by Stacy Monson
She sat in stunned silence. Her blog brought the proposal back to life? Ted had seen it? The board had seen it?
“Once most of them read it and saw the comments and the interest, they got a better sense of the potential market. They’ve asked for clarification on some parts and shown great interest overall. So that brings us to the main question—are you still interested?”
“Well, I…” Was she? Why wasn’t she dancing through the lodge? “Of course I am, but there’s so much going on right now, I don’t know how we’d pull it off.”
“You had mentioned your sister’s wedding in September. Are you planning to come home for that? Unless you’re already back?”
“I’ll be leaving here on September fifth. The wedding is on the twentieth.”
“How about we meet after the big event and get caught up. We can talk about next steps at that point. Long overdue changes have begun at the magazine, some of which were triggered by your proposal and the Hiker Girl blog. I think it’s great timing. What do you think?”
Activity humming around her, she tried to focus on what he was saying.
She’d spent many nights in the tent on the mountain thinking about starting her own camp, even using the proposal idea as marketing. But it would take time to get it up and running—create a business plan, find a location, raise the funding, hire staff. In the meantime, this could be the answer to get in position. She’d make new contacts, rebuild her savings, and develop a plan.
“Mikayla? Did I lose you?”
“Sorry, no. I’m still here. This is just…wow.”
“I know the initial rejection was hard on you, and you’ve been traveling all summer, but I’m hoping this is still on your radar. I think there’s a lot in our favor since they’re coming back to us. You hold the power at this point.”
She smiled sadly. He had no clue how much she’d changed since she left the magazine. “I’m still interested,” she said, “but I really just want to make sure it’s done right.”
“And that’s where holding the reins will make all the difference. Let’s plan on meeting after the wedding. Give me a call when you’re ready, and we’ll get lunch on the calendar.”
“Sounds good. I’m sorry if I’m sounding confused, but this was not at all what I was expecting.”
“I figured that. Mikayla, I’d love to work with you again. You’re a terrific writer, and one of the best photojournalists I know. You’ve got a bright future, and I’d like it to be at Outdoor Experience.”
His praise warmed her. “Thanks, Ted. I’ve always valued our relationship. Thanks for the call. I’ll be in touch when I get back.”
With the phone back in her pocket, she sat quietly. Did he really offer her another stab at the women’s mag? Did she want it? With sudden, unexpected clarity, she knew who she needed to talk to.
“Brenda,” she called across the room. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
When Brenda gave a thumbs up, Mikayla signed out a walkie and went to her room for her backpack and hiking boots. Back outside, she whistled for Lula, who dashed around the shower house. “Let’s go for a walk, Lu. I’ve got some thinking to do.”
Minutes later they reached the clearing. Lula explored while Mikayla settled on the log, backpack beside her. This had become her place to think, wonder, question. To listen to the mountains sing over and around her. And now to pray. Heart hammering against her ribs, she swallowed hard and lifted her face.
“God?” Pathetic start. She cleared her throat. “It’s me, Mikayla. I know you know that but…I don’t know how to do this. So I’ll just talk for a while, and then if you have anything to say you can, you know, say it.”
Rolling her eyes, she plunged on. “As you know, I came out west ready to blast Kenny to pieces, and we know how that played out. But when I look back, I realize it wouldn’t have solved anything, would it?”
The hammering slowed. “I’m mad I didn’t get to meet him, but since that can’t be changed, maybe you can help me let go and move on? I’m so tired of thinking about him.”
Lula hopped onto the log beside her and licked her hand. A half-smile touched her mouth. “Thanks for the perfect little companion for this journey.” She picked her up and cuddled her close. “She was just what I needed. It’s going to be hard to give her back.”
In the peaceful silence, the last of her fear slid away. She couldn’t be sure God was listening, but there was a sensation deep inside that she wasn’t alone. A warmth had grown as she shared her thoughts and struggles, and now it gently cradled her heart.
