“I genuinely hate the idea of you being that far from us. I hate the thought of something happening to you while you’re there. But don’t make me fight you on this. I don’t want to fight you when I feel like I’ve spent the last year fighting a battle trying to save you from yourself.”
Her words sliced me like a knife, shredding my heart and biting through any attempt I could muster at being difficult or distant. Overbearing or not, at least she cared.
“Then maybe you should quit trying to save me and let me save myself,” I said.
Silence buried its way between us, a suffocating silence turning my anxiety on overdrive. I bit my lip until blood tasted copper against my tongue, a mountain of terrible words battling the few pieces of sympathy I had left.
“If I go, I can’t promise I’ll come back.”
“If you want this money, you will.”
2
Welcome to Texas
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Houston,” the pilot said, “where it’s a stifling one hundred and one degrees and eighty-three percent humidity. Local time, two thirty. We’ll be taxiing for a minute.”
“Which translates to: Congrats, you’re about to melt your makeup off,” I said, switching my iPhone off airplane mode.
Minutes later, the flight attendants opened the plane door. People rushed to stand, more eager to enter the world of impeding heat exhaustion than me. I waited until the aisle was clear, then yanked my duffel out of the overhead compartment and exited the plane.
Surprisingly, what I expected to be some cowboy-infested airport turned out to be a tech haven for waiting passengers. People sat around long tables at the terminals, propped on tall stools with a number of airport-provided tablets in front of them. Overhead, different signs and decorations littered the ceiling. Restaurants were at every angle, sandwiching gift shops and stores lining the walls.
“Fancy,” I said, passing them en route for the baggage claim.
Ahead of me, a guy entered the escalator to the main floor. I sped up, eyeing his broad shoulders, towering height, sharp facial features, and eyes shadowed by the brim of a baseball cap.
“Maybe Texas isn’t all bad,” I said, watching him as I took my place on one of the steps.
We reached the baggage claim seconds later, him walking at a relaxed pace while I casually navigated the crowd to ensure prime position beside him. When I stopped at his right, his perfectly curved lips shifted into a smile.
Hello there.
The conveyor started, stealing his attention as bags started dropping. He passed me toward the conveyor, his arms flexing as he hauled a cardinal-blue suitcase to the ground.
My suitcase dropped two seconds later, hard-backed and black. I moved toward it and hauled it from the conveyor with a less impressive hmph.
“Alex!”
I turned in an instant, cringing as Loraine maneuvered through the crowd behind me. In a perfect world, she would’ve arrived ten minutes later and I could’ve accidentally run into the hot guy with my pretend runaway suitcase.
Her salt-and-pepper hair was in a ponytail at the crown of her head, her turquoise-colored Camp Kenton shirt setting off the bright red tinge in her sunburned cheeks. From the looks of it, she was in full summer mode. At least she wasn’t dressed like a cowgirl.
She stopped in front of me, deep-set wrinkles around her eyes and mouth deepening as she grinned. “Welcome to Texas! I’m so excited you’re here!”
She pulled me into a hug, the smell of sunblock and sweat thick on her skin.
“Thanks,” I said, unpeeling myself before it drenched my clothes. I straightened the hem of my shirt, my fingers tightening around the suitcase handle.
“There you are!”
I narrowly dodged the barreling male who rushed her next. The hot guy hugged her tight, lifting her off the ground as she laughed out loud.
What is life?
“Thanks again for driving up here,” he said, setting her down. “I owe you.”
“You sure do!” she said, hands on her hips. “Nothing compares to rush-hour traffic!”
“Wouldn’t be summer if I wasn’t late to something,” he said, grinning.
She smiled back, motioning at me now. “Truthfully, it wasn’t all that inconvenient to pick you up. Had to get this one too. Can’t make her walk all the way to camp, and they don’t Uber that far.”
