by Susan Wiggs
“I need this time with my kids,” he said, flexing and unflexing his hands. He was dressed like a teenager himself, in board shorts and a Flay-Vah T-shirt, a baseball cap turned backward on his head. “Your aunt Sophie…She, uh, her plans for the summer are still up in the air. The kids have been so jerked around by this. I’m hoping that being here will, I don’t know, help them feel less fragmented.”
Olivia was struck by the pain that shook in his voice. “Uncle Greg, I’m so sorry.”
“What happened?” asked Dare.
“It’s hard to describe. Things just…unraveled, and the whole family was too busy to notice until it was too late. Between Sophie’s work and mine, and all the kids’ activities, we…lost touch with each other. When Sophie’s firm offered her a huge case in Seattle, she took it, even though it could last six months, maybe a year. She didn’t leave just for work, though, and we all know it.”
“Are you splitting up for good?” Dare asked.
“We haven’t said so officially. Feels that way, though.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets.
“How are Max and Daisy coping?” Olivia asked.
“Hard to say. They’re not talking.”
“You’ll have plenty of time for talking this summer,” Olivia assured him. There was a special kind of pain that happened to a fragmented family. She knew this. She knew the way it lodged under the heart, casting even moments of hope and happiness into shadow. “What can we do?”
“Just being here will help. God. I hope.” Some of the bleakness lifted from his face. “We need this time. Max should learn to paddle a canoe. He still hasn’t caught his first fish.”
“You came to the right place, then,” Dare said.
“How did I luck into two nieces like you?”
“You said it. Luck.”
He loaded up everyone’s luggage and got into the cart. For a moment, he looked as lost and bereft as an abandoned puppy. Then the sound of the kids’ voices—laughter and chatter—drifted across the lake, and he straightened up, squared his shoulders, gave them a thumbs-up sign and took off.
Olivia and Dare busied themselves in the kitchen. In addition to planning the anniversary celebration, Dare had assumed the duties of provisioning the camp kitchen for all the people who would be spending the summer. “No more Spaghettios out of the can,” she said, briskly reorganizing the industrial-size pantry. “No more mandarin oranges in heavy syrup and please, no more ramen noodles.”
“There go my three major food groups,” Olivia said.
Dare explored the huge camp kitchen with its walk-in fridge, commercial grills and stainless steel countertops and appliances. Although out of date, everything worked. The stainless-steel fixtures and surfaces gleamed. This had been the first cleanup job after the bathrooms. Olivia and Freddy had made it a priority. In order for the rest of the summer to run smoothly, they needed a functional kitchen. A few basic repairs and upgrades done by Connor’s workmen had transformed the kitchen into an updated, efficient-looking work space.
“Nana is going to love this,” Dare said. “Your contractor must be a god.”
“No,” Olivia said quickly. “He just looks like one.”
Dare fixed her with a speculative stare. “Oh, really? Someone I should meet?”
Olivia didn’t allow herself to look away. “You’ve already met him, a long time ago. Connor Davis.”
Dare’s jaw dropped. As Olivia’s closest cousin, she was well aware of the heartbreak Olivia had suffered as an unhappy young girl, thanks to Connor Davis. “He’s here? In Avalon?”
“Yes.” Beyond inquiring about his father, Olivia hadn’t asked him why he’d stayed. She hadn’t asked him much at all because she didn’t want to seem as if she cared.
“I can’t believe you’re working with him.”
“It’s fine,” Olivia assured her. “This is working out just fine.” She told herself so every day, and on the surface, it was. She showed Dare the progress she’d made so far. She had removed the dust coverings from the display cases and heavy lounge furniture in the foyer of the main pavilion, setting out camp gear and memorabilia, turning the space into a reflection of the bygone days she knew her grandparents remembered so well.
“So is it weird, seeing him again after all these years?” Dare asked, refusing to drop the subject.
“What do you think?”
Dare laughed. “All right. Dumb question. But…oh, my.” Her voice trailed off as she looked out the window.
Olivia followed her gaze to see what she was ohmying about. It was Freddy, pulling a hand truck laden with lumber. The city boy had taken to camp life with surprising aplomb, and looked completely at home in the landscape. The afternoon sun highlighted the blond tips of his hair. He wore a muscle shirt and painters’ pants, the waistband dragged low by the weight of his fully loaded tool belt.
Dare moistened her lips. “That can’t be Connor Davis.”
“No, that’s Freddy. I’ve told you about him.”
“That’s the Freddy? The theater geek?”
“He still calls himself that, sometimes. He’s a set designer these days. His latest production closed down, so he’s working with me this summer.”
