I circle his wrists with my hands. “I’m, uh, not so sure I’m ready for that.”
“To share a bed?” His eyebrow pops up.
“I told you it would be a while.”
“But we can’t share a bed?” He pulls me closer. “I love lying next to you.” He gently kisses my jaw. “We’ve already spent the night together.”
“I love lying in bed with you too…but it’s not right for me…yet.”
His body stiffens. He pulls away. “Am I not any good?”
“What?” I ask, furrowing my eyebrows.
“In bed,” he whispers. “Am I not any good…?” His voice cracks.
“It’s not that, Ma—”
“What is it then?”
“I just can’t hook up.”
His hands tighten around my waist; he studies my eyes. “Is this because of Emily? You think you might get pregnant or something? I would never let that happen.”
“It’s not about that! It’s about me not wanting to do this yet.”
His eyes go glossy. “Will you ever want to?”
“I’m not sure…”
“I’m not saying I want to sleep with you tonight, but it is something I want to talk about.”
I clasp his wrists. “I need time—”
He drops his chin. “That’s what Sarah said. And then she left.”
“I’m not her—”
“Why won’t you spend the night with me? We don’t have to have sex. I just want to be with you.”
“I want to be with you too.” I rub my cheek.
His expression suddenly changes. “I don’t want camp to end,” he says. “What if things aren’t the same with us?”
I grab his hip. “They will be—I love you.”
“I love you too.”
We listen to Carlie and Ian screeching and laughing. Then they slip away into the night, probably to fool around behind the cafeteria. Parker and Will are kissing like the world will end in five minutes.
I turn over and fluff my pillow, trying to ignore the disappointment I feel flowing from Matt. It would be so easy to give him all of me, and I know we’d both be thrilled and happy.
Free will comes with sacrifice. And sometimes with heartache.
Jesus sacrificed his entire life for us, but you don’t see Him complaining.
The next morning, I go to the Woodsong Chapel one last time. At the beginning of the summer, I wondered if I could still love this place without Emily. I can’t love it like I did when she was around, but I love it in a different way. A new way. I sit there on a log bench, thinking of Matt and enjoying the trees and the sounds of animals and rushing water, before walking back to Great Oak.
I’m signing for my final paycheck when Megan stares me down, as if wanting to ask a question. “Take a seat,” she says, gesturing at the chair across from her.
I suck on my bottom lip, waiting for her to speak.
“Are you going to reapply for a job here next summer?” she asks.
I hadn’t really thought about it. I mean, I’m still trying to decide on a major. “Maybe,” I say. “I’m not sure yet.”
She swings her whistle around a finger. “Maybe you should consider not reapplying. I’m not sure you’re right for this kind of work.”
My mouth drops open. “Really? Why?”
She pulls a piece of paper from her clipboard and examines it. “You had problems starting fires and occasionally did things I asked you not to. You didn’t have the best discretion in front of the campers. I heard rumors you sleep with Matt in the big field.” She taps her whistle on her desk.
I duck my head. Yeah, some of that’s true. But what about all the good I did?
“I worked hard this summer. I can start fires and I’m great at trailblazing and I know about nature and I can pick up crawdaddies now. The campers loved my arts and crafts lessons. I’ve gotten really good at this job.”
“You came to camp on a Sunday morning, when you shouldn’t have been here. What if you’d had an accident? The regional conference doesn’t have insurance for employees on weekends. You could have ruined my career!” Megan goes all red.
“I apologized for that,” I say, wanting to tell her I never broke that rule.
I became a great counselor this summer. Megan can believe whatever she wants. For whatever reason she wants. Parker was right when she said Megan is an OCD perfectionist, and if this is the way she wants to run camp? Fine. There’s more than one way to do things and still end up with a great result. It’s not one way or the highway.
“I’ll apply for the job if I want to apply for the job.” I swallow hard, feeling seven weeks of fury leaking out of me. “I’ll tell the regional conference that I did a great job this summer. I learned a lot. I hope they’ll give me a fair shot.”
She twirls her whistle, as if she’s bored. “I am recommending that you not be rehired. Good luck.”
For a brief moment, I worry that my church will find out. But then I shake those thoughts out of my head. I don’t care.
I fold my paycheck and slip it into my back pocket. “Bye.”
I turn and march out of the cabin and up the path toward my car.
I don’t care what she believes. I know what I know. I lied to save Brad, and I’d do it again to keep him away from a drunk parent. If it costs me a job, so be it. Breaking the rules was worth it to help Brad start his new life.
It’s like with art. You can’t tell someone how to do it, or it’s not her art. You can’t tell someone else how to believe.
It’s up to God to judge, and for me to help the people I love the best I can.
At home, I pull on my sneakers and knee brace and fly out my front door, sprinting as fast as I can. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, but the hurt makes the pain stop. I run around the block fourteen times, then go back home and collapse on my bed.
The moment I hit my pillow, tears burn my eyes.