The Summer Place

CHAPTER SIX



RICK PULLED HIS T-SHIRT OVER his head as soon as he walked into the cabin. He threw it and the folder over the end of the couch and marched straight to the kitchen for a bottle of water from the fridge, rubbing it across his chest and the back of his neck before opening it and downing its entire contents in a couple of swigs.

Damn! Summer Delaney had a knack for making him angry. The little spitfire seemed determined to make his time at Sunny Daze as miserable as possible. She’d gone to Charlie to complain about him, he was sure. What had he done this time to irritate her so? Well, whatever it was, at least she’d gotten her own ass chewed out, as well. He tossed the empty bottle into the trash can.

Speaking of ass-chewing... He pulled out his phone and punched his dad’s number.

“Nolan Warren speaking.”

“Hey, Dad.”

“Oh, hello, Rick. Thanks for calling back. From the sound of things, you had your hands full when I called earlier.”

“A skunk took perfect aim at one of the campers and me, and it’s been downhill since then.”

His dad gave a grunt of disapproval. “That is unfortunate indeed. But you’ve lived through worse.”

“Yes, sir. That I have.” He paused. Not one for idle chitchat—or idle anything—his dad wouldn’t have called for no reason. Rick was relatively sure he knew what it was.

“How are the nightmares?”

Yep, there it was. The inevitable discussion about his post-traumatic stress disorder that always left him feeling like he had a hideous flaw in his character. “Not nearly as aggravating as the girls’ head counselor I’m having to work with,” Rick answered. “Who happens to be the owners’ daughter,” he added in an effort to redirect the conversation.

“Yes, your mother said something about that.” His dad cleared his throat, the signal he really wasn’t interested and was getting down to the important business that warranted the call. “But I didn’t call to talk about trivial matters. I mentioned your continuing bouts with PTSD to Vance Leighton at the club last night. He told me about a therapy he’s had quite good success with. It’s called— Do you have a pen to write this down?”

“Yes, sir.” Rick walked over to the folder he’d dropped on the couch and flipped it open.

“It’s called EMDR. Eye movement desensitization and reprocessing. I’ve been reading about it on the internet, and I’m very impressed with the results I’m seeing. I want you to look into it. Paducah has a Dr. Enlow who’s trained in it.”

“I’ve got my hands pretty full right now, sir.”

“Bullshit. Twenty kids and a feisty woman does not add up to full hands. Get your priorities straight.”

“I have the information.” Therapy was a waste of time, and Rick wasn’t about to make a promise he wouldn’t keep.

Warren senior gave a long sigh. “I guess Luke told you he signed on for another tour of duty?”

“Yes, sir. I spoke with him a few days ago.” The idea of his little brother going to Syria made Rick’s skin crawl, but he didn’t bring that up. It was just one more thing he and his dad had opposing views on. “How’s Mom doing with it?”

“As always,” his dad answered crisply. “No news from Jack since we last reported to you.” Calls from the oldest Warren son in Lebanon were rare occurrences.

“Well, I have a few things to get done here, if there’s nothing else.” Rick stretched out on the couch, hoping for a few minutes to himself before quiet time was over.

“No, I’ve accomplished what I called for.”

“Give Mom a hug for me and tell her I’ll call this weekend.”

“Will do, son. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Dad.” Rick set the phone on the table and picked up the sheet of paper he’d written on.

EMDR.

He wadded up the paper and tossed it into the trash.

* * *

SUMMER HUNG UP THE PHONE after her conversation with Kate, satisfied that Fairy Princess Parties was in good hands.

Twenty minutes of quiet time remained, but the events of the day had her restless and edgy. Maybe a short walk in the woods would calm her down before the geocaching adventure, which was planned for the rest of the afternoon.

The path took her by the girls’ bunkhouse and, as she neared, screams and sounds of general chaos filled the air. She sprinted across the distance, bursting through the door, expecting to find a wild creature had made its way into the building. Surely, they couldn’t have two skunk episodes in one day.

A pillow smacked her upside the head as soon as she walked in the door. The girls were running amok, jumping on beds, over beds, slamming one another with pillows, squealing with laughter. The floor was littered with clothes, shoes, socks, books.

“Hey!” Her voice couldn’t make it over the din. She jerked the whistle out of her shirt and let go with an ear-piercing trill.

