Chapter Sixteen
Oliver
Saturday morning passes like molasses in January. I have never wanted to urge a bunch of kids to move faster, say goodbye quicker, and wave at their parents to peel out of the gravel parking lot. After all of the participants are gone, I hurry back to my cabin to change into something a little nicer than the staff t-shirt and cargo shorts that have become my daily uniform. If I’m taking Sadie on a date, I’m going to do it properly.
Mom and Dad wave me over to where they’re sitting on camp chairs in front of the lodge, and although I want to ignore them and head to my car, I stop and lean down to give my mom an awkward one-armed hug.
She looks me over with a critical eye, noting my clean jeans and dirt-free henley. With a knowing gleam in her eye, she looks away from me and out over the field.
“Have fun today, Oliver.”
I wait for her to say something else, to call me out on my obvious plans, but she never does. Dad doesn’t say anything either, he just sits in his chair, soaking in the warmth of the sun, occasionally turning a page in his old paperback.
“I’m planning on it,” I say as I bend down to give Mom another awkward hug. “I’ll be back later. Don’t wait up.”
Mom shoots me a look as I step away, feeling like I’m a teenager going on my first date. Before she can open her mouth to chastise me with my full name, I jog away, rounding the corner of the lodge and heading toward the parking lot.
Sadie is waiting for me, leaning against the hood of her older car and looking like a vision in a pair of denim short overalls with a lacy white shirt beneath. She’s traded her ever-present hiking boots for a pair of high top converse, and the combination of feminine and casual is a sight I didn’t know I liked, but now that I’ve seen it, I can’t get enough of it.
I can’t get enough of her.
Even though I know I shouldn’t, I reach out and touch her shoulder, rubbing my thumb up and down once before dropping my hand to my side. It’s an innocent enough touch, but one that makes me want to ignore every speed limit sign on our way down the mountain.
Sadie grins at me and spins her car keys around a finger. “I figured since you drove last week, I’ll do the honors today.”
If this were a normal date—if Sadie were any other girl—I’d say no, insisting that I be the gentleman and drive. But this isn’t a normal date. For the sake of the camp’s rules, we’re not supposed to be looking like we’re going on a date. As far as everyone knows, we’re just two people catching a ride into town together, like the car full of youth staff who left a half hour ago to clean the sink at Angie’s, whatever that means.
And Sadie isn’t just any girl. She’s not someone to pass the time with before moving on to the next woman. She’s the kind that makes you want to bend the rules for, just to steal a few extra moments with.
Plus, she’s driven that mountain road more than I ever will, so we’ll probably be better off if she drives anyway.
I sweep my hand in front of me. “Lead the way.”
Sadie unlocks her car with her fob and pushes off the hood, heading to the driver’s side. Even though every fiber of my being is telling me to open her door, I force myself to walk around to the other side of the car and get in.
The gravel crunching beneath the tires is the loudest sound in the car as we leave the parking lot and follow the dirt road back toward civilization. Sadie breathes an audible sigh of relief when she turns onto the maintained asphalt road, the signal that we’ve made it off camp property. That sigh is the key, unlocking everything I’ve been holding back since last night.
I reach for her at the same time she extends her hand to me, and our fingers tangle together over the middle console of her car. I pull her arm toward me, resting our interlocked hands on my knee. Her quiet grin widens into a carefree smile that makes the corners of her eyes crinkle.
“We made it,” she breathes, flicking a glance at me before focusing back on the road. My own broad smile stretches the limits of my facial muscles, and the warmth of her hand in mine—the rightness of it—makes my heart feel like it’s about to burst out of my chest.
It’s barely been two weeks since I met her. The logical part of my brain wants to revolt, but that part of me—the part that analyzes and designs and architects—has gone quiet as I’ve embraced life at camp. It shuts its mouth as that newfound part of me insists that this is right. That Sadie and I just fit.
“I have been waiting all morning for this,” I say, bringing our interlocked hands to my mouth and pressing my lips to the back of her hand. “Do you know how torturous it’s been, not to touch you like I want to?”
Sadie’s cheeks go pink, and it’s my new favorite color on her.
“Permission granted,” she says, a touch quieter than a moment ago, like my confession made her shy—or as shy as an extrovert like Sadie can be.
“What?”
“Permission granted for you to touch me. All day, for however long we’ll be away from camp.”
The way Sadie grips my hand—tightly like she’s afraid that if she lets go, she’ll never get the chance to hold it again—gives me the sense that Sadie has been agonizing over this as much as I have this last week and that kiss yesterday was the crack in the dam, a weakness revealed by too much pressure.
A whole day of throwing purple to the wind sounds like my kind of day. But since hauling her across the console to kiss her is a stupid move while she’s driving, I keep my hands mostly to myself—my hand locked with hers the only exception—and wait patiently for us to arrive in Garden City.
Thanks to my mad dash to Camp Brower two weeks ago and my lack of regular cellular data, I have no idea what to expect when we pull into a parking lot in Garden City. On my way out to camp, it was just another checkpoint, a name said in that robotic GPS assistant voice. But now that I’m seeing it in the daylight on a Saturday, it’s more than just the town before the turn off to Camp Brower.
The city is longer than it is wide, nestled between the mountains and the shore of Bear Lake. Small shops and drive-in restaurants line one side of the main street while small residential houses line the other. Rental cabins dot the foothills to the west, and the sparkling, blue-green lake stretches away to the east.
Trucks pulling trailers topped with boats meander down the streets, pulling into marinas along the shore. Sadie grabs my hand and we cross the busy road, weaving down side streets until we find a dirt trail that leads from the paved road down to the sandy beach.
