Page 42 of Camp Bliss
“What day is it today?
Shit. Did I really just say that?
But, seriously, what day is it?
“It’s Friday, Mr. Rousseau.” And, again, she deserves a raise because she doesn’t sound at all disgusted with having to tell me what day of the week it is.
My throat is dry. I try to swallow. “Freeze it.”
It takes longer than it should, but before I end the call with First Horizon, my lawyer brain finally takes over. Blame it on the shock. Blame it on the unbelievable mind fuck of all of this.
But I challenge anyone to think rationally after learning their best friend stole almost half a million dollars from them.
Once I do start thinking like a lawyer, I’m relieved I’ve kept my license to practice up to date in Louisiana. Because even though I won’t be able to do anything official until Monday, I can change our LLC that soon.
Or file for bankruptcy.
And I think I’d rather do that than what I have to do next.
Because it’s so, so much worse.
I have to tell Greta.
And I think I’d rather have my balls shoved up my own ass.
When I stand up from my desk, the need to stretch is almost feral. My back pops in at least three places. A glance at my watch shows it's now after eight.
Can this awful news wait until morning?
If it were me, I’d want it all. To know the worst as soon as possible.
But after the day she’s had? She’s physically spent. She’s emotionally wrecked. And how she threw me out of her cabin so she could fall apart by herself?
What am I supposed to do? Go knock on her door and basically kick her while she’s down?
No.
I can’t do it.
Instead, I pace the length of my cabin, which is too small to do any good. So I step out into the nightfall. The humidity and the screaming of cicadas stop me in my tracks. Fireflies spark and vanish in the pine shadows. The indigo sky is cottony with clouds, but a rising three-quarter moon spills its waxy glow over the woods. I draw in a slow breath, inhaling the earthy perfume.
I let the night overwhelm my senses. And I remember.
There’s more to my life than the current shitshow.
Thisis why I am here.
To feel what I feel when I’m hiking. Camping. Paddleboarding. To feel alive and connected and at one with the rest of life.
Not like I’ve cut myself off from air. From blood. From myself.
It’s what all of us wanted. Even Josh.
Especially Josh.
It’s why we set out to do this in the first place. To give kids a chance to experience nature in a way that’s all too rare these days. To remind adults that life is more than just a corporate race to the grave.
To heal them.
