Almost Paradise

by Debbie Macomber

  Roarke momentarily closed his eyes. “Do you realize what you’ve done?”

  “It was all in fun.”

  He ignored that. “This camp has a reputation for academic excellence.”

  “How can a make-believe ghost ruin that?”

  “If you have to ask, then we’re in worse trouble than I thought.”

  Sherry threw up her hands in disgust. “Oh, honestly!”

  “This is serious.”

  Now it was Sherry’s turn to close her eyes and gain control of her temper. She released a drawn-out sigh. “What is it you want me to do?” she asked, keeping her voice as unemotional as possible. “I realize that within a few weeks I’ve managed to ruin the reputation for excellence of this camp—”

  “I didn’t say that,” he countered sharply.

  “By all rights I should be tossed out of here on my ear…”

  Roarke raised both hands to stop her. They glared at each other, each daring the other to speak first. “Before this conversation heats up anymore, I think we should both take time to cool down,” Roarke said stiffly.

  Sherry met his gaze defiantly, her heart slamming against her breast with dread. “Do you want me to leave?”

  He hesitated, then nodded. “Maybe that would be best.”

  Tears burned the backs of her eyes and her throat grew tight with emotion. “I’ll…pick up my check this afternoon.”

  Roarke frowned. “I want us to cool our tempers—I’m not firing you.”

  Sherry’s head snapped up and her heart soared with hopeful expectation. Roarke wasn’t letting her go! She felt like a prisoner who’d been granted a death-row pardon by the governor at the last minute. “But it’s morning—you mean you don’t want me to leave Camp Gitche Gumee?”

  Roarke looked confused. “Of course not. What are you talking about?”

  The flood of relief that washed over her submerged her in happiness. It took everything within Sherry not to toss her arms around his neck and thank him.

  With as much aplomb as she could muster, she nodded, turned around, and walked across the floor but paused when she reached the door. “Thank you,” she whispered, sincerely grateful.

  It seemed the entire camp was waiting for her. A hush fell across the camp when she appeared. Faces turned in her direction and Lynn gestured with her hands, wanting to know the outcome.

  Sherry smiled in response, and it seemed that everyone around released an elongated sigh. All except Fred Spencer, who Sherry suspected would be glad to see her leave. Until that moment, Sherry hadn’t realized how many friends she’d made in her short stay at Camp Gitche Gumee. Her legs felt weak, her arms heavy. Although she’d been fortunate enough to hold on to her job, Roarke remained furious with her. More than anything, she wanted to stay for the entire camp session. And not because she was running away from Phyliss, either.

  She’d left Seattle because of her crazy, wonderful stepmother, seeking a respite from the woman she loved and didn’t wish to offend. But Sherry wanted to stay in California for entirely different reasons. Some of which she sensed she didn’t fully understand herself.

  At break time, Sally, Gretchen, and two other girls came storming into the cabin.

  “Hi,” Sherry said cheerfully. “What are you guys doing here?”

  The girls exchanged meaningful glances. “Nothing,” Wendy said, swinging her arms and taking small steps backward.

  “We just wanted to be sure everything was okay.”

  Sherry’s answering grin was wide. She winked and whispered, “Things couldn’t be better.”

  “Good!” A breathless Jan and Jill arrived to chime in unison.

  Producing a stern look was difficult, but Sherry managed. She pinched her lips together and frowned at her young charges. The last thing she needed was to do something else to irritate Roarke. “Aren’t you girls supposed to be in class?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “But we wanted to see what happened to you.”

  “It’s too hot to sit inside a classroom anyway,” Gretchen grumbled.

  “Gretchen’s right,” Sally added, looking surprised to agree with the complainer.

  “Scram,” Sherry cried, “before I reach for my machine gun.”

  The girls let loose with a shriek of mock terror and ran from the cabin, down the steps, and across the lawn. Sherry grinned as she watched them scatter like field mice before a prowling cat.

  It was then that she noticed the signs in front of each cabin had been removed. She crossed her arms, leaned against the doorjamb, and experienced a twinge of regret. Cinderella’s Castle was far more original than Cabin Three—even Roarke had to admit that.

