I no sooner have my feet on the ground than Ben sweeps me into a giant hug. He’s wearing their toddler daughter on his chest, so I get a two-fer as Juniper gives a happy squeak at being trapped between us. Ben’s large, sturdy frame seems better suited to these woods than to the prestigious law office he quit.
“Juniper! Squeezing you in real life is so much better than FaceTime,” I croon, dropping a kiss on her brown curls. “You’re even bigger than you were a week ago.”
“I can’t believe you’re finally here.” Natalie pulls me away from her husband for another hug. “Ben, will you grab her stuff? Come on, I’ll show you to our guest cabins. You’re going todie.”
“Ben, it’s okay, I can bring my bags.”
“Nope.” Natalie shakes her head as Ben pulls the baby out of her carrier and hands her off. She settles Juniper on her hip and heads away from the SUV. “We’re going farther than you think we are. We needbikes.”
She leads me behind the office to a row of thick-tired beach cruisers, shiny paint jobs glinting in the sun. One of them has a baby seat attached, and Natalie pops Juniper into it without interrupting her own stream of chatter.
“The biggest change we’ve made is adding new guest cabins, but we put them on the far side of the lake. That way we can rent them to guests in the off-season. Corporate retreats, fall foliage tourists, stuff like that. It’s about a half mile down, so we have bikes when people don’t want to walk. Juniper loves the ride.”
“How old is she now?” I ask as Juniper lifts her shirt to study her belly button.
“Fourteen months.” Natalie clicks the last buckle into place on Juniper’s seat. “Ready?”
I can’t remember the last time I rode a bike, but breathing the Oak Crest air peels about ten years off my age. Suddenly, I’m nineteen again and ready for adventure. I sling my leg over the nearest bike, a shiny red one, and rest my foot on the pedal. “Ready.”
Natalie sets an easy pace through the trees. The breeze against my cheeks is exhilarating. It smells like the start of summer and reminds me of every first day of camp I’d ever had here.
As a camper, I came in each year as a bundle of nerves on the first day, hoping I’d make friends again. I’d met Natalie my first year and made new friends every summer after.
By the time I was a counselor, I’d tumbled out of the Rust Bucket the week before the season opened, full of excitement, waiting to see my friends after a year apart at college. Summer never felt like it had started until I’d hugged Natalie, Ben, and Sawyer.
I’m glad for the time to process the absence of Sawyer while we bike. He’d been one of the best parts of camp until he was the worst. It’s hard to feel that tug of nostalgia for him too—for who Tabitha and Sawyer were before he broke my heart into pieces no amount of duct tape or calamine lotion or any other camp remedies could fix.
It’s an old scar, and I push Sawyer out of my mind and force myself to be present, to feel every sense, because all of them tingle. I can even taste a freshness in the air, something I haven’t experienced since…well, since the last time I was at Oak Crest.
With a whoop and a laugh, I stand and pedal hard, passing Natalie and rattling out from the forest path to the lake a couple seconds before her. I stop my bike to take in the view. Eight new cabins stretch along this bank, ranging from cozy bungalows to two-story cabins.
Another rooftop—green, not red like these—pokes up farther on the slope rising into the forest. It’s beyond the camp boundaries, and it makes me sad to think about the woods being developed, even for weekend homes.
I wonder if Sawyer is behind it. His real estate projects are urban and commercial, not residential, but I hope he isn’t trying to turn Camp Oak Crest into something it isn’t.
A new dock for the guest quarters stretches out from the bank of the lake too. I glance back at the camp beach to reassure myself that the old one is still there, the one that had launched countless canoes over the last fifty years. It’s hard to tell from a distance, but it looks as if it’s been upgraded too.
“This is impressive,” I say as Natalie stops beside me. “Smart to generate income during the off-season too.”
“Yeah. Mr. Warren only liked kids and not the parents. He never wanted to expand the business, but that’s part of what attracting the big dollar parents this weekend is about. We want to woo them into coming back for another family vacation later. Or think about us for corporate retreats and stuff.” She waves at the cabins. “Anyway, pick one and it’s yours for the week.”
I point at the cottage farthest from the water and nearest the woods. “That one.”
She slips a key from her back pocket and grins. “It’s possible I knew exactly which one you would pick and only brought that key.”
I laugh at her then cock my head at the distant whine of an engine.
“That’s Ben on the ATV with your luggage. I couldn’t let you deprive him of an excuse to ride that thing.”
“You’re doing a fantastic job of making me feel like I’m on a Four Seasons property instead of my old summer camp. You kids have a bright future.”
Her return smile holds a touch of anxiety. “You would know. This really matches up to the fancy-pants experience you have for other gigs?”
“It really does.” I’ve flown all over the world, from London to Abu Dhabi, to cook for tycoons and sheikhs, but I’m already more comfortable here than I had been in any of their hotel luxury suites.
“Good.” Her body relaxes. “It was a huge enough deal that you designed our camp menus. I can’t say thank you enough for cooking for the opening gala.”
“Are you kidding me? I wouldn’t miss it, but I wish you’d let me donate my time.”
