“Why don’t we go down to the classroom? This needs to be a private conversation,” I suggested.
“Lead the way,” said Mr. Allen, stepping aside and gesturing for us to go first. When we were all in the hallway, I reached back inside, turned off the lights, and shut the door.
I didn’t do anything wrong, so why does it feel like I’m closing up the office for the last time?
Luckily, the classroom was empty and we each took a seat at one of the desks, which had been arranged in a circle. I pulled out my quote journal, laid it on the desk in front of me, clasped my hands on top of it, and waited for Hannah to begin. Then she looked at me pointedly, waiting for me to start. The list, I thought. I would just read him the list and Hannah could take it from there.
“Well, Mr. Allen, sir, we asked you to meet with us because we’ve noticed a number of things Ms. Gress has done this summer that don’t seem to be in line with regulations.”
“And she definitely doesn’t keep things in shape the way Joan did,” Hannah added, a note of defensiveness in her voice.
Stick to the facts, keep emotions—and loyalties—to a minimum. For once, Dad was exactly right. “Sir, Hannah and I have compiled a list of items we feel . . . you will also find troubling once you consider the larger picture. In isolation, each one perhaps is not so egregious, but together, well . . . take a look.” Hannah mouthed “egregious?” as if she’d never heard the word before, while I passed my notebook to Mr. Allen. Hannah and I held our breath. When he finished, he closed the notebook with a heavy sigh.
“Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I will certainly investigate this matter to the fullest.” We exhaled. “Ashlyn, may I make a copy of this?” He held up my notebook.
“Of course.”
He nodded. “I’ll bring it right back.”
While Mr. Allen was gone, Hannah and I said nothing. The anticipation was almost too much to bear. He would investigate? Did that mean he believed the things we told him or not? And if he didn’t believe us, what would that mean for the rest of the summer? Suddenly I felt a rush of fear ripple through me. Two employees had the nerve to accuse their boss of wrongdoing. I could kiss my college recommendation letter goodbye. I picked at the new pink polish on my fingers and sent a huge piece spiraling to the ground.
“Hey,” Hannah said in a low voice. I looked up and met her eyes. “It’s going to be okay. You know that, right?”
I shook my head. I didn’t know. It wasn’t like I had a great track record of things in my life going right. My dad’s face flashed in my mind, stern and disapproving, but silent.
“Mr. Allen is a good owner. He cares about this place. I trust him.” Her eyes searched mine. Pleaded. “Do you trust me?”
Did I? Hannah had done a good job of showing me, and everyone else, exactly who she was, at all times. She didn’t always think before she spoke. And there were times she spoke her mind when she probably shouldn’t. But she tried to do the right thing. She hadn’t judged me or picked on me, which would’ve been easy to do. And she let me into her world.
“Yes,” I said.
“It will be fine. We did the right thing.”
Mr. Allen returned my notebook, thanked us again, and assured us he would take care of the situation. As Hannah and I left the classroom, my stomach dropped. Deb was coming down the hall toward us.
“Hello, Fred, what a pleasant surprise.” Deb smiled in a way I hadn’t seen all summer. Was that her professional smile, reserved just for her superior?
“Deb, let’s go into your office. I’ve got a few things I’d like to discuss.” Mr. Allen’s voice was curt, but not unpleasant. If it had been me he was talking to, I doubted I would’ve suspected I was about to be pushed into an oven and covered in flames.
“It would be my pleasure,” Deb said, looking me and Hannah up and down suspiciously, before turning and walking away with Mr. Allen trailing behind her.
I gulped and looked at Hannah, who pushed me lightly away from the train wreck we were leaving behind.
Early the next day, we got word that all morning activities would be postponed for an emergency staff meeting in the cafeteria. A skeleton kitchen crew would serve bagels and fruit to the guests out on the lawn and everyone else was to meet with Mr. Allen. It was the first time we’d all been together in a big group since the bonfire our first week here. I perched on the edge of my seat, hands folded in my lap to keep them from shaking.