“Surprised you know what an Uber is,” he said, and his hazel eyes shifted my way. “Grant Carraway. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Alex Reynolds,” I said, taking his hand. Future wife.
Grant’s calloused fingers wrapped around mine in a firm shake, his dimpled smile drawing my attention. He was too good-looking to focus on anything else. This summer was definitely looking up.
“Alex is my niece,” Loraine said beside me, taking my suitcase. “Our newest addition.”
“Newbie,” he said. “That means you get all the crappy jobs.”
“Hey! Don’t scare her off before I even get her out of the airport,” Loraine said. She turned, heading for the doors. “I’m short-staffed as it is.”
I scrunched my nose and followed behind them. Their conversation about random camp things was far less important than the quality of Grant’s back muscles. How someone made a plain T-shirt look so good was pure magic.
Inside the parking garage, soul-crushing heat created an outdoor oven. Loraine motioned to a white four-door Chevy, stopping behind it as the taillights flashed to life.
“So, I was thinking it might be better to have rotating shifts this year,” she was saying when Grant stopped beside her. “That way each counselor has a night off.”
“I vote yes,” he said.
“Okay. That’s one vote. What do you think, Alex? Yes or no?”
“Huh?” I said, cocking my head to the side. Grant’s impressive calf muscles and tantalizing backside were the only part of the walk to the truck I cared about.
“We’re talking about nights off,” she said, smiling. “Camp usually runs one two-month-long session. Do you think we should give staff members a weekly night off, or give them two nights off every second week?”
“Oh, um, whatever you think,” I said, watching Grant lower the tailgate. He lifted my suitcase with ease, dropping it into the bed of the truck before grabbing his own.
“Which translates to weekly,” he said, looking at Loraine.
“Not sure I heard those words come out of her mouth, but sure,” Loraine said, walking to the driver’s side.
I headed toward the passenger side, sliding onto scorching leather seats that burned the backs of my legs. Closing my eyes, I sucked in a shaky inhale and released it in one long breath.
Loraine’s been driving for years. It’s like my mom driving. I’m fine.
Dr. Heichman hadn’t been able to get much out of me, but I didn’t need him to know what triggered reactions and what didn’t. New cars. New drivers. Unknown roads. Speeding. Anything resembling danger set my nerves on fire.
Grant slid into the back of the truck a few minutes later, his knees knocking against my seat. I scooted it up farther, putting my purse on my lap as I gauged the distance between me and the dash.
“All right,” Loraine said, climbing into the driver’s seat. “Music requests?”
“Nope,” Grant and I said in unison, his tone substantially deeper than mine.
We merged onto I-45 a few miles later, Houston’s scenery drowned by banjo-ridden classic country blaring from the radio. I should’ve made a request.
I slumped my head against the window, watching towns roll by while trying to ignore the terrible twang of some old-school country singer rambling about his love. It wasn’t until we passed the massive Sam Houston statue outside Huntsville that I couldn’t take it anymore. I adjusted the knob, glancing at my aunt over the console.
“So, what job have you and my parents decided to stick me with?” I said. “Resident janitor? Pool girl? Arts and crafts guru who does nothing but
paint all day?”
“If I put you in arts and crafts all day, I would be wasting your amazing people skills and sparkling personality,” Loraine said.
“You clearly don’t know me,” I groaned.
“But I know and trust your parents, which is why I’ve decided to make you the counselor for girls’ cabin two,” she said. “Grant is your co-counselor. He can show you the ropes.”
Dread and excitement mixed, churning something similar to nausea in the base of my stomach.
“We currently have the girls’ side at full capacity,” she said, looking at me. “There are two spots open on Grant’s side, but I’m ninety percent sure those spaces will fill before camp starts. We still have a few days.”
Grant pulled a pair of earbuds from his ears for the first time and leaned forward. His face hovered over the console, his brows pulled together in a deep V. “What is up? Are you talking to me?” he said, staring at her.
