Chapter Eleven
Sadie
Saturday is always so bittersweet. A gloom that’s not present any other day hangs over the campers during breakfast and afterwards as they pack their bags, clean their cabins, and trade phone numbers and social media profiles with their newfound friends. Some of them might see each other in other places, or back at camp next summer, but there’s an equal chance they might never see these friends again.
Just like I might never see Camp Brower again after this summer.
I shake the thought away and direct another parent to the lodge, where they’ll wait for their child to finish saying goodbye before whisking them away back home, to a summer of sports and other activities. I look across the field and spy Oliver escorting a group of boys with bags on their shoulders from the cabins.
He’s done really well this week. For someone who has no camp experience, at least.
After parting ways after the canoe incident, I let him really take the reins and lead his groups. I never left him in the lurch, though. I was always around. Close by, just in case he needed me. But by last night’s campfire, he didn’t really need me to be his fairy godmother anymore.
He’s not the same man I met Sunday night, when his parents roped him into helping for the summer. He’s more confident with the campers, and I haven’t seen a glimpse of his fancy button ups and slacks since I walked him to his cabin. But a week at camp changes people. I just watched forty-eight teenagers evolve over five days out here in the woods. And I’ll do it again next week. And the next.
And the next.
Participants trickle out one by one, similar to how they arrived. When they’re all gone, I call the staff together for a quick staff meeting, reminding them all that they need to be back at camp by seven tomorrow night, before releasing them for their weekend.
Most weekends throughout the summer, most of the staff will spend the whole weekend at camp—maybe going down to Garden City or Logan on a Saturday, but oftentimes just staying in camp and “playing” the way they don’t get to during the week. Going for hikes, shooting at the archery range, taking the canoes out.
But this weekend is Father’s Day, and everyone—except me—is headed back home to spend time with their dads and grandpas and uncles.
After excusing them from the meeting, most of the youth staff dash back to their cabins to pack their dirty clothes and get the heck out of Dodge. In less than an hour, it’s just me.
And the Evanses.
Linda catches me in the lodge, where I’ve tucked myself into the camp office to finally spend some time responding to emails and working on a few more applications—something I thought I would get a little more time to do during the week. But with Oliver needing my help, it got pushed to the back burner.
“Are you not going home for the weekend?” she asks, stepping in and leaning on the corner of the desk. She’s changed out of her old jeans and t-shirt into a pair of wide-leg linen pants and fitted black shirt. Gold jewelry adorns her ears and wrists, and her strappy sandals don’t have a speck of dirt on them.
I give her a warm smile. Much like Oliver, she and Paul have done great for their first real week of camp, taking to everything a little easier than their son.
“No, my parents are in San Diego this weekend. Last-minute trip for Father’s Day.” I wave a hand at the computer in front of me. It’s older than the laptop I’ve been using for college over the last five years, but it works well enough for what we need it for here at camp. “Figured I’d get some other work done while I’ve got a few days of peace and quiet.”
“We’re headed into Garden City for the day. Why don’t you come with us? It would be so much better than staying here alone.”
“Oh, I couldn’t. I wouldn’t want to crash your day with Paul.”
“It’s not crashing at all,” Paul says as he walks in, planting a sweet kiss on Linda’s cheek. “We’d love to have you with us.
“Oh, no, I couldn’t.” I’m scrambling for excuses now, not because I really want to stay here alone, but the way Paul is dressed to match his wife, it looks like the two of them are going into town for a date, and I don’t want to third wheel. Been there, done that. Not interested in doing it again with a happily married couple. A thought pops into my head. “We can’t leave Oliver here alone.”
“I’m not staying at camp today,” Oliver says as he rounds into the camp office as well. Were the two men hiding out in the hallway, waiting for those perfect dramatic entrances, or was it luck that they waltzed in when they did? Either way, the office is getting crowded as Oliver steps past his dad, coming to my side of the desk. I spin on the chair to look up at him.
He looks at me with that dazzling smile. “Come with us.” Paul and Linda watch me with expectant smiles, and I swear Oliver leans just a little closer, barely brushing my arm with his hand. I hesitate a moment longer, and his hand brushes along my shoulder again, purposely this time, and I have to suppress a shiver.
“A day in Garden City does sound more fun than staying at camp by myself.”
And that’s how I find myself in the back seat of Paul’s truck as he drives the four of us over washboard roads, down winding canyons, and into the picturesque little town of Garden City, Utah.
