Chapter 11
Then the world goes dark. —Noah Hardaway
“Hello?” I grab my phone off the cabin’s island and answer it without bothering to check the caller ID. My mind’s racing, thinking of all the things that have to be finished before the day campers arrive in just a few minutes. “Gabe, is that you? Did you pick up the extra toilet paper?”
There’s a long silence. Then someone clears their throat. “Noah, it’s Ezra Morehouse.”
Shit. I nearly drop the phone back onto the island like it’s made of hot coals, but I manage to clear my own throat and take a long breath instead. “Ezra? Why are you calling?”
Ezra barks out a laugh. “What, no hello?”
Bear peeks out from the corner of the living room, where she’s been playing with a rope toy that Lou brought for her last week.
She drops the rope and trots across the room to lean against my leg, as if she can sense my sudden discomfort.
I stroke her fur and find a seat on one of the island stools.
Part of me really, really wishes Milo hadn’t already gone over to the lodge to start setting up for the campers. The other part is incredibly glad he’s not here right now to see me turn into a fragile basket case for the umpteenth time in front of him.
“Um, hello,” I finally manage to squeak out. “Why are you calling?”
“Well.” Ezra clears his throat again. “Listen, it’s Labor Day.”
“Yup, I got that memo.” The moment of snark escapes before I can stop it, and I hold myself still for a moment, as I wait for Ezra to eviscerate me through the phone line.
But all he does is keep talking.
“If Stan’s going to make a run on the primary ballot next spring, we need to start gathering energy for a campaign soon. I’d like him to make up his mind by the end of the month.”
Shoot. Crap. Damn. When I talked to Uncle Stan a few days ago, he didn’t even mention the primary race. I was hoping that meant he’d already given up on the idea. “Um, okay. Why are you telling me this?”
“Because.” Ezra barks the word, and I jump slightly in my seat. “Because…” he goes on more quietly. “You’re the person Stan listens to, the only one in his life whose opinion really matters to him. I’m hoping you’ll put a bug in his ear for me and convince him to run.”
He’s kidding, right? He has to be kidding. Is Ezra Morehouse so oblivious that he’s never noticed how incredibly much I hate the entirety of public, political life? “Uh,” I finally answer. “I don’t think Uncle Stan should run unless he really wants to.”
“He has to run.” Ezra barks out the words again. “Don’t you see that, Noah? He has to. What he’s done for addiction rehabilitation in the area around Pottsville is incredible. Other places around the state need that help too. He can make it happen from a governor’s chair.”
I wince. Of course Ezra would know all the soft spots in my soul where he can hit me during this argument. “I don’t disagree,” I finally manage to say. “But there are other candidates who care about that issue. Like Lilah Warner.”
Ezra snorts loudly. “Ah. Enemy got you already, I see.”
“He’s not the enemy.” I almost shout the words, and Bear whines softly next to me.
“Sorry, girl,” I whisper to her. “He’s not,” I add again in a more measured tone for Ezra.
“Lilah and Stan are aligned on most issues, aren’t they?
Equal rights for queer and trans people, stronger community supports for people dealing with poverty, health care for all.
Lots of other things. Stan and Lilah work together all the time. ”
“Noah.” Ezra says, and I recognize him pulling out his patronizing, “let me explain this to Noah like he’s five” tone.
“Weren’t you watching that health-care bill the two of them worked on together?
It collapsed because of skeletons in Lilah’s closet.
Well, her son’s closet, more precisely. You know, Milo? Your new bestie?”
“Excuse me?” I stand up so fast I accidentally startle Bear, who starts doing circles around my legs. “What are you talking about?”
“Did you seriously not know any of this?” Ezra lets out a terse laugh.
“Dr. Milo Warner becoming a spokesperson for that bill was its death knell. He was involved in some nasty malpractice suit back in New York. A little girl with bone cancer died. Someone who didn’t like that bill started flashing scenes of her face and her anguished father in all the right places, and that bill went down fast. So did Dr. Warner’s reputation, from what I hear. ”
“Holy shit,” I whisper.
“Yeah.” He sighs. “Look, I know it’s not fun hearing this kind of thing.
But this is the shit that happens in politics.
People find weak areas, and they exploit them.
That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you all along, that you can’t be a weak area for Stan.
Ever. Well, someone found a weakness in Milo Warner, and that health-care bill you loved tanked because of it. ”
His words are ringing through my ears, but they’re muffled in my head as I process them all.