All activity in the room came to a stop as the girls turned their attention toward the sound. “This is supposed to be quiet time.” Jaws dropped and eyes grew wide at her harsh tone.

In the corner, Tara laid down the book she’d been reading and pulled the earbuds out of her ears.

“Get this place cleaned up. Now!” Summer cut a path through the debris back to Tara. The girls scurried to the task.

“What’s going on?” she asked under her breath as she neared Tara. “This is quiet time.”

Tara’s face filled with contrition. “I’m sorry. I thought quiet time was Rick’s idea, and you’d just want to use it as free time, you know, to allow the girls to do what they wanted.”

Summer looked at the mess around the room. For four days, she’d assumed the girls were napping, or at least resting. Instead, they’d been having a free-for-all? “Well, I don’t mind them having free time, but this looks like somebody could get hurt.”

Tara surveyed the room. “It has sort of escalated. The first two days it was just running around and talking. Getting to know one another. Yesterday, they started jumping on the beds a little. Today—” she waved a finger toward the strewn clothes “—it started out as a fashion show. ...”

“Well, no harm done, I guess.” Rick Warren’s comment about what she was teaching the girls ran through her thoughts. She tried to shrug off the ominous feeling in the pit of her stomach that he could be right. “But no more pillow fights,” she announced to the group. “Something will get broken or somebody will get hurt. Quiet time is to be quiet from now on. Got that?”

The girls nodded glumly as they folded clothes and put things away.

“Okay then, ladies, finish cleaning up this mess and line up so we can go for our geocaching adventure.” The girls stopped what they were doing and looked at her strangely.

“Line up?” Anne voiced the question they obviously were all thinking.

“You sound like Mr. Rick!” Becca laughed.

Oh, no, that was one comparison Summer wouldn’t allow to go any deeper.

Hopscotching her way back toward the door, she made a game of leaping over the items remaining on the floor. “The first person to get her area clean and neat and get in line gets to carry the GPS.” She held up the small, computerized compass containing the coordinates for the treasure they would seek today.

As the girls’ actions became frenzied, she exchanged smiles with Tara.

Even cleaning the dorm and lining up could be made into a fun game with the right incentive.

Rick Warren would never be able to get that through his handsome but thick head.

* * *

WHEN THE CHANGE HAD OCCURRED, Summer wasn’t entirely sure. Had it been subtle, or had she just not been paying close enough attention, too caught up in watching Rick and not paying enough attention to her own charges?

Earlier she’d tried to dismiss the tightening in her gut caused by the pillow fight, telling herself it was leftover anxiety from the scene with Rick and Charlie.

But the feeling had returned at dinner with more intensity. The girls had run into the dining hall, pushing and shoving and jockeying to be in the front of the line. The boys had entered quietly a few minutes later, removing their caps as they entered the building and staying in perfect order as they thanked Ginny.

Throughout dinner, the girls had laughed loudly, even emitting a couple of shrieks just before Tara brought the soon-to-be food fight under control before it started.

A hum of low modulated voices had surrounded the boys’ table—nothing notable that stood out or called attention to their area.

Now, sitting around the fire pit, listening to Rick tell the story of Perseus and Andromeda, she kept telling herself the girls were having fun and the boys were miserable, only the boys didn’t look miserable. The truth be told, everybody else seemed to be having a fantastic time. Why was she feeling so miserable?

“But Queen Cassiopeia—” Rick outlined the W-shaped constellation with his flashlight beam “—had angered the goddesses by bragging about how much more beautiful she was than they were. So as punishment, she spends part of every year sitting in her chair, but turned upside down so she’s on her head.”

The kids laughed and applauded Rick’s story. Teaching them Greek mythology and astronomy at the same time was a great idea. Summer wished she’d thought of it.

“Can we do this every night?” Lucy asked.

“Not every night,” Rick answered. “But we can do it several more times. There are a lot of stories up there in the night sky.”

Reggie raised his hand and Rick pointed to him. “Are we ever gonna get to have a campfire, Mr. Rick?”

Rick laughed and shrugged. “If we ever get a rain, it might cool things off enough to have a campfire. So far, the nights have been too hot and things are too dry to risk it. We’ll have to wait and see.”

“If we do get to have a fire, we’ll make s’mores,” Summer promised.