  After such shaky beginnings, the morning progressed smoothly. Sherry dressed to work out in the exercise room, then ate lunch with the girls, who chatted easily. Sherry took a couple minutes to joke about the signs, hoping to reassure them that everything was fine. But she didn’t mention Longfellow, although the name of the make-believe ghost could be heard now and again from various tables around the mess hall.

  Throughout the meal, Sherry had only a fleeting look at Roarke. He came in, made his announcements, and joined the teachers at their table for the noontime meal. He spoke to several counselors but went out of his way to avoid Sherry, she noted. She hadn’t expected him to seek her out for conversation, but she didn’t appreciate being ignored, either.

  Following lunch, Sherry slipped into the exercise room. Ginny was already there, working out with the weights.

  “Hi,” the young assistant greeted, revealing her pleasure at seeing Sherry.

  “Hi,” Sherry returned, climbing onto the stationary bicycle and inserting her feet into the stirrups. Pedaling helped minimize the effects of all the fattening food she was consuming at camp.

  Ginny, strapping a five-pound belt around her own waist, studied Sherry. “You should wear weights if you expect the biking to do any good.”

  “No thanks,” Sherry said with a grin. “I double-knot my shoelaces; that’s good enough.”

  The teenager laughed. “I heard you had a run-in with Mr. Roarke this morning. How’d you make out?”

  “All right, I suppose.” Sherry would rather let the subject drop with that. The events of the morning were best forgotten.

  “From what I heard, he’s been on the warpath all day.”

  “Oh?” She didn’t want to encourage the teenager to gossip, but on the other hand, she was curious to discover what had been happening.

  “Apparently one of the kids got caught doing something and was sent into Mr. Roarke’s office. When Mr. Roarke questioned him, the boy said Longfellow made him do it. Isn’t that the ghost you told the girls about not so long ago?”

  Sherry’s feet went lax while the wheel continued spinning. Oh dear, this just wasn’t going to be her day.

  “Something else must have happened, too, because he looked as mad as a hornet right before lunch.”

  Sherry had barely had time to assimilate that when Lynn appeared in the doorway, her young face streaked with tears.

  “Lynn, what happened?”

  Sherry’s friend glanced at Ginny and wiped the tears from her pale cheeks. “Can we talk alone?”

  “Sure.” Sherry immediately stopped pedaling and climbed off the bike. She placed her arm around the younger girl’s shoulders. “Tell me what’s upset you so much.”

  “I-It’s Mr. Roarke.”

  “Yes,” she coaxed.

  “He found some of the notes I’d written to Peter. He wants to talk to us first thing in the morning…the morning—we both know what that means. I…I think we’re both going to be fired.”

  Chapter 7

  Sherry woke at the sound of the alarm and lay with her eyes open, savoring the dream. She’d been in a rowboat with Roarke in the middle of the lake. The oars had skimmed the silver water as he lazily paddled. Everything was different between them. Everything was right. All their disagreements had long since been settled. The pros and con
s of a friendly ghost named Longfellow were immaterial. All that mattered was the two of them together.

  The looks they’d shared as the water lapped gently against the side of the small boat reminded Sherry of the evening they’d sat on the porch and gazed into the brilliant night sky. Stars were in Sherry’s eyes in her dream, too, but Jeff Roarke had put them there.

  With a melancholy sigh, she tossed aside the covers and sat on the edge of the mattress. It was silly to be so affected by a mere dream, but it had been so real and so wonderful. However, morning brought with it the chill of reality, and Sherry was concerned for Lynn and Peter. She had to think of some way to help them.

  After dressing, she held in a yawn and walked across the thick lawn to the staff room. Her arms were crisscrossed over her ribs, but Sherry couldn’t decide if it was to ward off a morning chill or the truth that awaited her outside her dream world. Birds chirped playfully in the background, and the sun glimmered through the tall timbers, casting a pathway of shimmering light across the dewy grass, giving Sherry hope.

