The Summer Place

by Pamela Hearon

  “Stay away, Summer.” Rick squatted beside a now-red-faced, bawling Willard. The boy sat with his legs straight out, pounding the ground in a hissy fit.

  Summer ignored the command and continued down the path toward them.

  Rick stood. “I said stay away.”

  “I heard you.” She continued, determined to console the child who’d just experienced a traumatic occurrence.

  “Halt.” His harsh tone tightened Summer’s jaw. “There’s no use getting the oil on you, too.”

  That brought her to a stop, although by then she was only a few feet away. The child’s frustrated cry opened her own frustration valve enough to allow a leak. “This could’ve been avoided if you’d listened to me when I warned everybody to run,” she fumed.

  “And it wouldn’t have happened at all if you hadn’t gone traipsing off the path like I warned everybody not to do.”

  Summer’s eyes stung from the stench...and the indignation. “You’re going to blame me because you didn’t have enough sense to get out of the way of a skunk?”

  Her attention snapped back to Willard as he began crying louder. In her anger with Rick, she’d forgotten Willard and his part in this.

  “I hate thith. I hate thith plathe. I wanna go home!” the child screamed.

  His words hit like a punch in Summer’s stomach. An unhappy child covered with skunk spray, wanting to go home. Not good. That kind of thing could make disgruntled talking start, and then it wouldn’t take much to get others jumping on the bandwagon...anybody who was homesick or even a little unhappy. The ripple effect personified.

  This called for high-stakes damage control. She had to get to Charlie today with her idea about Ron Smithey. These boys had to start having fun, or this whole camp session might be a washout, and that would spell financial disaster.

  “C’mon, bud. Let’s get back to the camp and get this stuff off us.” Rick’s hand was under Willard’s arm, and he hauled the child to his feet. “Summer, go on ahead and get some dishwashing liquid from Ginny. Then go to my cabin. In the bathroom, you’ll find a large bottle of Listerine. Bring them both down to the beach.”

  Summer spun around and broke into a run.

  Charlie met her where the path broke from the woods at the edge of camp. He sniffed and laughed. “You, too?”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t get any spray on me. This is just from standing near Rick and Willard.” The time wasn’t right to tell him what Willard said or bring up Ron Smithey. That could wait until this crisis was over.

  “Get dishwashing liquid from Ginny and meet us at the beach,” she instructed. Charlie nodded and did an about-face. “And send one of the boys to get Willard a change of clothes,” she called as she hurried toward Rick’s cabin.

  Walking into his bedroom was like walking into a military barracks. The bed was perfectly made with perfectly mitered corners, the spread and sheet folded back perfectly even.

  A guilty urge passed through her to jump on it...or roll around in it...naked...with Rick. Her mouth went dry at the thought—other parts did quite the opposite.

  Damn Rick Warren. He made her crazy. If he didn’t leave soon, she’d be certifiable.

  The Listerine wasn’t hard to spot. Two gigantic bottles of it sat on the shelf in his bathroom. Was Rick a halitosis freak or was he drinking the stuff? She shivered at the thought and grabbed them both for good measure.

  Passing the bedside table, she noticed Raine Lawson’s new thriller. She’d finished it just last week. Probably the only thing we have in common, she mused. Under it lay the folder Mr. Assistant Director carried with him, constantly scratching notes in. The one he always closed when she came around. What was in there?

  Curiosity got the best of her, and she lifted the corner for a quick peek. Her eyes scanned over the top sheet, which appeared to be an inventory list of items in the dining hall and kitchen. Table, chairs, appliances—nothing of interest and nothing that gave her any clue as to why he would be counting these things.

  She gave a frustrated sigh and hurried on to the closet, jerking open the door. A multitude of T-shirts met her eyes, all neatly hung facing the same way, grouped by color. She pulled a gray one off its hanger and opened the top drawer of the chest.

  It was full of perfectly creased shorts, folded neatly and again arranged by color. She chose black to go with the gray shirt.

  It was then that she paused for a moment and chewed her lip. He was going to need underwear, and the thought of picking out some for him made her belly do a flip. An image ran through her head, and she made a quick bet with herself.

