Page 141 of Until Next Summer

“And now?”

I lean back on my hands, gazing up at the starry sky. “This past year has pushed me to create a life that’s bigger than this camp. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I hope we can run this place until we die—”

“You’re gonna croak out there in the middle of the lake one morning in your canoe when you’re ninety-eight years old,” Hillary says, pointing across the water.

“You’ll probably die in that Arts and Crafts cabin making friendship bracelets,” I say, laughing. “However. Even with our co-op going strong now, there’s no guarantee it’ll last forever.”

“True.”

“But if this camp has to close someday, it won’t feel like I’m losingeverythingI love.” I shrug. “I know that I can still have a full, rich, beautiful life.”

“I feel the same way,” Hillary says, smiling. “But I have faith in us. I think we’re going to be doing this for a long, long time.”

She leans her head on my shoulder, and I rest my cheek on the top of her head, the same position we’ve sat in since we were children. Our feet dangle in the cool water as we stare across the shimmering moonlit surface, our summers to come stretching out in front of us. And I’m filled with an overwhelming assurance that this is just the beginning, that we’ll be sitting exactly like this, right here, next summer—and the next, and the next.

Together.