“Thank you for introducing me to Dawson. He’s amazing, as you know,” she added with a short laugh, “and I’m so grateful to have spent this summer with him. He’s doing such great work here. Keep him safe and make the camp really profitable so it can keep impacting kids.
“I know I have to talk to him about Kenny being Walt. Give me the right words and attitude. Don’t let me lose my temper.” She swallowed against long fingers of loneliness that tightened around her throat. “I’m so going to miss him,” she added softly.
“Ted called, but I guess you know that too. What do I do about the proposal? Now there are other things I want to focus on, like the girls’ camp. But I don’t have a clue how to do that. Could you maybe show me somehow if I should go back to work with Ted? I don’t want to lose a great opportunity if the girls’ camp is just a pipe dream. I don’t know how you talk to people, but Dawson says you do, so if you could let me know what to do, I’d appreciate it. And…things are a mess with my family. Could you show me what to do about that too?”
She ducked her head slightly. “Sorry if I’m asking too much or not doing it right. Mostly, I’m just thankful you brought me out here. I really want to come back someday.” A tear spilled over, and she pressed a hand against her heart. “When I leave, I hope I can feel you with me at home as much as I do now. Sorry I’ve been so slow in knowing that you’re, you know. God.”
With Lula sprawled across her lap, she sat quietly enjoying the simplicity of just being with God in His creation. Life would straighten out. She knew that without words. Dawson was right. Talking to God wasn’t all that scary.
~ 31 ~
Saturday morning sunshine bathed the camp in sparkling splendor as final touches were put in place. Mikayla glimpsed Dawson at his desk, feet propped, intently reading something.
“His speech for the dedication,” Brenda explained over coffee. “He’s been working on it for the past month, at least. It means a lot to him that people know who Walt really was.”
Mikayla nodded. Old Joe would have plenty to say on that subject. She could add a few things as well. She swirled the dark liquid in her cup. But what would be the point? It would end up hurting people who didn’t deserve it, who’d had a good relationship with him. Like Dawson, Brenda, and the rest of the team.
“Dawson has told me a little about him.” He’d no doubt tell more when he finally admitted he’d known Walt was Kenny.
Brenda sipped her coffee. “They were good for each other. Walt was the dad Dawson needed, and Daws was the kid Walt never got to have.”
Guess it never occurred to Walt he might actually have a child somewhere after his exploits.
“It was fun watching them together.” Brenda smiled absently. “Sometimes they bickered like an old married couple, but most of the time they thought the other hung the moon. It was actually pretty sweet.”
“It must have been awful for Dawson when he died.”
“He was absolutely devastated. We all knew Walt was really sick, but he suddenly went downhill. Nobody was prepared for him to die then, especially Daws. After the funeral, he took off for a few weeks, just traveling around. I was relieved when he came back,” she added. “I wasn’t sure he would. I think Daws thought the camp would be owned by a trust or something, so he was stunned to find out he was the new owner. It meant the world to him—that Walt believed in him so much, he entrusted the camp to him.”
; Mikayla blinked away moisture. As she’d learned from Old Joe, Kenny was a complicated, multi-dimensional guy.
“It’s been a process for Dawson to come back to life, but this summer has been good for him.” An eyebrow lifted as she looked at Mikayla. “He thought you were the greatest find ever. Not sure what that says about the rest of us.”
They shared a laugh. “It says he was super desperate when I came along.”
“Well, there’s that,” Brenda acknowledged, “but not just to fill a slot. Anyway, let’s get the rest of the flowers on the tables. Then I think we’re ready to party.”
Within the hour, guests began filling the festive grounds. Mikayla stayed in the lodge to help Rosie and the caterers. Dawson stepped into the kitchen looking adorably nervous in clean jeans, a cotton shirt and a sporty vest.
“I can’t thank both of you enough for doing this.”
Mikayla nodded before turning her attention back to the cookie trays she was filling.
Rosie hugged him, her smile broad. “We’re happy to do it, aren’t we, Mikayla?”
“Definitely.”
