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I somehow manage to get my head on straight in time for my three Zoom interviews, two of which are with former Wild Lake counselors who’ve moved away.
The first, Alice Jenkins, is an immediate rehire. Not only did she work at Wild Lake when I was a kid, she put in another six years before moving to Ketchum to be closer to her adult children. Her excitement over the camp’s return is contagious, bolstering me enough to deal with the next two interviewees—both of whom spend most of the call bemoaning all the rules and regulations governing kids’ overnight camps and waxing poetic about the “good old days.”
I sign off the last interview and update my notes on the candidates, then make myself a quick sandwich for lunch. The urge to call Lucas is nigh overwhelming, but after finishing lunch, I force myself to pivot, grabbing my purse and making the short walk to Main Street Flowers to visit my parents.
I almost turn around when I see Jen chatting with Darla Templeton outside the shop, Hercules the Pomeranian murdering a chew toy at their feet. Instead, I picture Zoey’s face and hear her voice saying, “Fuck the Lilac Ladies.”
“Hi, Jen, Darla,” I say as I pass the point of no return. I’m smiling so hard my face hurts.
Darla purses her lips, squinting at me like I’ve been body snatched. I wonder what she sees—if it’s the post-orgasm glow to my skin or the shadow of impending doom hanging just outside it. Somehow, I imagine she sees the latter. Negativity is her worldview, after all.
Jen grins and gives me a hug. “Celeste! I wasn’t expecting you. What brings you by?” Her face turns toward my ear and she whispers, “Save me.”
By the time she pulls away, I’m ready. Adopting an air of gravitas, I ask, “Did you forget? We’re supposed to go over the new ordering software.”
Jen grabs her face. “Ohmygosh, I totally forgot!”
She won’t win an Academy Award, but it does the trick.
Darla sniffs. “I’ll let you working girls get back to it. Come, Hercules.”
Jen and I watch her sashay away in her orthopedic sandals.
“Thanks,” Jen says, sighing. “I know she’s lonely, and I usually don’t mind chatting with her, but she was extra today, going on and on about how the town is changing and selling out.”
“She’s been saying that for twenty years—about the same amount of time she’s been slipping the ‘working girl’ comment into conversations with any woman who earns a paycheck.”
Jen laughs. “She’s such a trip. So, what are you actually doing here? Your parents are at lunch.” She glances at her watch. “They said they’d be a few hours.”
My brows lift. “A few hours?”
She nods in agreement with my surprised tone. “I know, right? I’m proud of them. I hope they’re napping or?—”
“Don’t say it,” I warn, aghast.
She laughs. “I won’t. By the way, you look amazing today. Did you do something different with your hair?”
My face heats. Even my eyeballs feel warm. “Uh, no. But thanks.”
I have a vivid flashback of Lucas pulling out of me, hissing as he tucked himself back in his pants. A move as blisteringly hot as it was aggravating.
“Oh, did you think you deserved what you wanted today?”
To punish me for ignoring him, he punished himself.
Did he know that doing that would knock my head sideways?
Probably.
Did I like it?
Unfortunately, yes.
God help me, I loved it.
35
After chatting with Jen a few more minutes, curiosity gets the better of me. I say goodbye and walk to my parents’ house, sending my mom a text on the way so they can put on clothes if necessary.