Little girl.
Cancer.
Malpractice.
Reputation.
The puzzle pieces fit together, one by one.
Milo’s untold story of why he left New York, why he’s hiding out in Devon Falls.
For weeks now, he’s been listening to my trauma, holding my hand and walking me into cafés, doing everything he can to make me feel safe here.
And the entire time, he’s been dealing with the fact that someone sabotaged his entire reputation and career just to stop a bill designed to give more people access to affordable health care.
Ezra’s still talking, but I know I’ve heard enough. “Ezra,” I interrupt. “I have to go to work. Thanks for calling.”
He’s still talking when I click the “end call” button, but I can’t even bother to care. All I can think of right now is Milo. My roommate. My new friend. My long-standing crush.
The person who takes care of everyone else. But who takes care of him?
Unfortunately, by the time I arrive outside the lodge, there’s no time to even talk to Milo. Over a dozen kids are already standing on the grass, and Milo and Gabe are herding them into small groups.
“Mr. Noah! Mr. Milo says we’re going on a hike later!
” George Ryker, who I met along with three of his fourteen—or was it fifteen?
—siblings last week while I was running an errand at the Farm-Acy, rushes up to me.
“Mr. Noah, we don’t have school today, so I get to come play here instead!
Can Bradley Bear come on the hike with us? ”
This kid is just cute enough for me to understand how his family ended up birthing enough kids for a baseball team.
It’s hard to say no to a three-foot-tall ball of energy with hair the color of a fire engine while he’s holding up a beaten-up teddy bear and asking if it can traipse through the woods with you.
“I know you don’t have school today!” I tell him. “It’s a holiday called Labor Day. Did you know that?”
He nods excitedly. “Mom said that I can play here with Lou and everyone while she’s working. Then she said thank the effing universe Lou’s brother is having a camp today, because she can’t take any more days off work this month.”
I manage to turn my laugh into a cough. Of course, the plan always was to host our first test camp on a day when lots of parents would need childcare.
We plan to run after-school activities and camps like this throughout the year for working parents, so Labor Day is the perfect day to try out the concept.
“Of course you can bring Bradley Bear on the hike,” I tell George. “We just have to make sure we bring enough water for him. I’ll pack some extra, okay?”
George beams. “Thank you, Mr. Noah! Bradley Bear says thank you too. Can you please hold him? He wants a hug. Who has a Nintendo?” he yells as he darts across the field over to a crowd of friends that includes Lou.
“No Nintendos,” Gabe informs the crowd. Everyone groans.
“Milo!” I wave at him from across the grass, but he’s busy setting up a duck-duck-goose station, and in seconds I’ve got three eight-year-olds begging me to open the arts and crafts station I spent four hours setting up last night.
Soon I get lost in a swirl of demands like “I need more glitter,” and “I have to potty,” and “Is it lunchtime yet?”
In the back of my mind, though, Ezra’s words are always on repeat.
I can’t even imagine what it must have cost someone like Milo, someone who cares about people the way he does, to have what was probably one of the worst moments of his career flashed so publicly in front of the world.
All I want to do is talk to him. Check in with him.
Then again, what am I going to say? “Hey, I know I got to share my trauma with you personally, but my dad’s COS just spilled yours in a casual phone conversation. Thought I’d make sure you’re still managing to stay out of the fetal position.”
Probably not the perfect message.
I keep running possible conversation entry points in my mind, through a kickball tournament and a rubber ducky race in the river. It’s time for the hike before I even get to say a single word to Milo that doesn’t involve fruit snacks or group bathroom plans.
“Penny for your thoughts,” he says as he stands next to me, packing extra water bottles and granola bars into his backpack.
He doesn’t want any of my jumbled, messy thoughts right now, that’s for sure. “You’re going to need to pay me more than that. Inflation.”
He laughs. “Okay, Chucks,” he says. “Then what’s your t-shirt say today?”
I slowly tug down the zipper on my sweatshirt to reveal the one I chose this morning. It’s a picture of a cow next to the mathematical sign for pi.
Milo snorts. “Seems appropriate for Vermont.”
“I thought so.” I send him a small smile. “Maybe I’ll get you one of these too. Just to remind you how much you love this state.”
Milo raises an eyebrow. “I do love plenty of things about this state,” he murmurs.
Oh, crap.