As the tiny woman bustled out of the kitchen, Dawson stood quietly, hands stuffed in his pockets. “Kayla, when the party’s over, there are some things we need to talk about.”
“Yes, there are.”
His eyebrows leaped up, and she forced a weak smile. “Like how you’ll never find someone so amazing to replace me.”
“That,” he agreed, “but some other things I’ve been meaning to talk to you about. Tonight let’s go for a walk, okay?”
“Sure, if you’re not wiped out.” She kept her tone light. “We can play it by ear.”
“I won’t be—”
“Hey, boss.” Rob stuck his head into the kitchen. “Need you out front. Lots of people are arriving.”
Dawson lifted a hand in acknowledgement, still holding her gaze. “Tonight.”
As the doors swung behind him, Mikayla released the breath she’d held and closed her eyes. She’d have to get her thoughts in order before the party ended. It would undoubtedly be their last walk once she’d had her say. The anger had faded since her visit with Old Joe, leaving behind a pool of sadness and regret.
The Founder’s Day Celebration was a huge success if attendance was any indication. Mikayla swiped her forehead as she stirred the umpteenth batch of lemonade, then poured it into a bright orange thermal beverage container. One of the hired catering staff swept into the kitchen, set an empty container on the counter and collected the filled one, then disappeared through the swinging doors.
“Thirsty group,” Rosie commented from her spot slicing vegetables.
“That’s for sure.” Mikayla turned to look across the kitchen, rolling her head to ease the knots in her shoulders. “How many RSVP’d?”
“About two-fifty. Seems we have lots of walk-ins. But that’s fine,” she added with a warm smile. “It’s good for Dawson to see the impact our camp has had on people. He works so hard. Always trying to live up to what he thinks were Walter’s standards.”
Walter had standards? Interesting concept. Mikayla wiped down her area. “Dawson works harder than anyone I know,” she said. She’d never met anyone more dedicated to improving the lives of others on a daily basis. He was the standard she’d use to create her own camp. Definitely not Kenny’s. “And he’s developed an amazing staff too.”
“You were a God-send for him.”
Mikayla moved to the sink and rinsed out her rag, glancing sideways at her. “I’d hardly say that, but it worked out for all of us. I’ve so enjoyed my time here.”
“You have to leave?”
“My sister’s wedding is September 20th, and there’s a possibility of going back to my former job.” Back at her counter, she started a new batch of lemonade. “Plus there’s unfinished business that needs attention.”
“I see. We will miss you.”
Mikayla tossed a smile over her shoulder, then started slicing lemons. Her family was unfinished business. Relationships that needed to be repaired, or perhaps started fresh. None of them could go back to the way life was before her collapse.
“Mikayla!” Brenda’s voice slid between the swinging doors before she did. “Rosie, come out here. They’re going to unveil the statue.”
There was nothing Mikayla wanted to do less than see Kenny presented as a permanent paragon of virtue. “Rosie, you knew him, so you go. I’ll keep working in here.”
“Both of you,” Brenda insisted. “It’ll just take a couple minutes, and we have plenty of food out right now.” She flung an arm around Mikayla and propelled her toward the door. “Come on, slow poke.”
“Okay, okay.” Mikayla stopped. “Can I at least take my apron off?” She flung it on the counter and looked back to make sure Rosie was following.
As they stepped out onto the deck, the fresh, cool air was a pleasant shock after the warmth of the bustling kitchen. Mikayla paused to pull in a deep breath, then stumbled down the steps when Brenda pulled her arm.
“Brenda, what—”
“Dawson wants the whole team up front.”
“No!” She yanked away and planted her feet. There was no way she would be on that stage. People nearby looked toward them, so she lowered her voice. “I didn’t know him, and I don’t need to be up front,” she hissed.
Brenda turned back, wide-eyed. “What? It’s not a request, girlfriend. The boss wants us up there with him.”
Panic-laced anger clenched her jaw as she shook her head. “You tell your boss I’m busy in the kitchen. I am not going up there.”