  Opening the next drawer brought a chuckle. “Knew it! Mr. Assistant Director has an obsessive-compulsive disorder.” That explained his over-the-top need for order and control...why he was always counting things, making notes of stuff that weren’t of any importance. She stared at the neatly folded stacks of black and white men’s briefs, feeling quite smug at her discovery.

  The next drawer held socks. All white and already secured into pairs. She stuffed socks into one pocket of the shorts and the underwear into another.

  Running shoes sat by the door. She grabbed them on her way out.

  By the time she got to the beach, Charlie, Rick and Willard were there along with the awful smell. Rick was helping the boy out of his shirt. Willard had stopped crying but looked miserable.

  “Here’s the Listerine.” She handed him both bottles, getting a good look at the tattoo over his heart this time. Dog tags—in addition to the ones he wore on the chain. He really was eaten up with military. “And I brought you some more clothes.” Pulling her eyes back up to his face, she held them out.

  “Would you set them over there? I don’t want to touch them.” He motioned to a pile of towels and clothes lying in the sand. “We’ll probably just wrap ourselves in towels and go shower afterward, but thanks for bringing everything.” The gratitude in his eyes was genuine.

  “I’ve never seen so much Listerine.” Oddly, she wanted to hold on to the moment a bit longer.

  One side of his mouth rose. “Not my first rodeo.” He turned to the boy and handed him the opened bottle. “Okay, Willard, we’re going to strip off the rest of our clothes and pour this brown stuff all over us because it’ll cut the oil. Keep your eyes closed tightly—we don’t want to get any in them.”

  Willard sniffled and nodded.

  “We’ll rinse off in the lake and then we’ll take a bath with dishwashing liquid, which should get rid of any of the remaining oil—” he looked at the squeeze bottle and laughed “—and leave us with a pleasant, lemony scent.”

  “Can’t we jutht take a thower?” Willard’s breathing caught a couple of times. “And what about my clotheth?”

  Rick shook his head. “If we did that, we’d carry the stench into the bunkhouse. We have to get the oily stuff off first. Then we’ll go take a real shower and get dressed.”

  “I’ll burn your clothes,” Charlie said, and Willard’s bottom lip quivered like he was going to cry again. “Go on, Summer.” Charlie turned and shooed her away. “They can’t get on with this process while you’re here.”

  Summer nodded and started up the path. Behind her, she could hear Willard’s plaintive cry loud and clear, and her stomach rolled with every word.

  “I wanna go home. I hate thith plathe. I hate thith plathe.”

  * * *

  “AND WE’RE USING TWO KINDS of flour.” Summer motioned for Greta and Anne to pour their ingredients into the giant bowl. “Greta has whole grain oat flour, and Anne has whole grain graham flour.”

  “Mmm, will the cookies taste like graham crackers?” Amanda asked.

  “Better.” Summer nodded toward Lucy. “And Lucy’s going to add cinnamon.” She stopped and looked around. “Is anybody allergic to cinnamon?” No hands went up. “Okay then, Lucy’s going to add cinnamon, milled flax seed and wheat germ.”

  Lucy’s nose crinkled in distaste. “Ew, I don’t want to add germs to it!”

>   That made Summer laugh. “It’s not that kind of germ, Lucy. Not the kind that makes you sick. This kind of germ is what germinates.” She stressed the word. “It’s where the piece of wheat starts its growing cycle. It has lots of vitamins in it, so it makes us healthy, not sick. It’s the heart of the wheat.”

  “The pretty heart?” Mary Margaret asked.

  “Precisely, M&M,” Tara answered, using the nickname the girls had come up with.

  Summer turned the giant mixer on, and the blades incorporated the dry ingredients into the liquids. Her belly churned along with the machine as she thought about what she was going to do after the cookies were done.

  When a dough formed, she stopped the mixer and cued Shannon and Kaelyn. “Now, we add vanilla flavoring and...?”

  “Chocolate chips!” the girls answered.