My phone is abuzz with text messages as soon as I get cell reception. It’s been a few nights since I’ve been to Cell Phone Rock—I don’t want or need any of the youth staff catching on to my late-night wanderings, so I don’t make the trek up there every night—and the texts are flying in. So many from the Sunny Girls, all chatting back and forth to each other, while I’m on the outside of the conversation. I respond to all the important ones, like Brooke’s mic drop about permanently relocating to California, and send a lengthy one to my dad, since I most likely won’t get to tomorrow, wishing him a Happy Father’s Day.
The back seat of the truck is big enough that, even though we’re jostled back and forth like the insides of a maraca, Oliver and I only brush shoulders on some of the bigger bumps. Which is a good thing. We flirted the purple line in the office when he convinced me to come, and even though Paul and Linda didn’t say anything about it, I would hate to blatantly break that rule in front of them after being so strict about it with the youth staff. And with their son, no less.
We go to a cute little restaurant for brunch and then walk through town, just one of many tourists that make their way up to Bear Lake for a weekend on the water.
“Is there anywhere I can get another pair of jeans?” Oliver asks me after we follow his parents down a pathway to one of the many beaches around the lake. I watch his hands run over his thighs, only now noticing that his jeans have a slight brown tinge to them. “I only brought one pair.”
“Here? Probably not. Things are pretty limited around Bear Lake, but it’s only about an hour into Logan, if you want to find something there.”
“Hey Dad!” Oliver calls to Paul, who is walking ahead of us with his wife. “Can I borrow your truck?”
Paul and Linda stop on the sidewalk, waiting for us to catch up. “Why?” he asks as he digs around in his pocket.
“Sadie and I have a little shopping to do. I need new jeans, and she needs a new watch.” Oliver shoots me a sidelong glance. A knowing little look that says I wasn’t as convincing as I thought I was the day we took a dive in the lake.
“Sure thing.” Paul pulls his keys out and extends them to his son. “Your mom and I will just walk around town until you get back.” He smiles at Oliver, then me, and then turns back to Linda and offers his arm for her to take.
I want to object—I can’t deprive them of their vehicle for the hours it’s going to take to get to Logan and back—but Oliver places a light hand on the middle of my back and steers me the opposite direction we’d been walking, back to where the truck is parked.
“They’ll be fine, Sadie. It’s not like we’ll be gone the whole day.” He smiles down at me, and I drop my fight, letting him guide me back to the truck. I don’t shake off his hand—we are off Camp Brower property, after all.
A little touch like this isn’t a big deal.
“Divide and conquer?” I ask as we step into Walmart. It’s busy with families, especially for a Saturday, but that’s most likely because of tomorrow’s holiday. Oliver steps toward me with a sly smile on his face as he takes my hand and wraps it around his elbow, pulling me into his side.
“Really?” I ask, half-heartedly attempting to pull out of his grasp, but it’s the other half of my mind that wins that battle. We are technically off camp property. There are no other camp staff around. Whatever this…thing…is between me and Oliver can come out to play for a little bit.
“Relax, Sadie.” Oliver pats my hand and pulls me farther into the store, following the department signs hanging from the ceiling. And it’s like he can read my mind. “We’re out of camp. This isn’t considered purpling, it’s considered…”
What?My brain screams, wanting to know if Oliver thinks what I think he’s implying.
“Regular human connection.”
My heart falls. Part of me was hoping that he’s just come out and say what he means instead of leaving these flirtatious, cryptic clues. But instead, I’m juggling his flirty actions during the week and his blasé dismissal of what could be a “serious offense” back at camp.
But as much as I’m wishing Oliver would be more straightforward, I’m also a huge hypocrite. As we walk arm-in-arm to the men’s section of the store, I have all the time in the world to pipe up and ask Oliver if he like-likes me, but I’m too chicken to bring it up and potentially push him away, creating an awkward summer for both of us.
So,” I lead with instead, “What are you planning on getting?” Is talking about clothes shopping the new weather small talk? My version of “So how ‘bout them Yankees?”
“Jeans,” Oliver responds without looking at me. I look down at the pair he’s wearing—disgustingly well-fitting as well as disgustingly dirty. If what he said earlier was true, he’s been wearing this same pair all week, and after our little dip in the lake on Tuesday, they’ve attracted every ounce of dust they could.
