Page 57 of One Last Summer
He turned back toward me with a small basket in his hands, tilting it forward so I could look inside.
Letters, a big, messy pile of them, all addressed to Mack. “I stay in touch with a bunch of kids all year long.”
“Wow.” I grabbed one off the top of the stack, holding it in my fingertips. “Andreas Warner. From Worcester.”
“Oh, he’s a good kid. Picked up sailing in, like, one day, this summer. The way some of these kids just blossom here.” He gave his head a small shake, and a look of awe passed across his face. “You wouldn’t believe it.”
“Actually, I would.” My throat tightened, emotion coming on fast. I’d been so earnest, so hopeful, in that letter I’d written to myself all those years ago, valiantly trying to avoid the way my world was crumbling around me with my parents’ divorce.
It was the same thing I’d done this past year, diving headfirst into work as if that could somehow protect me from the painful, stinging sadness that pumped through my veins.
I didn’t want to hide from life anymore, the good parts or the bad.
I wanted to feel it all.
Mack stroked a hand along my shoulder, a quiet acknowledgment that whatever this was roaring through me, he saw it. But he stayed quiet, giving me room to keep talking.
“It feels really good to be back.” I leaned into his touch. “I haven’t been here for so long, but it feels like no time has passed.”
“Imagine how we all felt,” Mack said with a laugh, tilting his chin down to look at me. “Waiting for you to come back up here to visit was like waiting for camp to start as a kid.”
I could tell by the tone of his voice that his words weren’t said to inspire guilt, or as a taunt. It was, well, sweet, and something about Mack being all laid out and vulnerable like this peeled a layer off my heart, the protective piece I’d secured in place long ago where Mack was concerned. Here, in his bed, I was made up of feelings, soft and raw.
“I missed you, you know.” It came out like a confession, an admission blurted out not just to him, but to myself. The amazing sex was clearly acting like a truth serum, nudging words out of my mouth that I might have otherwise kept locked up.
“I’ve missed you too, Millen,” he said, his voice melting me like sugar on the tongue. “This has been the best friend-union by far.”
“And now it’s the last one,” I said, a sinking feeling settling in my stomach. “I didn’t realize how much I wanted to be here, and now it almost feels too late.”
There’s still so much I need to do, I thought, my mind drifting to the piece of paper hidden under my bed in Sunrise. So much I’m supposed to get done.
“Well, we might as well knock out some more camp stuff then,” he replied, giving my arm a final squeeze before shifting up to sit. “Is there something you’ve always wanted to do that you’ve never done at camp before? Or, we could also just stay up here, watch a movie. Although I don’t even have Netflix, so maybe that’s a bad idea.”
“You can use my password,” I said. “It’s Boobs69 with a capital B, and at signs in place of the letter Os. B, at sign, at sign, b, s, sixty-nine.”
“Holy shit,” Mack wheezed laughing. “Are you serious?”
“Very,” I said matter-of-factly.
“That is amazing, Millen. And way better than pinelake1933.”
“I’m glad you appreciate it. Charles didn’t even think it was funny,” I said flatly, still disappointed in my ex for his refusal to even crack a smile when I’d say it out loud. It was a stupid, corny joke of a password, but it spoke to the part of our relationship that had hurt the most: We never, ever laughed together.
“Yeah, well, I think we’ve decided that Charles is an idiot,” he added. “And I say that respectfully, of course.”
I thought for a moment.
“I’ve always been too scared to jump off the high dive,” I admitted.
“Fifteen feet feels farther at night,” he said. “Also as the waterfront director, I can’t let you dive off the platform in the dark. Safety first.”
“Wow, you are good at your job,” I teased as I settled in against him. “Actually, there is something else.”
“Name it,” he said. “And I’ll do my best.”
25
TWENTY MINUTES LATER, I was tucked onto the passenger seat of the camp waterskiing boat, dressed only in Mack’s giant Pine Lake sweatshirt and a pair of worn, flannel boxers that had clearly been retired from everyday use.