  “Correct. But not just any chocolate chips.” Kaelyn poured the dark morsels in as Summer stirred the heavy concoction. “These are organic, dark chocolate chips, so they’re full of antioxidants and are good for you.” Her arm tired, and she let Tara finish the mixture as she supplied the girls with spoons. “But even though these cookies are good for you, you only want to eat them as a special treat after you’ve eaten your fruits and vegetables and proteins. You shouldn’t ever let sweets take the place of food that’s better for you.”

  As the girls filled the baking sheets with mounds of cookie dough, Ginny placed them in the oven. “Thanks for making my job easier today,” she told them. “These will be a delicious bedtime snack tonight.”

  After they’d cleaned up the work space and washed their hands, Tara announced, “It’s time for quiet time.”

  The girls laughed, leaving Summer to wonder what was so funny about the announcement. She shot a questioning look at Tara, but the young woman was busy answering questions and herding the girls out the door.

  The next hour wasn’t going to be so quiet for Summer, but it was time to do what she had to do. “Is Charlie around?” she asked Ginny.

  “Maybe in his office. I don’t think I’ve seen him since right after lunch.” The woman’s chin wrinkled in concern. “Everything okay?”

  No use trying to pretend with Ginny—the woman had changed Summer’s diapers. “I just have some concerns about the camp I’d like to discuss with him.”

  Ginny gave her a knowing smile. “About the camp or Rick Warren?”

  “You know me too well, Ginny.”

  “Charlie said yesterday he was surprised you hadn’t been in to talk to him yet.” Ginny bent down and peered through the oven window to check on the baking cookies, the yummy scent of which had already started to permeate the air. “You and Rick are like oil and water. Not a bad combination, but it takes some shaking up to get it to mix.”

  “I’d like to shake him up, all right. He’s so...so...” Summer groped for the appropriate word.

  “Take charge?” Ginny offered.

  “Bossy,” Summer spewed. “And rigid and cocky. And he doesn’t know beans about kids, or fun, or what summer camp is supposed to be like.”

  Ginny had pulled the binder of handwritten recipes from the shelf, and started leafing through it. “Maybe you could teach him. But he does come across a bit stodgy, so you’d have to make him think it’s his idea.”

  “That wouldn’t be hard since everything is his idea.” Summer stalked off, Ginny’s chuckle echoing behind her.

  Charlie’s office door was closed, so she gave a couple of light raps with her knuckles.

  “Come in.”

  Not Charlie’s voice, and she tensed. If she hadn’t already pushed the door open a little, she would’ve left.

  Rick sat at Charlie’s desk. He glanced up. “Hey, Summer. Charlie’s not here.” He went back to writing.

  His dismissive attitude toward her once again caused her to see red. She closed the door and walked to the desk, planting herself in front of it. “I guess it was you I was meant to talk to, then.”

  Rick laid the pen down. “Okay.” He leaned back in the chair, giving her his full attention. “Talk.”

  Even in the closed room, not the slightest hint of skunk odor hung in the air. She sniffed again. “Listerine and dishwashing liquid, huh?”

  “An old park ranger trick.” Rick regarded her warily. “But something tells me you didn’t come here to discuss trade secrets.”

  “No, you’re right. I, um...” She cleared her throat. “Rick, I don’t know you very well, and it was very nice of you to take this job on such short notice and help my parents out.” His enormous shoulders fell as he relaxed. “But—” she took a deep breath, determined to say what was on her mind “—I don’t think you’re cut out to be a camp counselor, and I think it would be better for everyone if you let me, um, Charlie, find someone who’s better suited to working with kids.”

  One eyebrow shot up and his face reddened slightly as if the act had taken some exertion. “Why? You missing your boyfriend? Gonna talk Mommy and Daddy into letting him take my place?”

  She rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Hardly. I would never run to my parents with anything that might worry them. In fact, I’m doing the opposite. They’ve invested everything they have in this place, and they can’t afford to have even a single kid talking about what a horrible place it is and how much he hates it. What if he wants to go home, and what if that causes others to start thinking the same thing?”

  “You’re referring to Willard.”

