia Warter.”
Brooke jerked away so she could face him straight on. “No. That can’t be. My mother?”
He nodded.
“You went to Whitehill Middle School?” All of those years he’d been right down the road at the only other nearby school? And he knew her mother? Cornelia helped him? Cornelia? It seemed so out of character. Brooke’s brain whirled. “When did you know it was me? I mean, when did you know that my mother was that teacher?”
“I didn’t put it together right away. I mean, I knew Mrs. Warter had a daughter named Anna Brooke, because she talked about you all the time. But I didn’t know it was you until years later. Then I just figured I should’ve known. You were the best girl in all of camp, so of course your mother was Mrs. Warter.”
Brooke was floored. Her mother knew Nate, and Nate actually liked Cornelia. “Did you say my mother talked about me all the time?”
“Always. Every day. You were the same age as us, so she would use you as an example—what shows you were watching, what games you were playing, what homework you were assigned, and things like when you went to New York City for Christmas and got lost in Times Square, and when you finally got up on water skis after trying for years. She told us about the time you tried to make them boxed macaroni and cheese for dinner and you somehow burned the noodles, so you served them Cheerios with the packet of cheese dust sprinkled on top. I thought you were the smartest, happiest, luckiest girl.”
“You remember all that?” There was no way he could have known those things unless her mother truly did talk about her. Yet when she looked back on her childhood, she felt like she was always in the way or causing them problems. Was it possible that she wasn’t? So much had changed with her perception of her mother in the past week that she didn’t know what to think anymore. But what did it matter if her mother said nice things about her? It was probably just like keeping the drapes open at suppertime—all for show.
“I lived for those stories about you,” he said. “You had everything that I was missing.”
Her phone buzzed, but she ignored it. It’d been steadily buzzing since the second hot dog when her phone seemed to suddenly connect with a network. She probably should check in case her mother was freaking out. What would Cornelia think if Brooke told her she was at an abandoned lighthouse with Nathan Daugherty? She grabbed the phone off the floor.
“ I’m almost there.”
It was the final text from a long thread beginning with Gates saying that no one knew where she was, her mother was worried, he’d tracked her to Camp Dogwood.
Now he was on his way.
Her perfect night was about to be ruined. She dreaded saying the words, “Nate, we have to go.” She handed him her phone and watched his face fall as he read it.
“He’s not your boyfriend anymore.”
“It’s not just him.”
“Yeah, but you can call your mother so she won’t keep worrying.”
“I want to stay here with you. I promise, I do. But Gates and I just broke up. And we’re still friends. He’s been driving for more than two hours now. I can’t just send him away because I’m with another guy.”
“I will do whatever you ask of me,” Nate said calmly. “But if it was an ex-girlfriend of mine, I would kindly ask her to leave.”
Brooke had an idea. “ I’m fine,” she texted. “ Please don’t come here.” “Maybe this will work.”
Her phone rang immediately. “Hi, Gates,” she said, apologizing to Nate with her eyes.
“Your mother is completely freaking out. Not only have you been missing for I don’t even know how many hours, but your grandmother is missing too. Your mama is about to call the sheriff.”
“I told her I wouldn’t be there.”
“Well, she didn’t hear you.”
“Hold up.” Brooke checked the text she sent her mother and saw that it had never been delivered. “Shoot.”
“Why are you at the old camp? This place is out in the boonies!”
“Gates, I’m safe. I’m good. You can stay in the guest room at my parents’ house. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“What are you up to, Brooke?”
“Nothing. And Nana isn’t missing—she’s with Duke.”
“Not true. Duke hasn’t seen her either.”
“What?” Now Brooke was alarmed.
“Listen, your whole family is going crazy. You have got to come back.”
“Okay.” She shot another look of sad apology at Nate before saying, “Turn around and go back to Goose Island. I’ll meet you there.” She threw her phone into her purse.
“You’re leaving,” Nate said.
