CHAPTER 23
Now
Reveille blares long and loud over the speakers and I wake with a start. The sun is already so bright, even through the curtain, and I roll over, shoving my face into the pillow.
“You’re hungover,” Meg calls. It’s more of a statement than a question and I groan a response. “Buck up, babe. It’s K-day.”
Fuck.The kids are arriving in the early afternoon and we both know there’s still a shit ton to do to make the cabins look presentable. We shower and change quickly, and Meg grabs her clipboard before heading to the dining hall.
Breakfast is rushed, as everyone wolfs down eggs and pancakes, steaming bowls of oatmeal and fresh fruit, grumbling about the bratty campers whose parents asked for their kids’ shit to be unpacked upon arrival.
“I’m not a fuckingmaid,” Tommy says with a scoff, clearly not remembering thathedefinitely didn’t fill his drawers by himself when he was a Rambler.
Ava and Imogen are swamped, taking orders from the senior counselors in their cabins. There’s no time to ask Ava questions likewhat the fuck is up with you?
Meg drags me back to Bloodroot and pulls out a massive carboard box filled with finishing touches for our cabin. She grabs ahomemade chore wheel she made with her sloping, messy handwriting. The inner ring is filled with campers’ names and the outer ring is labeled with various cleaning tasks likeSWEEPandTOILET. “Hang this by the door, yeah?” she asks.
I tack it to the bulletin board near the entrance, alongside the list of shower days, emergency exit strategies, and a rubric for Sunday inspection.
I glance up at the rafters and catch a glimpse of our plaque, the one that gave me such faith a week ago.Sisters by choice, we had written. I hope that’s still true.
“What’s next?” I ask Meg.
But before she can answer, the cabin door swings open and Meg scrambles to her feet. Mellie’s standing in the doorway, holding a walkie-talkie. She and Meg are wearing matching striped Alpine Lake senior staff uniforms. She looks well-rested, more relaxed and at ease than she did yesterday when she told us Heller was dead.
“So glad to know I never have to worry about you two,” she says, her voice light and excited. “These Ramblers will be lucky to have you, won’t they?”
Meg laughs and smiles wide. “I hope they think so.”
I examine Mellie’s face for any sign of anxiety or concern. But there’s nothing. Just the thrill of starting a new summer and greeting new campers. Yesterday’s news is old and stale, a stain that could be scrubbed away.
She walks around the room, stopping at each bed to make sure all the dressers are stable, that each of our campers will have enough space for their towels and linens, and that there aren’t any cobwebs hiding in the corners.
Meg’s walkie crackles and comes alive. “Could you come down to special events? One of your kids has a birthday,” someone says over the intercom.
“Ah yes, Fran Gertz from Philadelphia,” Meg says. “She’s turning nine. Christina made funfetti cookies.”
“You really are so thoughtful,” Mellie says, holding open the door for Meg. “I knew we made the right call promoting you.” Meg blushes and waves her hand like it’s no big deal but I know it is. Getting that kind of praise from the directors doesn’t come often, especially if you’re not a lifer.
When she leaves, Mellie and I are alone.
“Well,” Mellie says, swiveling around. “How was the vigil?”
I swallow hard. “It was okay.”
She cocks her head, the wrinkles on her forehead deepening. “Really?”
Shit.Mellie’s always been able to read me like a book. She’s been in my life so long, I don’t even remember meeting her. Back when I was a toddler hanging out in the infirmary, she was always there, bouncing me on her knee as my dad counted Band-Aids and gauze pads. And when I was finally old enough to live in the cabins, she took one look at my worried face on my first day and knelt down beside me. “You’re going to love it,” she whispered in my ear. “You’re home now.”
I shake my head. “It was awful.”
Mellie envelops me in a hug. “I’ve always tried to protect you, kiddo,” she says, choking up. “I never wanted you to feel this kind of pain.”
I nod into her chest. I wonder if this is how people withgrandparents feel, that someone like Mellie would always be there to laugh at my jokes and clean up my messes. She might be around for homemade scones and jam, but none of the bad stuff—not the daily temper tantrums and screaming fights reserved for parents.
“I can’t believe it,” I say, pulling back from her. “I don’t understand how this could have happened.”
Mellie’s mouth puckers. “He was drinking, sweetie. Did your dad tell you?”
