23. 7 Years Ago
Chapter twenty-three
The week leading up to staff training was busy and exhausting.
I spent my days receiving and sorting supply shipments of craft items and sports equipment, creating and modifying cabin rosters, making sure all travel arrangements were solidified for the counselors from overseas, and planning the details of my staff trainings.
Matt was busy painting cabins, fixing screens, repairing a section of the beach stairs, and stocking supplies for the washhouses and kitchen.
The days were long and labor-intensive for both of us, and although we crossed paths on occasion, we were often so busy that there was very little free time to do anything other than shower and sleep.
I was also constantly working in close proximity with Pat, which offered me a vast education about what it took to run an operation of this scale. Everything I learned had a practical application. It was so much more useful than the theories and case studies I’d focused on in school.
The staff training would last six full days, with an added day for unit leaders only.
Topics ranged from aquatics safety training to behavior management, parent communication to ADA compliance.
Due to Pat’s advanced age and limited endurance for heat and standing for long periods of time, I would take the lead during most of the active training modules, leaving Pat as a bold-voiced cheerleader, something I wasn’t expecting when I took the job.
“You’re going to be great,” Pat assured me. “I have complete faith in you.”
“Thanks,” I replied, although his vote of confidence barely registered.
“Do you know why I hired you?” he asked.
I shook my head, sorting plastic rolls of lanyard by color into oversized Tupperware bins.
“You have camp in your blood. I remember when you were a little girl. I mean, you’re only a few years younger than Callie,” he said, wiping his brow with a bandana.
“You used to come here to escape from the stuff you dealt with at home. And, don’t get me wrong, I’m sure I don’t know the half of it, but I know things weren’t easy for you there. ”
I nodded, trying to block the memories from creeping into my head.
“I could tell that when you were here, you were happy. Front and center in the talent show, always here for the whole summer. This place was home for you.”
Pat was right, and I was touched by the fact that he noticed me like that. I figured my abrupt departure seven years ago may have had something to do with it, but back when I was little? “I’m surprised you even knew who I was.”
“Really?”
“I mean, there were a million kids over all those years.”
“You’re right. But I knew each and every one. I might not remember all their names, especially now that I’m old, but I definitely knew the eight-weekers.”
“Eight-weekers?”
“You know. The ones who come for the whole eight weeks,” he explained. “Eight weeks is a long time for a kid. Certainly long enough to have a real impact.”
Again, Pat hit the nail on the head. The impact of camp had been overwhelming for me. Especially in those moments where I felt sad or lost at home, I’d find myself counting the days until my return to camp and would instantly feel better.
“So that’s why I chose you,” he continued. “Because in my last year, I wanted to hire someone who would care about this place as much as I do. I want to leave it with someone who will help create that sense of home for future generations.”
I looked up at him from my station on the floor, surrounded by spools of lanyard. My head was heavy with the weight of Pat’s words.
“It’s the same reason I hired Matt.”
My eyes widened. “It is?”
Pat nodded, then cleared his throat, producing a deep, rumbling sound that echoed off the paneled walls.
“It’s up to you to look out for these kids as if they’re your own.
Same way it’s Matt’s job to look out for the buildings and property as if it was his.
” New beads of sweat formed on his brow, glistening under the fluorescent light.
“And you two, with the history you have! I couldn’t have picked a better team. ”
I smiled.
“I just know this summer’s going to be one for the books.”
“I’ll do everything I can to make you proud,” I promised.
Later that night, I drove down the road to Matt’s house. I watched the dust cloud left behind by my tires fade into darkness as I knocked on the door. His truck was in the driveway, though he took a minute to answer. When he finally let me in, I could see why; he was wearing nothing but a towel.
“Hey,” he greeted me. “Come on in. Just give me a sec to get dressed.”
Caught off guard, I was hit with sensory overload.
His wet body moved with the agility of a lifetime athlete, muscles pulsing in his back and arms as he strode away from me into his bedroom, leaving behind the clean scent of fresh deodorant and shampoo and a mental snapshot of his broad, strong chest with a tattoo of words running down his ribcage that I couldn’t read fast enough.
Wow, I thought. Matt Thompson’s all grown up.
“What’s going on?” he called from the bedroom.