  At the staff room, Sherry discovered that only a couple of the other counselors had arrived. Roarke was there, standing at the lectern in the front, flipping through his notes.

  With the warm sensations of the dream lingering in her mind, Sherry approached him, noted his frown, and waited for him to acknowledge her before she spoke. Uncomfortable seconds passed, and still Roarke didn’t raise his head. When he did happen to look up, his gaze met hers, revealing little. Sherry realized that he hadn’t forgotten their heated discussion. He’d been the one to suggest that they delay talking because things were getting out of hand. But from the narrowed, sharp appraisal he gave her, it was all too apparent that his feelings ran as hot today as they had the day before.

  “Miss White.” He said her name stiffly.

  Sherry grimaced at the chill in his voice. “Good morning.”

  —

  He returned her greeting with an abrupt nod and waited. There had never been a woman who angered Roarke more than Sherry White. This thing with the ghost she’d invented infuriated him to the boiling point, and he’d been forced to ask her to leave his office yesterday for fear of what more he’d say or do. His anger had been so intense that he’d wanted to shake her. Wrong, his mind tossed back—it had taken every ounce of determination he possessed, which was considerable, not to pull her into his arms and kiss some common sense into her.

  The power she had to jostle his secure, impenetrable existence baffled him. He’d never wanted a woman so intensely as he wanted Sherry, and the realization was frightening. A full day had passed since their last encounter, and he still wasn’t in complete control of his emotions. Even with all this time to cool his temper, she caused his blood to boil in his veins.

  No other counselor had been granted the latitude he’d given her. He’d turned a blind eye to her other schemes, accepting lesson plans that stated she would be teaching a study on centrifugal force when he knew she was planning on cooking popcorn. The evening sessions weren’t the only rule he’d stretched on her behalf. The other counselors would question the integrity of his leadership if they knew about Ralph. But the ghost—now, that was going too far. The truth about Longfellow had driven him over the edge. She’d abused his willingness to adapt to her creativity and in the process infuriated him.

  Although his emotions were muddled, no woman had intrigued him the way Sherry did, either. He couldn’t seem to get her out of his mind. He had enough problems organizing this camp without entertaining romantic thoughts about one impertinent counselor.

  “You wanted something?” he asked, forcing his voice to remain cool and unemotional.

  “Yes…you said yesterday that you thought it’d be best if we continued our discussion later.”

  Roarke glanced at his watch. “There’s hardly time now.”

  “I didn’t mean this minute exactly,” Sherry answered. He was making this more difficult than necessary.

  “Is there something you’d like to say?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then this afternoon would be convenient,” Roarke said coldly. He might be agreeing to another meeting, he told himself, but he couldn’t see what they had left to say. He’d been angry, true, but not completely unreasonable. Nothing she could say would further her cause.

  —

  Sherry tried to smile, but the effort was too much for her. “I’ll be there about one o’clock.”

  “That would be fine.”

  By now the small room was filled to capacity, and she walked to the back, looking for a chair. Lynn had saved her a seat, and Sherry sank down beside her friend, disappointed and uncomfortable. Twenty minutes into the day and already her dream was shattered. So much for lingering looks and meaningful gazes. She might as well be made of mud for all the interest Jeff Roarke showed her.

  The announcements were dealt with quickly, but before Roarke could continue, Fred Spencer, the counselor for the older boys, raised his hand.

  “Fred, you had a question?”

  “Yes.” Fred stood and loudly cleared his throat. “There’s been talk all over camp about Longfellow. Who or what is he?”

  Sherry scooted so far down in her chair that she was in danger of slipping right onto the floor. Fred Spencer was a royal pain in the rear end as far as Sherry was concerned.

  “Longfellow is a friendly ghost,” Roarke explained wryly. “As I understand it, he derived his name from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, the poet.”

  Still Fred remained standing. “A ghost?” he shouted. “And just whose idea was this nonsense?” A hum of raised voices followed, some offended, others amused. “Why, I’ve heard of nothing else for the past twenty-four hours. It’s Longfellow this, Longfellow that. The least bit of confusion with kids can become a major catastrophe. These children come to this camp to learn responsibility. They’re not gaining a darn thing by placing the blame on an imaginary spirit.”