“I have to. Nana’s missing.” She began cleaning the remnants of their meal. “I’ll take you back to your car.”
He was silent as he worked beside her, throwing trash into the thin plastic bag and finishing his wine in one large gulp.
“Are you mad?” she asked.
“Of course not.”
They were soaked again as they trekked back to her car. On the beach, rain beat sideways into them, stinging their faces. It seemed worse somehow to be out in the weather without something to look forward to. Just like always, leaving Camp Dogwood meant going back to the real world, and the real world wasn’t always the best place to be.
When they pulled into the Saltwater Winery, they were shocked to see so many cars in the parking lot. They counted seven, including Trig and Cornelia’s maroon Cadillac. Fred’s falling-apart pickup truck was there, Dottie’s food truck, as well as Jessa’s old Acura, Gates’s black BMW, and a shiny gold car Brooke had recently learned to recognize as Libby’s. Sam and Allie were both in bright orange raincoats walking up from the beach with Buttercup in the lead, tugging on them to move faster.
“Is this a surprise party?” Strangely, in an alternate universe, it did feel like everyone should be celebrating Nate’s return with her. He was definitely worth a party. “Nana must be here.” She parked and pulled her phone from her purse. There were text messages from everybody, including Dottie and Jessa. They’d all been out looking for Nana and ended up at the winery. “Will you come inside with me?” she asked Nate. Since both Gates and Libby were there, it seemed like he should have a choice.
“If you want me to.”
She hadn’t really thought it through when she asked. Bringing Nate into a room with Libby was probably okay—he could help manage her. But waltzing him in knowing full well that Gates was there was stupid. She’d have to introduce Nate to her parents too. One of whom he already had a relationship with. So, that was probably going to be a big deal. All of this ran through her head as they splashed their way through weedy, gravelly puddles to the front door.
There were raincoats and umbrellas and muddy footprints all over the tasting room and gift shop. Everyone was inside, including Nana and Duke. Libby sat on a stool in the middle of the bar with Nana’s arm around her shoulders. She was crying.
What in the crazy mixed-up outrageous world was going on? Wasn’t Nana supposed to be the one in distress? Instead, Jessa was in full compassion mode patting Libby’s back. Noting that Nana was safe, Brooke scanned the room for her parents. Cornelia was holding a marble cheese board, showing the price tag to Trig. They’d barely noticed that their daughter had just stepped into the room with a man. God forbid she should interrupt their shopping.
Gates noticed Brooke and Nathan first. He had the same look on his face that he had when he finally came back to their apartment after missing his surprise party—like he was shocked at her betrayal.
“What is going on?” Brooke asked no one in particular.
By now, Cornelia had diverted her attention. “If you would check your messages, you would know that we have found your grandmother.” Her voice changed from reprimanding parent to devastatingly disappointed when she said, “And now we have found you too.” Brooke was surprised she didn’t add with a man. Her parents had long ago made it clear that they wanted Gates as a son-in-law.
“Mother, this is Nathan Daugherty.”
Cornelia might have popped something internally with the way her face went slack with shock. She squinted up at him. “My Nathan?” As soon as she said it, the stiffness she always held in her joints relaxed, and a smile lit her face. “Oh my word. You’re a grown man. Are you okay now? Are you good?”
If Brooke’s feelings for Nate weren’t already hovering in the no-oxygen part of the atmosphere, they skyrocketed past the moon the minute Nate took her mother into the sweetest, most reverent hug. “Hi, Mrs. Warter,” he said.
“Who is that?” Nana yelled over the table of books and knickknacks for sale.
“I have been wondering about you for years,” Cornelia said as they pulled apart. “Let me get a good look at you.” She gazed lovingly at his face, taking it all in. Then she turned to Brooke. “If I’d had my way, this young man would have been your adopted brother.”
“This is him?” Trig asked from his protective spot behind his wife.
Cornelia nodded. “This is him.”