I’d barely slept the night before. I tossed and turned so much that Hannah finally smacked the bottom of my bunk in the middle of the night and told me to be still because she felt like we were on a boat rocking back and forth. I tried counting sheep, but their faces kept turning into Deb’s face, and then my dad’s. So, when I heard Hannah snoring gently, I got out a tiny flashlight, something Aunt Greta had hidden in my suitcase, and the Bartlett’s Bax had bought for me. I passed the hours writing down the lines that gave me hope.
HOPE AGAINST HOPE, AND
ASK TILL YE RECEIVE.
James Montgomery
THE UNIVERSE IS CHANGE; OUR LIFE
IS WHAT OUR THOUGHTS MAKE IT.
Marcus Aurelius
HOPE, LIKE THE GLEAMING TAPER’S LIGHT,
ADORNS AND CHEERS OUR WAY.
Oliver Goldsmith
AWAKE, MY SOUL! STRETCH EVERY
NERVE, AND PRESS WITH VIGOUR ON.
Philip Doddridge
Because, this was about more than Deb and the job. This was about me. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I was always going to be trying to meet my dad’s expectations, no matter how high they were. He’d made me believe that I wasn’t there yet, but maybe? I hated myself for thinking that way, but it was hard to change what you’d been taught to believe your whole life. I finally fell asleep around four or so, but Hannah’s bouncing out of bed at six woke me, my mind and body detached from sheer exhaustion.
I searched the cafeteria for the usual suspects. Baxter had joined me and Hannah, while Ruth and Amos sat in the back, sipping coffee with confused expressions and talking in anxious whispers. My skin crawled with anticipation. The majority of the kitchen staff, the grounds crew, and the athletic instructors were all there. But there were three faces noticeably absent from the group—Deb, Mallory, and Marcus.
Mr. Allen walked out of the kitchen to address the group, a clipboard in his hand. “Hey, everyone. Thanks for joining me this morning. I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve assembled the staff, so I won’t beat around the bush. Deborah Gress will no longer be with us at Sweetwater. It was brought to my attention that a number of important regulations were violated over the course of the last several weeks and, while I certainly understand human error, I cannot, and will not, put the safety of our guests or this staff in danger. I will serve as manager for the remainder of this season, with Amos as my backup, and will work on hiring someone for the fall.” He looked out over the crowd, his face still as granite, giving away nothing. “We’ve also had a handful of other jobs become vacant, so I’ll be shuffling positions and asking some of you to cover them. Please know that I value the hard work you’ve done thus far. The care you’ve given to our guests has not gone unnoticed. It’s difficult to serve well without good leadership, and I’m proud of the way you’ve given it your all. Does anyone have any questions before I read out the new assignments?”
The crowd was silent. The lack of questions made me think that I must not have been the only one who had noticed Deb’s missteps. And that realization felt like relief. Like I hadn’t screwed up. Like maybe I’d made their lives a little easier too.
Chapter 25
Mr. Allen assigned Hannah to the head lifeguard position. Poetic justice. He promoted one of the junior lifeguards, who had turned eighteen two weeks ago. Hannah was elated, her chest puffed up like a rooster. And although it was the job she should’ve had since the day we got here, I was glad she hadn’t. Otherwise, she and I would have never bonded like we had. I was happy for her, but
it also meant less time to hang out now since she would be much busier. Still, she deserved it and I wouldn’t want it any other way.
I, somewhat predictably, had been reassigned Hannah’s old job at the equipment kiosk. I didn’t really mind. It would give me time to think, time to breathe now that I wasn’t worrying about Deb. It would also give me a quiet space to put together sightseeing packages for any retreaters who might want one.
“Ashlyn, I’ve gotten so many compliments from our guests. I don’t know why I never thought about adding offsite excursions to our packages, but I’m certainly glad you did. You’re quite the creative thinker,” Mr. Allen said with a smile as he handed me the keys to the kiosk.
I beamed. It had been a long time since someone complimented my work, or anything about me for that matter. “Thank you, sir. That means a lot to me.” My dad’s voice was suspiciously quiet.
Mr. Allen nodded. “Maybe you have a career in tourism.”
It wasn’t something I’d ever considered, but if it allowed me to make people happy, I wouldn’t rule it out. It seemed to work for Uncle Ed and Aunt Greta. “I’ll consider it, sir.”