Ginny showed up with a large tray of the cookies the girls had made and announced, “Snack time.”

Summer watched, horrified, as the girls stampeded Ginny like a herd of wild elephants. They snatched and grabbed at cookies as though they hadn’t had a meal in days.

“Girls!” Summer shouted, but they were too busy shoving to be next in line to pay her much attention. She moved toward the horde. “Girls, mind your manners!”

A cookie got knocked out of someone’s hand, and it came hurtling toward Summer. She instinctively ducked and stumbled backward. Something hard caught her at midcalf, causing her to lose her balance. She fell backward and to the side, landing with a soft thud on her hip, directly in the middle of the cold fire pit.

Ashes billowed around her, filling her nostrils and sending her into coughing spasms. Her eyes and throat burned as the tiny flakes settled into every open orifice in her body.

As she scrambled to get up, strong hands caught under her arms and lifted her from the sooty debris, setting her on her feet.

“Sit down!” Rick bellowed, and the place came to an agitated silence around them. He swiveled her toward him. “Are you okay?”

Her eyes were too blurred to see his, but the tone was one she recognized. She’d heard it often from her dad—a mixture of anger and relief after what could have been a disaster. She nodded, unable to stop coughing long enough to answer.

He wrapped her fingers around a water bottle. “Rinse your mouth first a couple of times, and then try to drink.” Summer took a gulp. The cool water was welcomed.

“I’ve got eyewash in the first-aid kit.” Charlie’s voice faded in the distance.

With one hand enclosing hers and the other arm around her shoulder, Rick guided her out of the group. “You can spit behind this tree.”

She rinsed her mouth a couple of times, and after a few tentative sips assured her she wouldn’t get choked, she took a drink, and then another and another. The water calmed the irritation until she was able, at last, to croak out a “thanks.”

“No problem. I’ll help you to your cabin.”

The weight of Rick’s arm around her shoulders and the strong grip on her hand sent a familiar, pleasant sensation rippling through her. Letting her body associate that sensation with Rick Warren would be a major blunder. She practically jerked her hand from his grasp.

Her eyes still burned, but the tears began to cleanse away the debris enough to allow forms to take shape. “I can see well enough to make it by myself. Thanks.” His disgruntled sigh followed her as she stumbled toward her cabin.

Charlie met her at her door and followed her to the bathroom with the eyewash. “You know how to use this stuff?” She nodded and filled the cup with liquid, rinsing each eye repeatedly until her vision was, at last, restored enough to make her gasp at the hideous mess she saw in the mirror. Restored enough to see Charlie’s face contorted by worry.

“Quit worrying, Charlie. I’m fine.”

“I’m not worried about the ashes, sugar.” His mouth drooped farther at the corners.

“What, then?”

“Well, I’m not so sure this is gonna work out.” He lowered his voice, confiding in her. “I know how much you want the camp to continue.”

At last! When he’d yelled at the kids, Rick Warren had finally shown his true colors to everyone—including Charlie. Her heart leaped at the thought. “More than anything,” she said.

“You’re trying hard. I know you are.”

A bubble of pride swelled in her chest.

“But you just don’t seem to know how to keep the girls under control.”

“What?” Had she heard him correctly? Charlie was questioning her ability? The bubble burst and rushed out of her lungs.

“Rick got them under control, but he shouldn’t have to do that. They’re always running around, pushing and shoving and loud.” He waved his hand as his eyes skimmed her from top to bottom. “What if there’d been a fire in that pit?”

“But there wasn’t.”

“But what if there had been? We would’ve had a tragedy on our hands. One I never could’ve forgiven myself for.”

His words weighed down her heart, sinking it to the bottom of her stomach. “You’re right, Charlie. I’m sorry. I’ve been way too lax. It won’t happen again.”

“I don’t know, Summer. The children’s safety is at stake.” Charlie let out a deep breath and rubbed his hand down his face. “Your mom and dad are coming down Saturday. ...”

A surge of panic coursed down her spine. She’d promised herself no more strain on her dad because of her. “Please, Charlie. One more chance. I can do this. I know I can.”

“Nadine might still be willing. ...”

“No! Don’t call her yet. Please?” She laid a hand on his arm. “Give me tomorrow to try and make things right?”

Charlie’s chin wrinkled as his lips pressed together tightly. He shook his finger at her in warning. “Tomorrow. That’s it.”