“More to Alex, though it does pertain to you,” Loraine said, staring at him. “Cliffs Notes version: This is your co-counselor. Her side of the cabin is full. Your side will probably be full. I’ll expect you to show her the ins and outs, while I’m trying to finish prepping for camper arrival.”
Grant’s jaw tightened. Had it not been for a staggering fear of death by car, I might have stayed more focused on his jaw.
“Not trying to offend anyone,” he said slowly, “but don’t you think Alex would be better off in one of the younger cabins? I mean, has she ever been a counselor before?”
“No, but I’ve gone to one,” I said.
His brow furrowed. “Loraine,” he said, shaking his head.
“What?” she said, smiling at him in the rear-view mirror. Loraine drifted onto a rumble strip, and I cringed.
“Putting her with you seemed like my best option,” she said. “You’ve been around the longest. You know the rules like the back of your hand.”
“And I’m arguably the most impatient counselor on your staff,” he said. “I know I seem cool and shiny because I’m the counselor OG, but put her with Linc. He’ll be much more equipped to answer her questions and deal with stupid things like camp tours and debriefings.”
“Camp tours?” I groaned.
“I already put Linc with Kira,” Loraine said, shaking her head. “Besides, I have full confidence you’ll be the leader I know you are and will help her manage those campers to the best of her ability. Linc is a great counselor, but he lacks structure. She needs structure.”
“She needs for you to not talk about her like she isn’t here,” I said, crossing my arms. I glanced over the console, staring at Grant. “For what it’s worth, I’m totally down to just skip all the stupid welcome to camp stuff. I don’t need a rundown on the rules. I don’t need much of anything except the Wi-Fi password and the location of the nearest Starbucks.”
“We passed the nearest Starbucks five minutes ago,” Loraine said. “Also, the Wi-Fi password is solely for office use. We unplug while we’re at camp. It helps keep campers and counselors dialed in to why they’re there.”
“I’m starting a petition,” I said.
“Great. Focus on the petition and I’ll focus on how to get you transferred to a better-suited cabin,” Grant said, giving me a thumbs-up.
“Nothing is changing,” Loraine said.
“Yet.” He slumped into his seat, returning his earbuds to his ears.
I stared at the road the rest of the ride, impossible options burning their way through my brain. No amount of money was worth depriving myself of Starbucks. A sneak out would be imminent. Crucial to survival.
An hour later, a random Hank Wilson song was floating through the speakers when Camp Kenton’s massive wood sign greeted us. Loraine turned beside it, driving through a pair of metal gates at the entrance.
I checked my phone reception, praying for a signal.
No service.
“Damn,” I grumbled, cramming the phone in my pocket.
“AT&T is spotty out here,” Loraine said, glancing at me. “You’re welcome to use the office phone if you need to make a call.”
“We’ve gone back in time, where internet and cell phones don’t exist,” I said. “What’s next? We park the car and go the rest of the way on foot?”
“Nah. The camp has its own covered wagon,” Grant said, unbuckling his seat belt.
I surveyed him, gauging his seriousness as we neared a portable building with CAMP OFFICE painted on the side. A large metal sign hung in front of it. A single golf cart was the only vehicle in sight.
Loraine parked on the other side of the golf cart, pulling the key from the ignition and quickly opening the driver’s side door. Heat flooded the cab, amplifying warmth in my cheeks as I watched Grant unfold himself from the back of the truck. His long arms stretched above his head, revealing a sliver of skin. He was more distracting than Wi-Fi.
I slipped outside the truck, surveying the scenery as I closed the door. Trees extended in every direction, shading long patches of freshly mowed grass. My new prison was a virtual greenhouse, the canopy of leaves magnifying the stifling heat.
“Hey,” Grant said, earning Loraine’s attention. “I’m hungry. Is there any chance I could skip unpacking and get straight to the food?”
“Mess hall,” she said, nodding. “I think Subway sandwiches were on the lunch menu. If you’re lucky, Phil might have saved you some chicken salad.”