After the rest of the staff had started their shifts, Mr. Allen asked me and Hannah to follow him to the office. He closed the door behind us and motioned for us to sit down.
“I want to offer my deepest gratitude.” His lip quivered with emotion. “When I followed the leads you gave me, I found many other distressing things about the way my retreat center had been run this summer, and I am grateful to you both for documenting what you observed and bringing it to me. Obviously, the two 911 calls are at the top of the list of things that should not have happened, but the overall neglect and lack of care was pervasive. The absolute worst thing you can be, as the manager of this type of operation, is careless, even if you’re the nicest person in the world. So, I thank you for speaking up.”
Deb definitely wasn’t the nicest, but she wasn’t the most evil either. I was glad Mr. Allen pointed this out. His opinion lessened the guilt that was slowly fading. It did, however, remind me that lying and lack of attention to what was happening around you, despite your demeanor, landed you in hot water. It did for my dad, and for Deb.
He continued, “Now, normally I keep hiring decisions confidential, but I discovered Ms. Gress had not been truthful about her previous employment.” I knew it. “Also, I thought you deserved to know that not only did I let Ms. Gress go, but also her daughter, Mallory, and Marcus Toft. I’ve been around this place long enough to know that staff romances are inevitable.” I blushed and hoped he didn’t notice. Not that a few kisses with Marcus counted as a romance, but still. “But it is unacceptable to leave your post and create a dangerous situation.” He shook his head. “We’re lucky that girl’s parents aren’t pressing charges.” Then Mr. Allen smiled. “You two are heroes. Plain and simple. Thank you.”
I blushed again, this time with pride. I couldn’t wait to tell Tatum about all of this. And my mom. And, if I was being totally honest, I really wanted to tell my dad. Maybe he would be proud of me. Maybe this time I would be enough.
I spent my first day in the equipment kiosk handing out tennis rackets, soccer balls, and lifejackets. It was quite the change from the empty office and the nearly deserted gym. I didn’t have to shuffle through piles of disorganized paperwork, and I didn’t smell like disinfectant. What I did do was work on my project, in between equipment handouts and returns, that is. I made phone calls to wineries and scenic caverns, working them into packages of varying prices and lengths of time. I connected with the owner of a charter bus company who offered me a discount for our retreaters because she worked for Mr. Allen years ago and wanted to pay it forward. Which gave me a great idea. I could use my new connections to pay it forward too. I started formulating an idea—my way of saying thanks to the people here at Sweetwater who had made my summer, whether they realized it or not, more bearable than I ever could have hoped for.
It was amazing how much my mood had lifted with the removal of Deb and her chaos and a few positive interactions with other people. And, when I’d done all those things and there was a lull in the requests, I pulled out my quote journal and reread the lines I’d copied last night. I looked back at some of the ones I’d recorded years ago, the song lyrics and wishes of a girl looking for something. Anything.
Near the end of my shift, Bax knocked on my window. “Hey there.” His smile was easy, and I couldn’t help but smile back.
“Hey, yourself.”
“I just stopped by the pool, and Hannah’s tied up for another few hours. Pool party. Want to join me for dinner? I was thinking of roasting some hot dogs at the firepit.”
“Yes,” I said, probably a little too quickly. I looked away, in case he noticed how eager I was.
“Great. Meet you out there when you get off?”
My heart began to flutter. “Sure, do you need me to bring anything?”
“Nah, I’ll take care of it.” He waved and headed toward the lodge.
I watched him walk away and smiled to myself. Dinner with Baxter. Alone. So what if he stopped to ask Hannah if she could join in first. And so what if she was only not coming because she had to work. It would be the first time we’d been alone since he taught me to ride a bike. And before that, the zipline. My heartbeat drummed with anticipation that was pleasant, and also terrifying.
The seconds ticked by like hours, and I felt silly for being so nervous. Who got nervous about eating hot dogs? Me, apparently. When it was finally quitting time, I closed up the kiosk, fumbling with the keys, dropping them twice before I managed to get the door locked. I dropped them a third time trying to open my cabin door so I could change into a clean T-shirt. Get it together, Ash.