  Summer’s pulse swished through her ears. “Yeah, but not just Willard. You’ve got all the boys marching around like little wooden soldiers—”

  “Instead of dancing around like little fairy princesses.”

  “The girls are having fun, and they’re learning things in the process.”

  “Because circlet making—” he made a circle with his fingers and set them on his head, mimicking her gesture from that morning “—is such an important thing for girls to know how to do in this day and age.”

  “There’s more to life than learning the scientific names of a region’s flora and fauna.” She ground the words out.

  He stood, leaning on his fists over the desk. “There’s more to life than being beautiful.”

  She paused. Had he just inferred he thought she was beautiful? Butterflies fluttered in her stomach, then just as quickly swarmed in an angry mass. “I’m not teaching them to be beautiful.” She was shaking, anyway, so she released the energy by punching a finger in his direction.

  “I know. You’re throwing in extra lessons. How to be a wild child in four short weeks.”

  “I’m teaching them to find their own beauty and, by extension, the beauty in others, so maybe when they grow up and can think on their own, they won’t listen to the violence mongers who’ll try to tell them war is the road that leads to world peace.”

  “And while you’re at it, teach them to grab their fairy wands the next time terrorists use planes to target our country’s capitol.” He flicked his fingers above her head. “They can sprinkle them with pixie dust and make all the mean people disappear.”

  Summer’s ears were burning now. She leaned closer, bringing her nose within inches of his. “Behind that mannerly exterior, Rick Warren, beats the heart of a cad. An extremely anal cad, whose life is all neatly folded and color-coded because he can’t stand to have things mixed up a little. Everything, all the way down to his briefs, is black and white.”

  “Or maybe he’s a marine—” his voice was a low growl “—who found it easier to organize the little mundane things so he didn’t have to think about them and could concentrate on the big things like how to keep his and his buddies’ asses from being shot off...not that it always worked.”

  Summer swallowed as his words stuffed her own comment back into her throat. His blue-green eyes were sending out sparks like she’d never seen, and they were causing a fire in her belly. Some of it was anger, but part of it was the sheer excitement of being near him.

  Just then, the door swung open to reveal
the surprised face of Willard with the more surprised face of Charlie behind.

  Rick and Summer jerked up to a standing position, and Summer cringed, realizing the position they’d been in probably looked as though they were either in a heated argument or about to kiss. It somehow felt like both.

  Willard removed his baseball cap and shuffled into the room with downcast eyes.

  “I didn’t know you were here, Summer, but I’m glad you are.” Charlie’s face held an expression she couldn’t read. “Willard has something he’d like to say.”

  Willard looked up and bravely locked eyes with Rick. “I’m thorry for acting like a baby thith morning, Mithter Rick.”

  “It’s okay, Willard.” Rick pointed to the paper he’d been working on. “I filled out the accident report so your parents will understand you didn’t do anything to cause this.”

  The boy’s honesty was touching. “I’m sorry, too, Willard.” Summer patted his arm. “It was my fault for stopping the group. It was probably my squeal that stirred up the skunk.”

  “Nonsense,” Rick said. “The stench should’ve warned me to watch more closely—”

  Charlie’s impatient wave cut Rick’s speech short. “That’s neither here nor there. Willard and I have just talked to his mom, and she’s fine with it. She said not to worry about the clothes.”

  “So is she coming to pick you up?” Summer’s lunch threatened to come back up.

  “No, Mith Thummer.” Willard shook his head. “I don’t really want to go home. I wath jutht upthet when I thaid that.”

  Charlie laid a gentle hand on Willard’s shoulder. “Go on, son. Tell them what you told me about why you were upset.”

  Willard’s glance bounced from Summer to Rick before landing back down at his feet. He sniffed. “I wath afraid that the kidth would make fun of me and call me ‘thkunk boy’ and thingth like that.”

  Kids could be cruel. Even good-natured kidding sometimes went too far, and this poor kid had the extra worry of a lisp. “We won’t allow any bullying, Willard,” she assured him. “Pretty soon, they’ll have forgotten all about the skunk, you mark my words.”