Page 81 of One Last Summer
“Yes,” Amaya replied, her voice sounding sharp and impatient. “I need you at the Four Points office at ten a.m.”
I waited for the rush of excitement, the pleased, relieved warmth I always got from doing a good job. Instead, a sad, empty feeling settled in my stomach as I realized—I’d have to leave right now.
“Listen, Clara, this is huge,” Amaya said finally, her voice shifting from irritated to sincere. “You knocked it out of the park, okay? The stuff about sitting around the campfire, the letters you wrote yourselves? Finding yourself in the faces of old friends? Gabbie ate that shit up. And now you need to come back and close the deal.”
“Close the deal,” I repeated back. I kept waiting for some sort of euphoria to wash over me, but I simply felt numb.
Amaya piped up again. “They’re going to cancel if you’re not there,” she said, and it was then that I heard her anxiety, could sense her fear of losing this huge account, right through whatever satellite in space was connecting this call.
And knowing I could do this, could calm Amaya and prove I wasn’t a failure, I shifted back into work mode, like Clark Kent walking into that phone booth and stepping out as Superman.
Land Alewife, run the account, snag a promotion.
“Okay!” I agreed, forcing an upbeat game face. “I can’t wait.”
My voice was chipper, but anxious sweat pooled in the crooks of my knees, my eyes blinking furiously. Luckily, my panic wasn’t registering with Amaya.
Instead, she just shouted a satisfied, “Excellent!” and waved goodbye with a flap of her hand, her tiny video screen fading to black.
This was it. My chance to prove myself. This was what I’d wanted all along, wasn’t it?
So why was I crying?
“Clara?” Eloise took a step forward. “Is everything okay?”
I pressed my eyes tight for a second, but there was no holding back the tears that spilled down my sticky, frosting-covered face.
“Um, I should go pack,” I said, the words coming out so fast they blended into each other. I took off out the door of the dining hall and down the steps, moving so fast I was breathless in seconds.
Except I didn’t run toward Sunrise. Cabins flashed by in my peripheral vision, blotches of white and green, as I sprinted down the hill to the water. I didn’t even bother taking off my clothes this time, pausing only to kick off my shoes and toss my phone next to them on the grass.
All I wanted to do was lose myself in the water, as if submerging in the depths of Pine Lake one last time could somehow help me figure out just what the hell I was doing with my life. Normally I stayed close to shore, opting to float off near the diving dock before heading back to the beach. Today I kept going, as if I could swim myself to clarity.
But after a good ten minutes of paddling my frustrations out, I flipped onto my back, my hair spreading out like smoke behind my head. I waited for a sign, a loon to land gracefully beside me or howl mournfully. Something to tell me I was on the right path, to assure me of what happened next.
I’d checked all the boxes and done everything I thought I was supposed to do—in Boston, and here at camp. I was headed back home on the verge of professional rebirth, Amaya all but begging me to come and save the day.
Yet here I was, still drifting and unmoored.
34
I WASN’T SURE what I expected when I finally got back to Sunrise, but it definitely wasn’t Sam quietly making herself busy at the foot of my bed. She stood there, in all her tiny, steady, very pregnant glory, running her hand down the length of my sleeping bag, smoothing out the shimmery, wrinkled fabric.
She glanced up and acknowledged me without saying a word, despite me hovering nearby in dripping wet clothes.
“You don’t need to help me pack, you know,” I finally mumbled, not quite rising to the occasion. “It will take me like two seconds.”
“Oh, I know,” she said, the sleeping bag now tucked under her armpit. She shook out the bag it came in with a decisive thwack. “But I want to.”
“Where is everyone?” I asked, looking around the cabin as I toweled myself off.
“Cleaning up the dining hall.”
“I’ll go back and help after I pack,” I said, mentally calculating the time it would take me to drive home after I’d helped with cleanup.
“Don’t you have to get back to Boston?” she said, her voice deliberate and calm. But she wouldn’t meet my eyes, and I knew she was disappointed. “Seems like your boss needs you.”
“Oh, Sam. Fuck, I’m sorry. I know it’s shitty for me to leave early,” I said. “But this pitch is a huge deal for me.”