  Unable to endure any more, Sherry sprang to her feet. “I believe you’re putting too much emphasis on a trivial matter. The camp is visited by a friendly ghost. It doesn’t need to be made into a big deal. Longfellow is for fun. The children aren’t frightened by him, and he adds a sense of adventure to the few weeks they’re here.”

  “Trivial,” Fred countered, turning to face Sherry with his hands placed defiantly on his hips. “I’ve had nothing but problems from the moment this…this Longfellow was mentioned.”

  “Sit down, Fred,” Roarke said, taking control.

  Fred ignored the request. “I suppose you’re responsible for this phantom ghost, Miss White? Just like you were with those ridiculous signs?”

  Sherry opened and closed her mouth. “Yes, I invented Longfellow.”

  “I thought as much,” Fred announced with profound righteousness.

  Again, the conversational hum rose from the other staff members, the group quickly taking sides. From bits and pieces of conversations that Sherry heard, the room appeared equally divided. Some saw no problem with Longfellow, while others were uncertain. Several made comments about liking Sherry’s style, but others agreed with Fred.

  Roarke slammed his fist against the lectern. “Mr. Spencer, Miss White, I would greatly appreciate it if you would take your seats.”

  Fred sat, but he didn’t remain silent. “I demand that we put an end to this ghost nonsense.”

  A muscle in Roarke’s jaw twitched convulsively, and his gaze lifted to meet and hold Sherry’s. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that. Word of Longfellow is out now, and any effort to do away with him would only encourage the children.”

  Grumbling followed, mostly from Fred Spencer and his cronies.

  “My advice is to ignore him and hope that everyone will forget the whole thing,” Roarke spoke above the chatter.

  “What about Miss White?” Fred demanded. “She’s been nothing but a worry from the moment she arrived. First those ridiculous signs and now this. Where will it end?”

  “That�
�s not true,” Lynn shouted, and soared to her feet in an effort to defend her friend. She gripped the back of the chair in front of her and glared at the older man. “Sherry’s been great with the kids!”

  “Miss Duffy, kindly sit down,” Roarke barked, raising his hands to quiet the room. The noise level went down appreciably, although the controversy appeared far from settled. He spoke to Fred Spencer with enough authority to quickly silence the other man. “This is neither the time nor the place to air our differences of opinion regarding another counselor’s teaching methods.”

  Sherry wasn’t fooled. Roarke wasn’t defending her so much as protecting the others from criticism, should Fred take exception to another’s techniques. Fred Spencer’s reputation as a complainer was as well known as Gretchen’s.

  “If the staff can’t speak out, then exactly whose job is it?” Fred shouted.

  “Mine!” Roarke declared, and the challenge in his voice was loud and infinitely clear.

  “Good, then I’ll leave the situation in your hands.”

  From her position, Sherry could see that Fred wasn’t appeased. Nor did she believe he would quietly drop the subject. From the beginning, she’d known he disagreed with her efforts with the children. Whenever he had the chance, he put down her ideas and found reason to criticize her.

  The remainder of the meeting passed quickly but not fast enough, as far as Sherry was concerned. She and Lynn walked out of the staff room together.

  “I can’t believe that man,” Lynn grumbled. “His idea of having fun is watching paint dry.”

  “Miss Duffy.”

  Roarke’s cold voice stopped both women. The teenager cast a pleading glance at Sherry before turning around to face her employer.

  “I believe we have an appointment.”

  “Oh yes,” Lynn said with a wan smile. “I forgot.”

  “I’m afraid that’s part of the problem,” Roarke returned with little humor. “You seem to be forgetting several things lately.”

  Sherry opened her mouth to dilute his sarcasm, but one piercing glare from Roarke silenced her. This wasn’t her business. She didn’t want to say or do anything to irritate him any more. Her greatest fear was that after the events of the morning, Roarke wasn’t in any mood to deal kindly with Lynn and Peter. With a heavy heart, Sherry returned to her cabin.