“I guess I want her to be happy, whatever she decides,” she said. “I see both sides of the argument. She’s sentimental about the camp but she’s also a businesswoman. She’s lucky, though.”
“How so?”
“She can afford to be sentimental. This place is maybe 1 percent of her business revenue, so it doesn’t really matter. Besides, everything she owns is privately held. She’s the only one who cares about the P&L. She doesn’t have to justify her decisions to a board or investors or anyone else.”
“That’s a nice position to be in,” I agreed.
“She’s earned it.”
“She has.”
* * *
I pulled the door closed behind me and crossed to the occupied table. The patio and pool were deserted otherwise, which seemed odd. Then again, bedtime had taken almost an hour.
I bent and gave Christy a kiss.
“Any problems?” she asked.
“No.”
“What was the story tonight?”
“They’re moving to a new castle.”
“Ah. Of course.”
Carter poured me a glass of white wine. The kitchen had a full set of acrylic ones now, for use around the pool. He emptied the bottle and set it beside another on the table next to us. I didn’t see a full bottle, but I knew Carter, so he probably had it chilling in the clubhouse.
“What’s this about a new castle?” he asked.
“Princess time.” I sank into a chair and took a long drink. “Oh, wow, that’s good. What is it?”
“Orange muscat.”
It looked like a normal white wine, but he was right about the orange part. I took a smaller sip and raised the glass in thanks. Then I continued with my train of thought.
“Bedtime stories.”
“Technically, a single story,” Brooke corrected, and Christy nodded. “How long’ve you been telling it?”
“Since Emily was born,” I said. “So, four years.”
Carter’s blond eyebrows twitched with disbelief. “That long? The same story?”
“Yeah. The princesses go on adventures and solve problems. They make friends and learn things along the way.”
“Ah, right. It sounds like an allegory, life lessons.”
“More or less,” I agreed. “I want the girls to be decent human beings.”
“Hear, hear.”
“Anyway…” I looked around. “Where is everyone?”
“Where do you think?”
“Right. Off getting laid. Why aren’t we doing the same?”
“We were waiting for you.”
Nate had been silent to that point, but he took a sip of wine and gestured toward me with his glass.
“Gotcha,” I said. And since no one was around to overhear, I didn’t need to choose my words carefully. “So, what’s the plan? The usual? Paddles? Nipple clamps? A vibrator?”
“I’m getting predictable,” Carter chuckled. “No, I think we’ll try something new, especially since there are two of us.” He inclined his head to Nate, who nodded in reply. “It’s a surprise, my dear,” he added to Christy.
She practically vibrated with excitement.
“And what about me?” I wondered aloud. “Do I need to keep Brooke and Kim occupied? All by myself?”
Kim lowered her eyes, and her breathing quickened in anticipation. Brooke looked to Nate.
“I’ll help,” he said to me. “I’ll tie her up. Then you can have your way with her while I drift back and forth.”
I grinned and drawled, “Please, Br’er Fox, don’ fling me in that briar patch.”
“Right!” Carter laughed. Then he asked Kim, “Are you ready, hon?”
Nate touched Brooke’s hand, and she flushed with anticipation.
“All right, then,” I said. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
* * *
The picnic turned into a proper Fourth of July party, albeit a smaller one than in the days of my youth. The kids finished eating long before the rest of us, probably because they weren’t drinking. At least they entertained themselves with a raucous game of hide-and-seek.
The rest of us ate and drank and reminisced about summers past. The sun slowly bent toward the horizon, and a citrus glow crept into the sky from the west. The warm, heavy air buzzed with the sounds of the rural south.
Other people gathered on the grass as twilight settled over the camp. I recognized a few, but not many. Gunny was long gone, and his widow had moved away. Dwight and Karen were missing as well. So were Stan and Terri. They’d been yearly fixtures for as long as I could remember, but they must have moved on with their lives. The same with Kendall’s family, Manfred’s, and too many others to mention.
I was still thinking about it when Susan stood and moved to the center of the lawn. The crowd was small enough that we fell silent with only a little prompting.
“Thank you all for coming,” she began. “It’s almost dark, so I’ll keep this short. As most of you know, the camp has been in a slow decline for a while. Those of you who’ve been coming for years know what I mean. This used to be the biggest week of the year, with hundreds of visitors.”
I flashed back to magic shows, movie nights, games, contests, and more.
“We still have the fireworks,” she continued, “but not as many of those, either.”
I glanced at Gina and we shared a smile. We’d fallen in love under those fireworks.
“But you know what they say: all good things must end. And I can’t keep running the camp as a business unless it changes.” Susan sniffed and wiped her cheeks. “Sorry. I didn’t want to get emotional…”
She cleared her throat and continued in a stronger voice, “I thought about several options, but I don’t like any of them. In the end, I decided that I don’t care.”
The crowd stirred uneasily, and my eyebrows rose in puzzlement.
“I don’t care if the camp makes money,” she went on. “I don’t care if we have a thousand visitors a year or a hundred. I don’t care if I see new faces or the same ones. I love you all, and I don’t want to give this up.”
She wiped her cheeks again.
“Sorry,” she said after a moment. “I’ll hold it together.”
My mother handed a napkin to Laurie, who ran to Susan and gave it to her.
“See what I mean?” she laughed tearfully. “What would I do without you all?” She wiped her eyes. “My father told me not to go into politics,” she joked, “and now I know why.”
The crowd chuckled in sympathy.
“Anyway,” she said at last, “I think we have something special here, and I don’t want it to change. I’m going to keep the camp running. I don’t care what it costs. My accountant can deal with it.”
Part 5: Jul 1996 – Nov 1997
On Sunday we packed up and said goodbye to my parents and Susan, although it felt like we were saying goodbye to the Pines as well. Most of our friends had left, and the Retreat would soon be empty. The main camp was only a month or two away from becoming a ghost town as well.
Susan wasn’t going to reinvent the place as a resort for ecotourists and corporate events, but she didn’t have a plan for the future, either. Part of me was happy, because I wasn’t going to lose the camp of my youth. But another part was disappointed. The place would eventually become a curiosity, a hand-written letter in a world full of email. And I couldn’t imagine my daughters coming with their own children in twenty years.
Not surprisingly, I was in a melancholy mood as we climbed into our cars for the trip back to Atlanta. Tom had a radar detector, so he led the way in his Porsche. Mark followed in their SUV, while Trip and I brought up the rear in our rented minivans.
Christy read me perfectly and cheered me up in her usual way. She loaded an Alanis Morissette CD in the minivan’s player, and the girls joined in for an impromptu concert. They sang and danced in their seats, and their good mood was so contagious that I couldn’t help but smile. Christy loaded a mix CD next, one that Trip had made for her with the Cranberries, the Breeders, and No Doubt. Then we crossed into Georgia, and she put in a 10,000 Maniacs CD from MTV Unplugged.