21. 7 Years Ago
Chapter twenty-one
“The main goal is to train the counselors right. They have to make the campers feel like we live here, together, all year round. Especially the new ones. It has to seem like a family atmosphere, so the younger campers feel safe and comfortable. But you guys know this already.”
I sat in the Lodge on a long bench made of metal edges and compressed particle board.
Matt, Callie, and the camp nurse, Marilyn, sat alongside me, leaning on the long, wood table with white, plastic binders open in front of us.
Pat O’Donnell was stationed at the head of the table, his burly presence a combination of a lumberjack and Santa Claus.
Wearing a plaid, flannel shirt over a camp T-shirt, he leaned back into the metal folding chair, resting his hands on his round belly and smiling.
His white curls, cropped close to his head, peeked out from under his green Sound Hollow baseball cap.
A light sheen of sweat covered his brow.
“We do it every year,” Dottie offered. “And, just making sure, you still want me to make a cake for opening day, right?”
Dottie sat opposite me. Next to her were two people I’d never met: a tall blonde who could have been a runway model but instead would be serving as our waterfront director (aptly named Phoenix) and the middle-aged, scruffy looking guy who waved at me earlier when I drove over from girls’ side.
I learned that he—Dan—was not a farmhand, but rather the farm director.
Rounding out the bunch was the director of the horse program, Pauline, whose leathery hands busied themselves cracking open and munching on a handful of pistachios.
“Definitely. It’s tradition,” Pat replied, surveying the group. “Any other questions?”
We all shook our heads. Satisfied, Pat shut his binder.
“Well, then. That’s all we’ve got for tonight.
You’ve all got your marching orders for the next few days.
We’ll finish up supply orders and prep the staff trainings.
Counselors will be here soon, and before you know it, we’ll be in full swing.
” He sighed, smiling. “Man, I’m going to miss all this.
The anticipation, you know? There’s nothing in the world like it. ”
“Yeah, Dad,” Callie chimed in. “But you’ve still got all summer to look forward to.”
“Yup,” he agreed. “Okay, class dismissed!”
I laughed to myself. What a sweet man. This place will never be the same without him.
Matt turned to face me. “Do you need to go back to your cabin, or do you want to head straight out to the store?”
“We can go straight there. I’m good.”
We walked outside. Crickets chirped, although the sun was still out, prolonging the day, hiding in the treetops in a slow descent, painting the sky with streaks the color of warm peach pie.
I climbed in Matt’s truck. The scent of clean laundry mixed with something—body wash?
Men’s deodorant? Maybe cologne? Whatever it was, it permeated the interior of the upholstery, making me smile instinctively.
“So?” he asked. “What’d you think?”
“Of the staff meeting? Nothing, really. Pat’s still the same. It’s cool to be considered a senior staff member. It does make me feel kind of old, though.”
“Yeah, we’re ancient now. Dinosaurs,” he smirked, tapping a cigarette out of his pack. “Want one?”
“Sure,” I replied, realizing I left mine in my car.
Matt lit the cigarette and inhaled, then passed it over to me and lit a second one for himself. Putting the car in drive, he rolled down the windows. I exhaled smoke, directing it towards the open window through pursed lips.
We drove the few miles south into town, passing sod farms, vegetable and fruit stands, a small trailer park, and several large old barns.
With the sun falling in the never-ending expanse of vast, darkening sky, and a sentimental mix of Linkin Park, Alice in Chains, Pearl Jam, and other antiquated rockers creating a soundtrack through the truck speakers, I found calm in words unspoken.
There was no need for pleasantries. Obvious questions overshadowed any small talk I could muster.
Matt pulled into the parking lot of the Stop N’ Shop and grabbed a cart for our groceries.
My first order of business was to find a cheap coffee pot, followed by sunscreen, bug spray, coffee, deodorant, and soap.
I didn’t need lots of food, but I tossed a package of Oreos into the cart.
Matt added a canister of barbecue flavored Pringles, smiling at me, igniting memories.
Anytime I ate barbecue Pringles, I was instantly transported back to his oversized beach towel.
Old friends are like that, though, I told myself, heaving a 24-pack of bottled water into the cart. They leave you with hyper-specific memories.
In the beer aisle, Matt stopped in front of a refrigerated display of cans and bottles.
“What’ll it be, Roberts?” he asked, grabbing a six-pack of Coors Light.
