by Stacy Monson
She nodded, the corners of her mouth lifting. “I hope so too.”
After dinner that evening, playing cards with the staff at the picnic table, Mikayla jumped when her back pocket buzzed. Having grown accustomed to the limited reception, it was a surprise to receive a call. She glanced at it and nearly returned it to her pocket, then answered. “Shouldn’t you be picking out his-and-her pillows or something?”
From Lindy’s end there was only sobbing.
“Lin? What’s wrong?” Plugging her ear, she hurried toward the lodge, where reception was the strongest. “Come on. Deep breath. If they spelled your name wrong on the napkins, I’ll call them and get it fixed.”
“N-no n-napkins.”
“They didn’t come? I’ll call them about that too. I’m your bulldog, Lindy. I’ll get it done.”
Lindy sighed so deeply Mikayla’s chest shuddered. “Take your time. A few more deep breaths. It’s nothing we can’t fix.” She passed Dawson as he emerged from his office. “My sister,” she mouthed at his raised eyebrow. He nodded and went outside.
“I n-needed to hear your v-voice,” Lindy managed.
“Here I am. Need me to keep talking for a bit?”
“No. I’m okay. I just…” A shaky sigh. “I got an email from Dad.”
Mikayla settled onto the leather couch and propped her feet on the log table. “Wow. He’s really improving on his tech skills.”
“It was meant for you.”
Her heart slammed against her ribs. “And?”
“I know why you left.”
Silence stretched over the mountains and across a thousand miles. “Oh, Lin. I’m sorry you learned it that way.”
“Our family is a mess.” Lindy gave an unladylike snort. “If it’s even a family.”
“I’m still working on that,” Mikayla admitted. “What did the email say?”
“Just enough that it made me think something big was going on. So I asked him and Mom at dinner last night.”
“Uh boy.”
“The restaurant got an earful of our family drama. Mickie, why didn’t you tell me?” The accusation pulsed with hurt.
“I wanted to so bad, but I felt the way you do now. I was either crying or yelling or throwing up the days before I left. And I didn’t want to ruin the wedding. I figured we’d talk about it afterwards.”
Sniffling silence then, “We aren’t getting married.”
“What?” Mikayla was on her feet. “You have to! This doesn’t affect you and Beau, Lindy.”
“Of course it does. He can’t marry someone who has no clue who she is!”
“Yes, he can.” She paced before the window. “And we know exactly who you are—someone perfect for him. And my best friend, and an amazing fashion director.”
“You know what I mean.”
She did. But she wasn’t about to marry a great guy. “Have you talked to him about it?”
“Not really. I was pretty incoherent last night.”
“Lin, don’t over-react to this.”
“Over-react?” she screeched.
Mikayla flinched. “Bad choice of words. I meant don’t throw your future away because of Mom and Dad. Talk to Beau. Let him be part of this. That’s what people who love each other do—they face the hard stuff together.” She sounded all wise and sisterly while she still floundered on her own journey. “Does Maggie know?”
“I don’t think so. I don’t know. What a mess.”
“Yeah.” Maybe they would have been better off not knowing the truth. She pinched the bridge of her nose. It would have come out eventually. “Lin, what we’re learning through this is the importance of being truthful, no matter how hard it is. You need to start your marriage with Beau that way. Don’t make any rash decisions. Let this sink in for a bit. Talk to him. I really think you can wait until after the wedding to decide what to do about it.”
“I don’t know.”
The defeat in her words sent a surge of heat through Mikayla. She continued pacing to keep from screaming in frustration. If their mother hadn’t gone to Aunt Cindy’s, this wouldn’t be happening. What was wrong with people? Couldn’t they see how their actions affected others?
Lindy sniffed. “You are coming home, right?”
“Of course, sillyhead. I promised, didn’t I?”
“Yes, but…”
“I know. Right now we’re not feeling too trusting toward other people. But, Lin, I promise I’ll always be honest with you.”
“Always?”