“Although,” he continues, “I’m thinking about some shorts. Maybe hiking boots, too.”
I raise a brow at him. “That sounds like you’re planning on staying at camp for a while.” Linda said he had a couple weeks. I assumed he’d be heading back to where he came from after those weeks were up.
“I have my reasons,” he says, glancing down at me. I need to start keeping tally marks of his loves me, loves me not comments. That way, by the end of the summer, I’ll be able to look at the big picture and clearly extrapolate his feelings. Yes. Sounds like a plan.
I slip my hand out of the crook of his elbow as he steps closer to a rack of shorts. “I’m going to grab a watch. I’ll be right back.” I turn to head back the way we came, but I can’t resist throwing a jab over my shoulder. “Don’t get lost.”
Oliver’s clear laughter follows me to the jewelry section. I spend a few more minutes than necessary picking out a watch. As soon as I see it, I know I’m going to pick the one labeled “water resistant up to 25 feet,” but I need an extra minute away from Oliver to regain my footing.
Do I like him? Yes. Is he smoking hot? Also yes. But am I going to do anything about it? Well, that’s where things get fuzzy. I can’t do anything more than the verbal flirting we’ve had going on over the last week while I’m—we’re—at camp. But while we’re here, off Camp Brower property…I still don’t know.
I’m still mulling over my “will I, won’t I” thoughts as I walk back to the men’s section and find Oliver missing. Leave it to that man to get lost in a Walmart. I wander from one end of the area to the other before I spot him across the way into one of the shoe aisles, several pairs of shorts—no jeans—in his arms. I don’t know what surprises me more, the lack of jeans, or the fact that this man is going to buy cargo shorts.
“The early 2000s called. They want their camo cargo shorts back.” I slide next to Oliver, bumping his camo-covered elbow with mine, but he doesn’t look down at me.
“Do you think these ones will hurt my feet?” he asks, like I hadn’t just trashed on his clothing choices.
“What, nothing to say about the shorts?”
He shrugs, tilting his head to look at another pair of hiking boots. “They have good pockets.”
He’s got a point there.The phrase, “Thanks, it has pockets,” has been spoken by every pocket-deprived woman in the world.
“They won’t if you break them in properly,” I say in response to his question, like our brief discussion on pockets didn’t happen. I glance between the two pairs he’s been eyeing then point to a different style near my eyeline. “What about these ones?”
“How do you break in hiking boots?” Oliver crouches near my side to examine the boots I pointed out—similar to the ones above, but in a darker brown material.
“You walk in them.”
Oliver turns his body to face me, propping his hands on his knees, like he’s going to be crouching for a long time while I explain the details of breaking in boots. “Please, tell me more.”
But it’s the grin that does it. That stupid little grin that says he’s standing like that to taunt me.
“You go on walks and hikes.”
He says nothing, just waits for me to elaborate.
“You don’t go on a ten-miler or anything like that. Something like three or four miles with a gentle incline. The more you walk in your boots, the more you break them in. Simple as that.” I plant my hands on my hips and narrow my eyes a bit. “Now will you stand up? You’re gonna break your knees waddling around the store like that.”
Oliver smiles and winks at me before standing to his full height and slipping a pair of boots in his size off the wall of shoes.
“Alright, Pipsqueak, let’s go.”
He strides away, leaving me in the dust, trying to catch up and sputtering, “I am not a pipsqueak!” which just makes him laugh harder. If he wants to make fun of my height, I’ll just have to show him exactly what this pipsqueak is capable of. “Actually, I know a good hike back at camp that can help you break in your boots. It’s an easy hike. Pretty flat in the beginning. It would be perfect.”
Oliver steps up to a self-checkout and methodically begins scanning all of his items, nodding as I speak. “Could we go this afternoon?” He eyes the hiking boots critically one last time before scanning the barcode and finishes checking it out.
Yes, we could, but I have a better idea.
“Actually, it’s best as a sunrise hike.”
“What’s a sunrise hike?”
“A hike. That you take to watch the sunrise.” I swear, this man has no idea about anything that happens beyond a national forest sign. Some people might find that annoying—turn up their nose and call him a city slicker—but I love being the one who gets to introduce him to all of it. “We can go tomorrow morning.”
I quickly purchase my watch and grab Oliver’s elbow again. “It will be fun. Trust me.”
“I trust you,” he says with a smile.
Oh, my sweet summer child. Maybe you shouldn’t.