I considered stopping by the pool to see if Hannah had any advice for talking to Bax, but then I stopped myself. I knew how to hold a conversation. I’d talked to plenty of people—and many of them boys—in my lifetime. And still, there was something about anticipating small talk with a boy who was so careful with his words. And bonus, he knew my secrets, and he’d offered to talk if I wanted. Did I want to talk? I wasn’t sure yet. I figured I had approximately two minutes on the walk over to the firepit to figure it out, though.
When I got there, the fire was crackling in the nearly setting evening sun, but no Baxter. I settled myself on a tree stump and, partly out of habit, partly out of the nervous need to have something to do with my hands, I pulled out my quote journal. It fell open on my lap and my eyes landed on a quote I’d written several years ago.
SET YOUR LIFE ON FIRE. SEEK THOSE
WHO FAN YOUR FLAMES.
Rumi
It felt like a sign. I slid my purple pen out of the spine of the journal, stood up, and wrote Rumi’s words on my log seat, waiting a moment for the ink to dry before sitting back down.
A moment later, I heard the crunching of footsteps on gravel and fallen leaves. Without announcing himself, Bax sat down and methodically put two hot dogs on the metal rods he’d brought. He handed one to me, and we leaned over together, sticking our dinners into the flames.
“So, that was pretty brave what you did. Talking to Mr. Allen about Deb, I mean,” he said.
I shrugged. “I didn’t think there was any other choice. People were getting hurt.”
He looked at me and smiled, his crooked tooth visible. A cute flaw. “Are you a superhero in disguise?”
I scoffed. “Hardly. That was probably the first brave thing I’ve ever done, actually.”
“I doubt that. Most people are braver than they think. I see it every day. With the ziplines and ropes course. They almost always jump down from the wall.” Baxter turned his hot dog, and I did the same.
“Is that your metaphor for life?”
He laughed. “I guess it is.”
“And what about the people who don’t jump? What does that say about them?”
Baxter thought for a minute, his elbows resting comfortably on his knees, hot dog almost crispy
from the fire. “I think they aren’t ready. They always have the choice though. One time, this woman who decided not to jump with her group came back a few hours later and told me she wanted to try again.”
“And?”
“And she did it. She just needed a little more time.”
His story reminded me of something I hadn’t ever told anyone before. And because there was no reason not to, I jumped.
“Once, in eighth grade, my parents took me to therapy. It was really out of character for them, because my dad is so concerned with what people think of us and how a mental health incident”—I made air quotes—“might follow me for the rest of my life. I’d had a really rough month. I’d come in fourth place at the regional spelling bee, which sent my dad over the edge, which spiraled into me getting a couple of Cs on tests, and that just made it worse. I wasn’t sleeping and was almost always anxious. I’m pretty sure a teacher tipped off the school counselor that I might be stressed and then the counselor made a referral. Not wanting to look like an uncaring parent, my dad made an appointment to check the box.”
“So what happened?”
“I sat down with this guy who asked me about my life and I talked. I didn’t spill my guts but I was honest enough.” When he asked me how I got along with my parents, though, it was like the dam broke. I could still feel the ghosts of scalding hot tears from that day on my cheeks. “I told him how my dad was constantly picking at me, that his expectations were too high, that there wasn’t a ladder on the planet tall enough to even get close to reaching them. I said I’d probably fall off and break into a million pieces before I could get halfway.”
“Impossible.”
“But it felt true. Still does. And when I’d left four tissues, completely shredded, on the floor at my feet, he looked at me thoughtfully and asked if I wanted to change the relationship. I remember looking back at him like he was from outer space.”
“And then?”
“He told me something I will never forgot. I think about it all the time, actually. He said I had a choice. I didn’t have to change my relationship with my dad. I’d been enduring it my whole life, so if I thought I could continue to do that and live with the results, that was fine. Or, I could choose to speak up and try to change it. But he made sure I knew that it was a choice. He said sometimes accepting status quo is the right thing to do and perhaps that was the right thing for me at the time.”
No Place Like Here Page 17
