“There’s some CITs out there,” Chad said. “Not to worry.”
“CITs aren’t counselors,” Jack said in his camp-director voice.
Rachel stood. She was wearing a simple black bathing suit, still sexy despite being a one-piece, and her hair was wild from the humidity.
“I can go out,” she said, seeming unfazed by Jack’s presence. “We were just discussing strategy for the boat race Saturday.”
“Strategy?” Jack smirked. “It’s a boat race. You’ve got your boats. You’ve got your start. You’ve got your finish.”
“Right, but…”
“Just get out there,” he said, nodding toward the water. Then he stayed standing at the edge of the dock and watched them approach an empty canoe on the shoreline. Rachel walked to the front of the boat and sat on the bench at the bow as Chad, ankle-deep in muddy water, pushed the boat out of the muck. She craned her neck toward Jack, briefly—had he been too much of an asshole just then?—and he began to nod in recognition of her, but as Chad lumbered in, she turned around and faced the water, picked up a paddle, and rowed.
—
Jack went to the staff lodge that night. Rachel shared a chair with Chad at the table nearest the AC, one butt cheek on him and her other leg dangling, her toes tapping the ground. They were giggling as Jack pulled up a chair, sat across from them, and began to shuffle the cards sitting on the table. Eight other counselors, guys and girls, sat at the round table.
“Five-card draw,” Jack said. “Who’s in?”
Both Rachel and Chad played. Jack won two of the four rounds. The first was a lucky hand. Chad won the second round only because he had somehow landed a full house; the guy had no poker face. The third, Jack stayed in, and everyone else backed down, and he collected without revealing his hand, nothing but a pair of threes. The fourth hand, only Rachel and Jack were left in a showdown. Her face stayed dispassionate as she placed her hand on the table faceup, showing a straight.
Jack had three kings. He’d thought he had her.
“Can’t win ’em all, Jack,” she said, and scooped up the chips.
“Good thing it’s not real money.” He winked, because even though they all kept tallies of their wins and losses, it was accepted knowledge that everyone went in on a staff party at the end of the summer and called it even.
“Good thing,” she said. She whispered something into Chad’s ear; he kissed her on the cheek, and she stood and waved to the group. “I’m going to bed, guys,” she said, and made toward the back door.
Usually she went back to her section with the other Hemlock counselors at the end of the night, then snuck down to Jack’s cabin after everyone was asleep.
He counted to thirty in his head. “Ya know what? I’m beat, kids.”
Outside, he caught her halfway up the hill and grabbed her elbow, entirely unconcerned with being seen. This was, he was learning, part of the fun of it—he felt like he was invincible, like he was getting away with it, over and over.
She started before she turned. “You scared me,” she said, eyes wide, then looked around. “Not a good idea for you to follow me.”
“We’re fine,” he said, gesturing at the dark, empty camp and then tracing his fingers down her arm. “I’ll see you later?”
She let out a loud yawn. “I’m exhausted, Jack.”
“We can just sleep if you want,” he said.
She shook her head. “I’m really not in the mood.”
“Of course,” he said, nodding emphatically. “Next time, then.”
She frowned; Jack couldn’t tell, as he searched her darkened face, whether she was regretting her answer just then or regretting that anything had happened at all.
—
And so she did not come to his bed that night or the next. By Saturday, the heat still had not broken.
At the boat race, Jack welcomed everyone, and then Chad set the ground rules (“No horseplay. No going past the buoys. No going before my whistle. No standing in the boats.”), and the kids went out in coed teams: a girl and a boy from the same section in each canoe.
Jack stood on the dock, wearing his Camp Marigold polo and cheering for the kids. Al Billings walked over and stood next to him.
“Some heat we had this week, huh, boss?” Al said.
“You’re tellin’ me.”
After they exchanged a few more pleasantries, Al lowered his voice. “I wanted to ask you—well, Lucy wanted to ask you, really—are you seeing anyone?” Lucy was Al’s wife.
Jack looked over Al’s shoulder—he hoped imperceptibly—at Rachel standing on the shoreline in her bathing suit and shorts, hands cupped around her mouth as she cheered on her girls.
“Well,” Jack said, “it’s complicated.”
“Recent breakup?”
“Not quite,” Jack said. “Just going through a rough patch.”
Al nodded. “A long time since I’ve been single,” he said. “But if you change your mind or things don’t work out, Lucy’s friend has a daughter, recent divorce. A bit younger than you. Very pretty.”
“Thanks, Al,” Jack said. “I think this is just a bump in the road.”
—
That night, Jack decided to get beer for everyone as a thank-you for doing what they could with the heat that week and for making the boat race happen without a hitch; it also might loosen things up between Rachel and him. He drove to the nearest gas station and picked up two cases of Natty Light. He didn’t care if it tasted like water; it reminded him of high school parties after football games and of the early nights of his and Laura’s marriage, when he would drink three, four, five while watching a game on TV in the basement, and she, pregnant and glowing, would lay her swollen feet on his lap.
“The party’s here,” Jack said, entering through the downstairs door, lifting one of the cases. The glistening teens and twentysomethings cheered from near the AC. It was like the first time he had come into the lodge during staff training, but then they were cheering just for him. Now it was for the beer. For a second, Jack felt like a corrupter, like a creep, but then he reminded himself: They’d be having fun anyway, without you. Jack caught Rachel’s eye, and she quickly turned her head. Chad, who had his hand on her waist, was looking in another direction.
This time they played Kings, which got everyone drunk fast. As Jack drank, he felt himself leaning too far across the table, talking too loudly, pointing fingers at people who weren’t drinking enough. He kept reaching into the case of beer next to him. Rachel sat across the table from him, drinking steadily. Her chair was next to Chad’s, and their knees were touching slightly, but she had a bored look about her and seemed moved by neither man’s presence.
She eventually got up without a word and walked to the bathroom down a darkened hallway off the downstairs room. Jack stood. “Gotta piss.” He caught the bathroom door before she closed it. He shut and locked it behind him, turned her around, and pinned her against it, thrusting his tongue into her mouth.