We spend the morning on the shoreline, sand slipping between our toes while we walk hand-in-hand, our shoes dangling from our fingers. Out here, it’s just me and Sadie. No prying eyes, no pointing fingers. No Purple Rule.
No wondering if I’m going to get in some sort of ambiguous trouble because I’m caught holding hands with the girl I like.
More than like, if I’m honest with myself. I wasn’t looking for another relationship so soon after my last one disappeared faster than I could blink. And maybe it’s a little early to call what Sadie and I have a relationship. But thanks to that no-touching rule, I’ve spent my time at camp—when we can find time to be together—getting to know Sadie in a different way than I’ve done with previous girlfriends. There’s no pomp and circumstance of planning dates or getting dressed to impress each other. At camp, we’re both stripped down to the barest versions of ourselves.
It’s like I’ve been allowed to see directly into her soul.
I spend the entire morning with a hand on her at all times—her hand, her back, her shoulder—like I’m trying to make up for all the time I didn’t get to touch her this week. And Sadie does the same, reaching back for me if we get separated, or pressing close to me as we walk along the beach. We meander, no plan or destination in mind. Today, my only wish is to be close to Sadie. Holding her hand, kissing her lips, wrapping my arm around her shoulders, even though I have to slouch to meet her height. Anything and everything to stock up these little touches to savor for the coming week.
After lunch, we grab raspberry shakes at one of the many places around the city claiming theirs is the best. It must be some signature thing around here because Sadie pulls me towards a busy drive-in, emphatically stating that these are the best ones.
As we sit outside, perched at a table underneath a red and white striped umbrella, Sadie and I dig into our milkshakes, which are more the consistency of soft serve ice cream than something you could drink through a straw.
“We’ll have to come back in August when they use fresh raspberries.” Sadie smiles around her spoon before dragging it out of her mouth, leaving the raspberry ice cream behind. Her cheeks are pink from the heat and her hair is a little messy from the wind off the lake. And every bit of her is gorgeous. Irresistible. “That’s when they’re the best of the best.”
The image of the two of us under this umbrella, golden-skinned from the full summer spent in the sun at Camp Brower, jumps to my mind so quickly, so vividly, it”s like recalling a memory. But that bright and hopeful wish dims as reality creeps in. I hadn’t planned on staying more than a couple weeks at camp. I have an apartment to get back to. A job hunt that I’ve been neglecting.
“I don’t know if I’ll be here in August,” I say honestly, the tone of our conversation shifting instantly.
Sadie’s bright smile dims, but she keeps the corners of her lips upturned as she asks around another mouthful of ice cream, “Where will you be instead?”
It’s a practiced smile, one to mask her true feelings. I used that same smile as I was let go from my job and dumped by my ex-girlfriend.
“Back in Richmond. Hopefully starting a new job.” I try to dredge up a genuine smile for Sadie. We haven’t had a lot of time to talk about our lives outside of camp, but our long walk this morning gave me plenty of time to explain my situation to her.
“So you’re not planning on staying the whole summer?” Sadie’s voice is too casual. Too measured. I look over, and she looks down at her shake, finding scraping the bottom of her cup to be more interesting—or perhaps safer—than looking at me.
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. Because she at least deserves that.
Tense silence fills the air between us as we finish the rest of our shakes.
“What about you? Where will you be at the end of the summer?” I turn the questions on her, hoping to find our way back to our easy conversation.
“I’ll be around. My parents live outside of Logan, so I’ll just be a hop, skip, and a jump away.”
Though her face and words are cheerful, the way she says them is tinged with sadness.
“But will you still be doing stuff with Camp Brower? Mom—Linda told me she has some plans for camp this fall.” I expect Sadie to perk up at that. After all, Camp Brower has only been a summer thing for so long, but she doesn’t show any emotion at my casual mention of something going on under the hood at camp. I’m not sure how much Mom has told her, or if I’m even allowed to talk to Sadie about their vision for Camp Brower, so I try to keep things vague and generic.
But Sadie shakes her head, finally looking away from me.
“No,” she says, her voice soft with that same sadness. “This is my last year with Camp Brower. I came on to pass the torch to Paul and Linda, but have some alternate career paths I’m pursuing.”
She doesn’t sound enthused by the idea of an “alternate career path,” so I press a little.
“Why?”
She shrugs, scooping out the dregs of her shake. “It’s time to move on.”
And that sounds like the biggest lie to ever come out of her mouth.
“I’m done with school. It’s about time I found something less seasonal and more permanent.” It sounds like she’s regurgitating something that’s been shoved down her throat, not something that she believes with all her heart. “I have some applications out right now. I’m hoping to hear back from some of them this week or next.”
“Anything exciting?” I infuse my voice with warmth, hoping to fan the spark between us that has gone dim with such serious conversation.
“Nothing too wild. One’s an event coordinator position with the city my friend Ava works for. She’s an athletic coordinator, working on some sports clinics with kids this summer. She’s the one who got me a spot in the Sunny House.”
A small smile blooms on Sadie’s face, and the tension in my body relaxes. She told me about her old college roommates this morning as she responded to their group text thread, explaining that they affectionately make fun of her every summer for being late to every conversation.
“I’m sure something will come through by the end of summer,” she says with a more genuine smile. “Now how about we get rid of these cups and purple like we’re running out of time?”
Sadie stands and reaches her hand out to me. It’s a silent plea to put our serious conversation behind us and move forward.
For Sadie? I’d do just about anything.