“Yup.”
“Even about my wedding dress?”
That was progress if she was talking about her dress. “It’s absolutely perfect for you. And it would look ridiculous on me.”
Lindy giggled. “What about the shoes I picked out for the bridesmaids? Do you like them?”
Mikayla rolled her eyes. “No. They’re too girlie for me. Will I wear them? Happily, because it will make you happy. But I can’t promise I’ll keep them on through the reception.”
“Don’t you dare wear your boots!”
“Fine.” She gave a noisy, dramatic sigh. “Not the boots but something more comfortable. I can promise I’ll do my best not to embarrass you.”
Their giggles faded into silence.
“Are you finding the answers you’re looking for out there?”
“Not many. More digging to do.”
The sniffling resumed. “We’ll still be sisters?”
“Forever and a day.” Mikayla closed her stinging eyes. “Up to now we’ve been stuck with each other. Now it’s our choice.”
“I like that.” She sighed. “But I’ll know it’s your choice for sure when I get a picture of you in our ugly sweater.”
“Argh!” Mikayla released a disgusted groan. “I hoped you forgot about it. Fine. I’ll send one tonight. If it shows up on social media, however, you’ll be fired as my sister. Now, you promise you’ll talk to Beau?”
“I promise.”
When they hung up, Mikayla stared blindly out the window. Such a mess her mother had created. Now that Lindy knew and was equally devastated, the anger ramped up. How could she ever forgive their mother? Did she even deserve forgiveness? She hadn’t seemed sorry in the least.
“Everything okay?” Dawson’s voice came from behind, and she turned.
“No,” she admitted, “but it will be. Someday.”
He studied her a moment. “I’ve been told I’m a good listener.”
She slid the phone into her pocket. “I would believe that.”
“How about a walk into town for one of Vi’s world-famous cookies?”
His hopeful smile lifted the cloud that formed during the call. Time outside would allow her to breathe again. “Sounds great. I’ll put on different shoes and meet you outside.”
He was a boss who cared about his staff. A lot like Ted. But she’d never considered Ted a friend. Dawson was already that. And way cuter.
~ 22 ~
“Welcome to Outlook True Adventure Camp!” Dawson stood on the picnic table before a mostly silent group of ten teenagers Sunday afternoon. “We’re glad you opted to spend a week with us when there are a million other things you could be doing.”
“Wasn’t a choice for some of us,” a boy behind Mikayla muttered. He stood alone, slouched in baggy jeans and a faded striped T-shirt, unruly blond hair over one eye.
Dawson continued his welcome, either unaware of or ignoring the comment. Mikayla moved to the side to study the kids with whom she’d be spending the next seven days. Six boys and four girls, all shapes, sizes, and attitudes.
Two of the girls stood close together, apparently already friends as they whispered back and forth. In fashionable boots, ratty jeans and crop tops, they were hardly ready to head up the mountain. The other two focused on Dawson, one biting her short nails while the other twirled a lock of curly brown hair. At least they were dressed more appropriately in jeans, tennies, and hooded sweatshirts.
She turned her attention back to D
awson, swallowing against the nauseating sense of being out of her element. What am I doing? If they’d only come for the camping experience, she’d be fine. But if they wanted answers to their faith questions, the week would fall flat for them and her. She didn’t want to disappoint Dawson or the kids, and she was bound to do both. She should ask Brenda to switch camps—
“The other half of the team is Mikayla Gordon.”
Dawson grinned down at her from his perch, hand extended. His wink set her feet in motion and she climbed up beside him.
“Mikayla is new to Outlook but not to the wilderness experience.” He turned toward her. “Give everybody a quick rundown on what you did before joining us here.”
Try to piece my life back together. Figure out who I am and what I’m supposed to be doing. “I’ve been camping since I could walk,” she said, “and fishing since I could hold one of those teeny plastic rod and reels.”
The girls smiled back at her.