“Uh, nothing,” I responded absent-mindedly, taking in my first glimpses of the inside of his house. It was neat and plain. The walls were surprisingly lemon-yellow; I imagined this was not his doing.
“Bullshit,” he replied. A moment later, he emerged from the room in a fresh T-shirt and sweats. “You’ve got that look on your face.”
On the inside, I laughed. I wouldn’t make it five minutes at a poker table with this guy.
“So, what is it?” he asked, rubbing his towel against his head, his hair shaggy.
“Where were you at dinner?”
He combed through the wet locks, pushing them out of his face.
“I left you a voicemail. Didn’t you get it?”
“Oh. Sorry. I forgot my phone in my cabin today.” It was still on the coffee table, I remembered. "I'm not used to having a cell phone here. Crazy, huh?"
“Nah. I get that. Anyway, I was finishing painting the back side of the horse barn. I thought I would have it done by dinnertime, but it took longer than I expected, so I called to give you the heads up. Why? What’d I miss?”
“Turkey and mashed potatoes. Creamed spinach. Nothing crazy.”
“That sounds delicious, actually. I’m starving. But I meant with you. Why the face? Everything okay?”
“Yeah, everything’s good. Just nervous about the staff training.”
“I know, but you’re going to be great. I’ve never known someone so organized. You’ve got a binder for everything.”
I laughed. “I try.”
“Well, you’re running out of time since they get here tomorrow,” he reminded me, pulling on his sneakers. “You’re ready, right?”
“I hope so.”
“I’m just bummed I won’t get to be there for the Taylor show.”
“Believe me, that’s for the best. What’s on your schedule for tomorrow?”
“I need to fix the emergency lights at the Health Office. Marilyn also mentioned that the fridge there is leaking, and she’s got a cabinet she needs me to move.”
“Never a dull moment.”
“But I’ll try to pop in if I can. I’d love to see all your social work skills in action.”
“No need,” I chuckled.
“Listen, I need to go grab some food. Care to join me?”
“Sure, I can eat again. You want to go to the Lodge and scrounge for leftovers?”
“Nah. It never tastes the same reheated. Can we run into town? We could go to Tucker’s. They’ve got killer sweet potato fries. There’s this maple mayo stuff they serve up to dip them in.” He swallowed, his stomach rumbling. “So good.”
“We’re not really dressed for an evening out,” I noted.
“Are you kidding me? We look fine. Plus, it’s a Monday night. And it’s Tucker’s.”
“Point taken.”
“Okay, I’ll drive. I’m afraid if we take your car, we might not make it there,” he joked. Matt grabbed his hat and slid it, facing backwards, on his head. He picked up the keys off the kitchen counter and led me to the truck.
The dimly lit Irish pub offered seating at the bar or at a handful of tables made of dark stained wood with old, low-back, Shaker-style chairs.
Matt chose a table in the corner for the two of us, far enough away from the bar and the pool table that we could hear each other.
There were only two other parties seated, along with a handful of patrons hanging out by the bar, several of whom were glued to a screen on the wall, playing Quick Draw lotto numbers.
The waitress took our order—a turkey club and French onion soup for him and a plate of sweet potato fries to share—and he sipped on a glass of Coors Light on draft. I ordered a ginger ale. I didn’t want to risk getting silly the night before all the staff arrived.
“So, what’d you do today?” he asked, dragging a long, thin fry through the dish of maple mayo. It left a trail, like a slug.
I shrugged. “Tons of things. Me and Pat are like family, we spend so much time together now.” I plucked a French fry off the plate. “Oh, that reminds me. He said something sweet to me today. It totally caught me off guard.”
Matt raised his eyebrows. “What was it?”
“He said he hired me because I had camp in my blood.”
“Aw, that’s cute. He’s such a sap.”
“Totally. He said he hired you for the same reason,” I went on. “He called us ‘eight-weekers.’ It hit me. Kind of made me a little emotional. Especially now.”
“Now?”
“Now that I’m not, like, completely numb anymore.”
“Mm,” he nodded. “That’s funny. I wonder if Pat orchestrated our reunion.”
“Like a fairy godmother?”
“Yeah,” he swallowed. “If so, I’ll have to thank him.” Matt winked.
“You’ve become quite the flirt, you know that?”
“What? I’m just grateful,” he insisted, purporting innocence. “It’s hard to find good work colleagues these days.”
I laughed.