“What is wrong with you?”
“So if we could get all of the Outlook staff up here.” Dawson’s voice rang out over the crowd. On a small stage, he stood with a microphone in hand beside the canvas-covered statue. “Rob, Kyle.” He called their names, including Rosie’s. And hers.
“Go up there.” She pushed Brenda forward, then retreated to the porch and stood as close to the pillar as she could without blatantly hiding. She wouldn’t go up front, but she was curious to see the statue.
Brenda reached Dawson’s side on the simple stage and whispered to him as the rest of the staff filled in behind them. Frowning, he searched the throng until his gaze found her where she stood on the porch, arms folded in defiance. For a long moment, they stared at each other, then his shoulders dropped and he looked away. After a moment, he turned his attention to the crowd.
“So, this is a big moment for us at Outlook, to take time to honor the guy who had the vision and determination to make this place happen.” He glanced toward her. “Walt was insistent he didn’t want the camp named after him. He even said if we changed the name after he died, he’d come back and haunt us until we changed it back. His photo is in the dictionary next to the word stubborn.”
Laughter rolled through the crowd.
“After he died, we discussed how best to honor him, and finally decided on a larger-than-life statue to welcome everyone here because Walter Smith was larger-than-life to many of us.”
But not everyone.
“This statue was created by a local wood carver who knew Walt well. Steve, come over here and say a few words. Everyone, Steve Roberts.”
As the audience applauded, a lanky man approached Dawson, wispy gray hair flowing over bony shoulders. His slight frame was a contrast to the statue looming over him.
“Walt and I were friends from the first day he got to Winter Park,” he said. “He was a good man, I’ll tell you that. An’ he was a storyteller. Man, he’d talk until you were asleep in your chair.”
Dawson chuckled and nodded as did many gathering around the makeshift stage.
“He loved the Lord and he loved this camp. I’ll tell ya, this was what he was meant to do. He lived quite a life and hoped it helped steer kids right.” He paused, looking down at the ground as he sniffed.
From the size of the crowd, it seemed Kenny had touched many lives. Mikayla tightened her arms. He’d touched hers too,
just not the same way.
“So anyways, when Daws here asked if I’d do something to honor Walt at camp, I jumped at it. I hope this statue does his big personality a bit of justice.” He handed the mic to Dawson who took it and then pulled him into a hug.
Steve moved to one side of the figure as Dawson stood on the other, grasping the end of a long cord attached to the top of the canvas.
“When we’re done here,” Dawson said, “please stay as long as you’d like. We’ve got plenty to eat and drink, and we love hearing your stories about Walt. Ready? Ten, nine, eight…”
He scanned the crowd, obviously milking the moment, then went silent when his gaze met hers. Brenda looked from him to Mikayla as the countdown continued. She said something that made him blink and nod. He looked at Steve as the count finished. Together, they yanked the canvas, stepping out of the way as it crumpled to the ground. A roar of approval filled the air.
Mikayla caught her breath. How did anyone do such detailed work in a tree trunk? From the unlaced hiking boots to the wrinkled pants, plaid shirt and unzipped vest, the larger-than-life-sized figure seemed alive. At his belt was a hatchet, a walkie, and a knife.
One hand grasped a fishing pole, a stringer of fish at his feet, while the other pointed upward where his gaze was directed. A joyful smile creased the carved face, sunglasses propped on his head, a bandana around his neck. The smile, his curly hair—just like the photo Sara had given her.
The image blurred as pain creased her heart. An overwhelming sadness swept over her, and she wheeled around, darting into the lodge, through the kitchen doors, and then out the back door. Standing amidst a cheering crowd lauding Kenny was the last place she could be.
~ 32 ~
Curled on her bed, arms wrapped around her pillow, she ignored the phone ringing in her back pocket. When it stopped, she relaxed, then stiffened when it rang again. At the third call, she yanked it from her pocket, intent on turning it off, then paused. Lindy.