“My favorite,” Grant said, grinning.
Loraine crossed the grass toward the camp office, leaving me with Grant and zero idea of where to go next.
“You interested in food, or are you still over there trying to mentally plan your petition?” he said.
“You volunteering to be my first signature?”
“If it gets me out of the chaperone gig, then yes,” he said, fidgeting with the brim of his baseball cap. He shifted his weight, eyes assessing me beneath its shadow.
“You can stop giving me the judgy look,” I said, moving to my right. “I know I’m not Grade A counselor material.”
“Not even close,” he said, scrunching his nose.
I gawked, shooting an equally assessing gaze at him. “For the record, you don’t strike me as counselor of the year either. You look like some athletic hipster crossbreed with perfect hair and a perfect face, who would run at the first sign of chaos.”
“I’m not even remotely close to being a hipster,” he said, “and I thrive in chaos. My middle name is chaos.”
I arched a brow.
“Okay, it’s Michael, but that’s not the point. Point is: You’re horrible at reading people. These campers are going to chew you up and spit you out.”
“Wrong.” Except he was probably mostly right.
“Then I’ll happily take all my wrong personality assessments of you with me to the mess hall. You can find the way on your own. Don’t want to continue misjudging you and your expert people-reading skills.”
“Your sarcasm could use some work,” I said, hurrying after him.
After a few steps, we reached a concrete sidewalk leading to a massive cabin down the way. Grant paused, waving at the group on its large wraparound porch. “This is the counselor cabin,” he said, nodding toward the building. “And those are more judgy counselors like myself. Do you want to meet them while you’re hangry, or would you prefer to meet them after a sandwich or two?”
“I never said I was hangry.”
“It’s in your eyes,” he said, winking.
I let out a long sigh, my grumbling stomach confirming my appetite. The small sandwich I’d scarfed between my house and Shreveport’s airport had barely made a dent.
“What if I’m not comfortable going strange places with strange people?” I said.
“I asked myself that exact same question, yet here I am staring at you.”
I mentally flipped him off as he continued walking, his long legs increasing the distance between us. I jogged to catch up, huffing at the humidity clinging to m
y lungs.
“At the risk of sounding whiny, could you walk any slower?” I said, swatting away a cloud of mosquitoes.
“No,” he said, glancing at me over his shoulder. “There’s too much ground to cover between here and the mess hall. Besides, you aren’t the only one who’s hungry. If you don’t like the pace, I can bring you a sandwich if and when I eventually grab my bags.”
“How long might that be?” I said.
“An hour. Five hours. Who knows? Depends on who I run into and how much time I can spend stalling before Loraine assigns me to showing you around some more.”
“Hey, I already said I didn’t need a tour,” I said, catching up with him. “I don’t really need or want to be a counselor either.”
“Great! Then refuse to do it and let her hook me up with a co-counselor who will actually pull her weight.”
“I’m stronger than I look.”
“I didn’t mean literal weight,” he said, pausing. He surveyed me, his lips pursed.
“You were kidding, right?” he said after a minute.
“Maybe. Maybe not,” I said, walking again.
Ahead, six smaller cabins came into view. Three lined one side of the road while the remaining three lined the other side.
Grant pointed at them. “That’s where we’ll be staying. Cabins one, two, and three are on the left. Four, five, and six are on the right. We’re in two, which means we’re right there in the middle.”
I eyed cabin two, frowning. Like a miniature version of the counselor cabin, this cabin also had a tin roof and wraparound porch. The main difference was two doors on its exterior—one on the right side of the porch and one on the left. A large metal 2 separated them, identifying the building.
“You and your group will be on the right. Me and my group will be on the left,” he said. “Both groups have their own cots, showers, et cetera. They’re basically the exact same floor plans, except I think your side is maybe one or two feet bigger.”
Last Chance Summer Page 3
