Teddy
I didn’t see Gretchen again until after dinner the next day. She hadn’t been in the dining hall for dinner, which was unusual. But then, it was Saturday. Jack had driven to the nearest town for “an injection of life,” which was amusing because he was always talking about how he hated noise and needed silence to write. Maiv hadn’t been at dinner, either, so probably she and Gretchen were off doing something. The two of them seemed to have really hit it off.
I was sitting on my porch enjoying an after-dinner drink when I heard them. You couldn’tnothear them—they were laughing maniacally as they approached in a paddleboat.
“Land ho!” Gretchen called as they aimed for the dock. I wasn’t sure what their problem was, as there were two of them, so the boat wasn’t unbalanced, as it had been last time Gretchen had returned home via nautical means. But they were coming in at a bad angle all the same.
I got up and jogged out to meet them. “Slow down,” I called, which only sent them into further fits of laughter. Eventually I got them to throw me the rope, and I tied up the boat andhelped them disembark. I headed back to my porch but kept an eye on them as they lingered on the dock. I wanted to make sure they didn’t fall in the water, as I suspected they’d had quite a bit of fun this evening. They were talking aboutLittle Women. It sounded like Gretchen had gotten Maiv to agree to help with the sets. Damn. The counselors were in charge of the end-of-camp performances, so I hadn’t concerned myself with what the music kids were doing. What could they really do besides play some music, recital style? But it was sounding like we might all be shown up byLittle Women, but with dancing.
Not that I cared.
I cared about writing my songs.
Which did not explain why I hadn’t even bothered to bring my guitar out here with me this evening.
Eventually the women hugged and parted ways. Gretchen approached—she had to pass my cabin in order to get to hers. She tripped as she stepped from the sand of the beach to the dirt of the path, and I instinctively stood and moved toward her.
“I’m OK!” she shouted. “I’m OK! I’m OK!”
“Say it like you mean it,” I said.
“Sorry.” She winced. “I’m having some trouble with volume control.” She stage-whispered, “I am a little bit drunk.”
“So I gathered.”
“What’s that?” she asked, pointing to my glass.
“Bourbon.”
“Can I have some?”
“Is that a good idea?”
“Meaning what? It’s not seemly for a woman to drink too much? Bourbon’s not a girly drink? It’s acceptable for you to drink but not me? It’s—”
“OK, OK.” I was already on my feet. “Sit. I’ll be right back.”
I came back with her drink and a bag of almonds I’d gotten from the camp store. “You want something to eat?”
“Oh, yes. I surely do.” She took a sip of her drink and promptly started coughing. I refrained from saying anything as I sat. I only had the glider, so I was stuck sitting next to her. She’d sat on her towel, but she didn’t have it wrapped around her, so my denim-clad thigh was an inch from her naked one. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on her thigh; you could see the outlines of the muscles beneath the skin.
She blew out a long, theatrical breath, interrupting my thigh-gazing. “What a week. I’m exhausted.”
I could see why. I was tired, and from what I could tell, in addition to her discipline being inherently more physically demanding than mine, Gretchen had spent the week running around being an unpaid camp counselor. I would say she was putting the rest of us to shame, but since I had none, it didn’t bother me.
She did look tired, though. Even in the golden-hour light this place was so good at, she had dark circles under her eyes. “Have you been… dancing a lot this week?”
What a stupid question. Of course she’d been dancing a lot. She was a dancer. I’d been thinking back to her intro speech about how she didn’t have an artistic goal for her time here. I’d found it refreshingly honest. Also, I was dying to know what the “personal goals” she’d referenced were. The “reset” she’d said she needed.
“Not really,” she said. “I haven’t been dancing as much as I would in a normal week of teaching at my studio.”
Hell, I was going to just ask her. She might even tell me, if she was a loose-lipped drunk. “Why so tired, then? Those secret personal goals of yours wearing you out?”
She looked at me for a really long time. So long I was sure she wasn’t going to answer. OK, so not a chatty drunk.
“My personal goals are not really the kind that I have to work on. Just… being here… achieves them.”
Well, damn, color me intrigued. The Sourplum Fairy had put a spell on me. But how could I get her to say more without looking like an idiot?