I considered the options. “I’m not much of a drinker,” I admitted.
I hated beer, never could get a taste for it.
And, unlike lots of girls my age, I wasn’t into wine, either.
I liked sweet, fruity, blended drinks, like pina coladas and mudslides, stuff you would drink on vacation to someplace like Aruba, not that I’d ever been. “I don’t know. Any recommendations?”
Matt laughed. “Seriously? You don’t even know what you like?” When I didn’t respond, he reached for a six-pack of Mike’s Hard Lemonade. “Try this. You won’t even know there’s alcohol in there.”
I tossed in a pack of cinnamon flavored gum at the register and helped Matt load the groceries into the back of the truck. Driving back, he lowered the music.
“So, we’ll drop the stuff off at your cabin and then head down to the cliff. Make sure you grab a sweatshirt. It’s not really cold, but there’s a breeze in the evening. You’ll be more comfortable with an extra layer.”
“I remember, but thanks. You go down there a lot?”
“Not really. A few times at sunset. When there was no one here and I just wanted to think.”
“Yeah. I’m sure it’ll get busy once all the counselors arrive.”
“Big make out spot,” he agreed.
“Just to clarify, I will not be making out with you tonight,” I informed him, my stomach flipping at the very idea.
“Oh. Well, then, what am I wasting my time for?” he joked, pulling the car over to the side of the road alongside a cornfield. “You’ll be fine walking the rest of the way back, right?”
“Are you kidding me?” I cried.
“Only if you agree that we’re making out later,” he taunted.
“I will agree to no such thing.” I laughed.
“Tomorrow, then?” He smirked as he pulled back onto the road. I changed the music to the radio, settling on an obnoxious pop song that I knew he would despise. I cranked the volume.
“I hate you,” he said, turning the music down.
“Nope. You’re so happy I’m here. Actually, this is probably the best day of your life.”
Grinning, Matt turned back onto the camp road. We drove past the Gate House, the sky milking the sun for its last few drops of light before the darkness began to settle in.
“We’re going straight to the cliff,” he decided. “Otherwise we’ll miss the sunset.”
“But what about the sweatshirt?”
“Check the backseat. I think I have one there.”
I turned and scanned the back, noticing the toolbox on the floor and an old home repair manual on the seat.
Under the paperback, a gray hoodie was rolled up.
I reached for it, the truck bouncing down the uneven road.
Unbuckling my seatbelt, I inserted my arms into the oversized fleece-lined sleeves and pulled the shirt over my head.
For a split second, I paused before poking my head up through the hood.
I inhaled, and Matt’s scent consumed me.
Fabric softener, cigarette smoke, men’s deodorant, and the remnants of cologne blended together to create an aromatic cocoon.
It lingered in my nostrils as I adjusted the hoodie over myself.
I swam in it. He looked over and gave me a satisfied nod, then stopped the truck at the end of the road, about 30 feet from the cliff’s edge.
“Come on,” he said, unlocking the doors and climbing out. He went around and lowered the tailgate on the back of the truck, grabbing a beer and a bottle of Mike’s.
We walked past the gazebo to the edge of the cliff, where all that separated us from the drop was a short lattice fence.
Matt sat down on a thick, skinned log that served as a makeshift bench and motioned for me to sit beside him.
Fireflies danced along the cliff’s edge against a backdrop of warm, tangerine streaks that sliced through the purple and pink sky like a fresh bruise emanating from the distant, setting sun.
“I forgot how stunning it was,” I whispered.
“Right?” Matt replied, staring out at the horizon.
We sat like that for a few minutes, the fading daylight glowing off his face. I couldn’t look at him directly. I was already afraid of the lines I might cross if I did.
“Drink?” he offered.
“Sure.”
He twisted off the cap and handed me the bottle. We clinked bottle necks. “Cheers,” he said, and took a swig. I tasted the drink, surprised at the lemony sweetness. The aftertaste was sour, but not in a bad way. I took a longer sip.
“So. Spill, Roberts. Why are you really here?”
I sighed. “Truth?”
“Mm hmm.” He swallowed.
“It’s kind of embarrassing, actually.”
“Nah,” he said. “There’s no such thing as ‘embarrassing’ between us.”
“Honestly, it’s so much to even think about.” I paused, looking at the last sliver of sun as it dropped below the skyline.
“Too soon?” He swirled the beer around in his bottle. “I can wait.”