Summer swallowed hard as she watched him leave.

Twenty-four hours to get the girls under control. That feat would take some real fairy princess magic.

* * *

“MMM. THESE COOKIES ARE fantastic.” The tension had finally left Rick’s jaws enough to let him take the first bite out of the cookie in his hand.

He shouldn’t have held on to Summer that way. His brain kept telling him to let go, but she felt so good that his arms wouldn’t obey. Obviously, it didn’t feel good to her. The way she’d jerked away...

“We put germs in them.” Lucy’s comment brought him back to the present.

Tara laughed. “Wheat germ,” she explained. “Summer’s fairy princess recipes are all made with organic ingredients. She teaches kids how to eat healthy at her parties.” She pointed to the tray, still piled high. “As cookies go, these are about as healthy as you can get.”

Rick took another bite, chewing carefully as he thought about what Tara just said.

“For the parties,” Tara continued, “she makes carrot cake and zucchini cake for the cupcakes. All organic, of course. And her brownie recipe even has broccoli in it, if you can imagine such a thing.”

The admiration in Tara’s voice flavored Rick’s next bite. He’d assumed Summer’s parties were just frivolous fun. He hadn’t considered there could be any meaningful agenda.

Could it be he’d underestimated her?

Maybe, but the revelation still didn’t take away his annoyance from their meeting that afternoon. Sure as hell, she’d gone to the office to talk to Charlie about him. One thing about her—she didn’t try to hide anything. She’d been quite blatant and unapologetic about her dislike for him.

“Can we play hide-and-seek?” Howie asked the same question every night.

Rick looked at his watch. They had about fifteen minutes to kill. “Yep. Tonight we have time for some hide-and-seek.”

“Yeah!” Howie pumped his fisted hand in a triumphant gesture. “The girls have to be ‘it’ this time.”

The girls huddled in a circle with their eyes closed as the boys scurried to hide.

Rick enjoyed a few more cookies while the kids played. When he saw Charlie veer off the path from Summer’s cabin toward his office, he hurried to catch up. “How’s Summer?”

“Oh, she’ll be fine...but I’m not sure I’ll be okay.” The grimace on Charlie’s face made the words seem painful.

“What do you mean?”

Charlie shook his head. “I’m not sure she’s cut out to do this kind of work, Rick. She doesn’t have any control over the girls. She lets ’em run wild, just like she’s always done.”

“She’s good with the kids, Charlie.” Rick could hardly believe those words came out of his mouth after the fast one she’d tried to pull this afternoon. But it was true. She was good with the kids—just not much of a disciplinarian. Maybe she could learn. “She has some great ideas and imaginative activities.”

Charlie peered at him through half-closed eyes as though he didn’t recognize who he was talking to.

“I believe I can help her in the discipline department.”

Charlie’s lips pulled into a wry half smile. “She doesn’t know the meaning of the word.”

“I’ll work with her.” Rick wasn’t sure why this was suddenly so important to him. Perhaps it was the challenge involved. Or maybe he wanted to believe that second chances made a difference. If he’d had a second chance with Dunk...

“I tell ya, Rick. I love Summer like a daughter, but I’m not sure Herschel and Agnes did her any favors supporting her every whim.” Charlie gave a sad shrug and continued on his way to his office.

Rick turned back to Summer’s cabin, trying to imagine the conversation that had just taken place inside those walls. What could he do to help her? Would she even accept any help he offered?

“We can’t find Howie.”

Rick’s attention snapped back at the sound of Neil’s voice. “All the rest of the boys have been found, but Howie’s still hiding, and it’s time to go in.”

Rick walked back to the circle. “Any of you guys see which direction Howie went?” All the heads shook in unison.

Rick felt a tug on his sleeve. He looked down into the large, brown eyes of M&M.

“Just call ‘Olly, Olly, in come free,’ Mr. Rick.”

The words drifted back to him from summer nights of his childhood. “Olly, Olly, in come free!” he called. “That means you win, Howie. Come on in.”

A delighted war whoop floated down from somewhere up above.

Rick felt his jaw drop as Howie came clambering down from the top of a nearby pine tree. He’d have to give the little twerp another lecture on safety.

And he’d have to convince Spitfire Summer to accept his help.

Of the two, the former sounded more doable.