“I’m from Minnesota where there are a gazillion trails and even more lakes. Great hunting, hiking, and tons of outdoor stuff to do.”
“What do you do in the winter in Minnie-sohta?” Dawson asked.
She punched his shoulder and the kids laughed. “Well, there really isn’t all that much to do except maybe camp, ice fish, hike, skate, ride snowmobiles, ski and snowboard, have snowball fights, build snowmen, play hockey or broomball—”
“Okay, okay,” he interrupted. “I’ve never been there, but obviously there’s plenty to do. You’ve done all of it?”
She tapped her chin with a forefinger, then nodded. “Yup.” She cocked her head. “Have you ever been ice fishing?”
“Can’t say that I have.”
“You haven’t truly fished until you’ve sat on an upside-down bucket on a frozen lake with a line dropped through a hole in the ice.”
He looked at the kids. “Not sure why anyone would think that’s fun, but I’d say that was a challenge, wouldn’t you?”
The boys cheered.
With a hand over his heart, he turned back to Mikayla. “I promise I’ll make time this winter to become a true fisherman and try ice fishing.” He gave an exaggerated shiver.
She folded her arms and nodded, enjoying their banter. “And I’ll hold you to it.”
“Do you do anything outside of all those activities?”
“For the past few years I’ve written a column for Outdoor Experience magazine, focusing on women in the outdoors. I was the only female on the writing staff.” Was. Still hard to comprehend that she’d walked away from the job. “And I’ve done lots of camping and trail guiding, like we’ll be doing this week.”
Dawson raised his eyebrows at the teens. “I think we’re all going to learn something from her. Okay, in a few minutes the camp bell is going to ring. That’s your signal to get washed up and head back to these tables. You’ve got ten minutes from the time the bell rings to when we eat. If you’re late, you eat after everyone else. No exceptions.
“For now, leave your gear on the flatbed. We’ll sort it out after lunch. Shower house, where you can wash up, is right over there.” He pointed, then glanced at his watch. “We have about twenty minutes before the bell. Explore the camp but stay on the property. Nobody goes off alone, or even in groups, without a staff person with you. Got it?” At the half-hearted response, he repeated loudly, “Got it?”
“Got it,” they called back.
“Good. See you back here after the bell.”
Mikayla jumped down and headed toward the girls. “Ladies, let’s get introduced since we’ll be rooming together this week.”
The two friends shared a look. “All of us?”
“Yup. Sharing a 6-person tent. So I’m Mikayla from Minnesota.” She looked at the taller of the two. “And you are?”
“Joy. And this is Heather.”
Mikayla smiled at the other girl. “I’ll bet Heather can speak for herself.”
She blushed and nodded. “I’m Heather.”
“You two came from…?”
“Denver,” they said in unison, then giggled.
The other girls, Britt and Tiffany, had come from Aurora and Colorado Springs. Mikayla continued the conversation as she led them on a tour of the camp. “I’m curious as to how you found Outlook.”
“Our youth pastor told us about it,” Joy said. “He knows that leader guy from somewhere. High school, maybe. I’m not really into camping, but it sounded cool. And the guys are cute. So is the leader.”
She and Heather giggled. Mikayla caught an eye roll from Britt and steered the conversation toward the tour. They’d covered the camp when the bell rang, and Mikayla pointed out the shower house before heading toward the lodge. She found Dawson standing at his desk, sorting through papers. His welcoming smile warmed her heart.
“How did it go with the girls?”
“Good, I think. Two are from Denver. Their youth pastor knows you. They’re more into boys than camping, so that’ll be interesting. The other girls found us online, looking for something like this. How about the guys?”
“Good group. Three have solid outdoor experience. We’ll have to keep an eye on the newbies. After lunch we’ll hit the first session about camp basics, get the tents set up, and then do the river hike.”
She nodded, anxious to get started. A rhythm would settle her nerves, as would getting back on the trail. “Let’s do this!”
