Page 1 of Holding Ground

CHAPTER

ONE

Elliott

Roy

Did I already tell you the bunkie was rented out? Three months, starting tonight.

Why did I ever put him in charge of renting the bunkie on the back of my property? He always tells me late. I’m raising a kid here, all by myself. And three months? That’s an extended period of time to spend in Echo Lake, especially after tourist season.

I pocket my phone, staring down at my daughter.

Baylor watches the final vehicle pull away, eyes bright with tears. Gravel crunching under tires is a familiar sound after a summer of parents, campers, and counselors cycling through Anchor Point Camp. But when the season ends, there’s a particular finality to it—a quiet melancholy. One my five-year-old daughter is only just beginning to feel.

“Why do they have to go, Daddy?”

I bend down and scoop her up. “All the kids have to go back to school next week. Just like you.” I poke her tummy, and her big blue eyes alight with humor, blinking away the sadness.

She tilts her head. “Will I like kindergarten?”

“Of course you will. You’re going to meet all kinds of new friends, and you’ll get to do fun things all day. It will almost be like you’re in summer camp again.”

She gives me a skeptical look, and I bite back a laugh. “You said I’d like the dentist too.” Baylor’s face pinches in disgust.

A laugh escapes me. She complained about her visit to the dentist every day for a week afterward. I shudder to think how she’ll feel the inevitable day she gets her first cavity.

“C’mon, it wasn’t that bad.” I steer us toward the water.

“Daddy, she put this stuff in my mouth that tasted like mint. You know I hate mint!”

I rub her back. “I know, kiddo. You were very brave that day.”

“Obviously.” She gives me a look like, “duh.”

Thanks for that one, Ansel. I made some offhand comment to my brother last week, and he shot back with “Obviously,” in his sarcastic flair. Baylor has been deploying it ever since.

When we reach the edge of the dock, I set her down. “How about you help me carry these life jackets over to the storage shed, and then we can leave?”

There’s plenty of work still ahead to get the camp shut down before the hunters and snowmobilers start traveling into Maine to use it, most of which I’ll do in the coming weeks when Baylor is in school. Almost all the counselors are college kids who also returned to school this weekend, so I’m on my own. Though I’m not too proud to ask my siblings to help, like in the years past.

Baylor groans and rolls her head back, just like her mother used to.

I squash the thought of the woman the moment it surfaces.

“Tell you what. I have to go talk to Uncle Roy. How about you help me, and then we’ll take the boat into town? We can go to the café and grab you a steamer.”

Her eyes widen almost as much as her smile. “Really? Before dinner?”

Her strawberry-cream steamers are syrup-heavy enough that I usually save them for after dinner. “Special treat. It’s the last Friday before you start school.”

“Thank you, Daddy.” She wraps her tiny arms around my legs, squeezing tightly. Then, before I can say anything, she bolts for the pile of life jackets beside the dock. “C’mon, Daddy. Hurry.”

I follow, laughing. She’s more enthusiasm than muscle—I haul eight for every two she manages—but within ten minutes, the life jackets are stacked neatly in the storage shed.

“Can we get my drink now?” Baylor vibrates with so much impatience that you’d think she’d already ingested the steamer.

“Just let me double-check that all the cabins are locked first.”