On Day Three, Dawson and Pal led the kids up the mountain path, Mikayla following at the end of the line. The first two days of camp had been interesting. And exhausting. Since only about half of the teens had some semblance of camping experience, it hadn’t taken long for frustration to set in as they struggled to erect the tents. Once the girls’ tent was up, they’d crawled inside and collapsed while Mikayla sat outside and pondered the greater challenges awaiting them, and her ability to follow camp procedures.
Now heading toward the campsite, her spirits soared with the hawk overhead. Dawson’s program was impressive, every detail considered as the kids learned basic camping skills, and rules and procedures while getting to know each other. The initial awkwardness had been replaced by chatter, teasing and laughter that occasionally startled birds out of trees as the group climbed upward.
Lula had seemed fine being left at camp with Bruno and Rosie, probably due to the scraps she got from the kitchen. Strange how the absence of the itty-bitty dog felt more like a gaping hole. Pal trotted beside Dawson, eyes ahead, tongue lolling. His black coat shimmered in the sunlight, his piercing eyes intimidating. He was friendly with her and the kids, and devoted to Dawson.
Mikayla watched Dawson’s backpack at the front of the line swivel back and forth as he turned to chat with the kids directly behind him, then turned back to the path. He was comfortable in front of the group and focused when talking with just one or two. She had a lot to learn over the coming days if she wanted to create a similar program.
She shifted her backpack, aligning it with her shoulders. She’d never used a pack like this. It’s height and framework required concentration as she adjusted to the feel of it on her back. A smile touched her mouth as Dawson’s laugh floated from the front of the line. He’d laughed hard when she nearly tipped over the first time she tried the pack on. She’d repaid him during last night’s water fight.
At the halfway point, with the kids’ shoulders drooping and conversation muted, they settled in for lunch. As they ate, Dawson led a conversation about effort, focus, and determination that morphed into a discussion about faith. While most of the kids openly wrestled with understanding and raised more questions, Justin’s stubborn silence was a clear reminder he was there under protest.
Dawson pulled out his guitar and started a song that most of them seemed to know. Maybe something they sang with their youth groups? His warm voice was filled with an awe that brought tears to her eyes. The quiet melody stayed with her as they packed up the remains of their lunch. Light of the world, have mercy on us.
�
��Remember, LNT,” Dawson called, shrugging into his backpack.
Heather looked at Mikayla and whispered, “LNT?”
“Leave no trace,” she whispered back.
The girl rolled her eyes. “Duh. How could I forget that?”
Mikayla gave her a quick hug, then slid her backpack on. “Glad I remembered.” Dawson had drilled that message into them the past few days, along with plenty of other instructions. While most of it wasn’t new to her, Mikayla’s mind still swirled with information. No wonder the kids got confused.
Once they reached camp, setup went more smoothly than it had two days ago. Most of the kids were confident in their assignments and worked together with little disagreement. After the tents were up and secure, high fives were exchanged with laughter and compliments.
Mikayla watched Dawson joking with a few of the boys. She knew logistically how to lead groups, but she didn’t have the touch he had with the kids. Was it even something she could learn? He seemed to have an endless reservoir of patience and good humor, a quick wit that diffused frustration, and cheerful encouragement the kids soaked in.
He looked across the campsite and raised an eyebrow at her. Cheeks flaming, she shrugged and turned away. Nothing like getting caught gawking at the leader, by the leader. She had her own assignments to complete before the sun went down; there’d be time later to wonder how he did it.
Around the campfire that evening, Dawson taught several new songs, then shared his story, his expressive face accented by firelight.
“First time I came to Outlook, I thought it was a stupid idea.” He glanced at Justin. “But my mother and the juvenile court judge thought otherwise. I had no idea it would change my life.
“My dad was a mean, abusive man until the day he died. No one cried at his funeral.” He looked around the circle. “That’s a sad testimony to a life poorly lived. I’d cried plenty through the years, but by then I was just mad. At him. At the world. At my mom for not leaving him. And definitely at God. Mostly at God.”