“Oh, my,” Dare said again. Then she seemed to catch herself. “I mean, he’s very cute, but is he…gay?”
“Everybody asks that. No.”
“Then, are the two of you…?”
“Definitely not,” Olivia assured her. She thought about their first night here. They’d moved into separate cottages soon after, and now that night was a distant memory. “As far as I know, Freddy is unattached. Come on outside and meet him.”
She made the introductions and watched her cousin and Freddy fall instantly into a highly charged mutual attraction. And why not? They were both adorable, he with his trendy metrosexual look and she with her trademark bubbly charm. They were even the right height for each other, both on the short side. Dare and Freddy made things like attraction, dating, maybe even falling in love, seem simple and natural rather than fraught with peril. Olivia envied them their instant ease with one another.
She gave them a bit of time to chat; then she checked her watch. “Sorry to interrupt, but I need to pick some things up from the building supply in town. And don’t you have a meeting with the caterer?”
“You bet,” said Dare. “I believe in hitting the ground running.” She regarded Freddy with a tragic expression. “Sorry. We’ve got to go. Can we bring you anything from town? I’m stopping at the caterer, and then the Sky River Bakery.”
“How about a cannoli?”
“A what?”
“You know, one of those long tubular pastries filled with white cream. If you haven’t tried one, you don’t know what you’re missing.” He winked at her.
“Let’s go,” Olivia said, linking arms with her cousin and heading for the parking lot. “God, I don’t believe him.”
“What?” Dare asked.
“He’s totally hitting on you.”
“You think?”
“A long tubular pastry filled with white cream? Come on.”
“Good. I was hoping he’d hit on me.”
So was Olivia. Dare and Freddy were two of her favorite people in the world, and it made her happy to see that spark of attraction between them. As they drove down the mountain to the town of Avalon, she and her cousin chattered away about everything. It was always like this with Dare. No matter how much time had passed, they talked as though they saw one another every day. By the time they reached the Avalon city limits, they had worked through Rand Whitney’s feet of clay and Dare’s pregnancy scare, which turned out to be quite a scare.
“One thing I know for sure now,” she said. “I am so not ready to have kids.”
Olivia smiled, brushed by wistful longing. “Funny. I’m so ready for kids. Definitely more than one.”
“Come on.”
“I mean it. It’s totally bizarre. Out of the blue, I get hit with these…urges.”
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Dare shrugged. “I get urges to consume Richart chocolates by the kilo, but that doesn’t mean I should.”
Olivia sent her a wry smile. “I’d better work on getting a date first.”
“With Connor Davis,” Dare readily agreed.
“Not in this life,” said Olivia. “Probably not in the next. I can’t believe you’d even suggest it.”
“You’re different people now. Maybe—”
“And then again, maybe not,” Olivia said. Then why, she wondered, did she feel such a painful tug of yearning whenever she imagined the two of them together?
Dare had a gift for knowing when to leave a topic alone. She rode in silence for a while, watching the scenery swish past the windows. Summer unfurled in the mountains with lazy extravagance, the forest floor carpeted by shade-loving ferns, the trees reaching for sunlight above the gently rounded hills. “Has this place changed at all?” she asked when the speed limit decreased at the edge of town.
“Not so you’d notice,” Olivia said. They passed a real-estate office. The marquee identified it as Alger Estate Properties and advertised something called Brookwood Acres, homes from $450,000. “Property values are up.”
“So do you think Nana and Grandpa will sell the property after this summer?” Dare asked.
“I can’t imagine them doing that. I know they’d love to keep it in the family if they can. Maybe Uncle Greg will take it over. He seems to be at loose ends.”
“I think he’s probably got enough on his plate without taking on a white elephant.”
“I don’t know. I’ve had plenty of time to take a long hard look at things. It’s completely idyllic, the sort of place you just don’t find anymore. Maybe its days as a summer camp are over, but…” She waved her hand, laughing at herself. “Listen to me. I’m all about ‘repurposing’ these days.”
“So what would be the new purpose? A conference center? Executive retreat? Those are in vogue right now.”
“Maybe something more like a place for families. You know, to unplug, get to know one another again.”
Dare smiled. “You’re still the idealist, kiddo.”
“Right. That’s me.”
As they pulled into a parking slot in front of Camelot Catering, Dare pulled out a folder. “Do me a favor. Drop this off at Sky River Bakery. The woman there is doing the cake for the anniversary and I promised to bring her pictures of the original.”
“No problem. I’ll meet you back here in a few.” Olivia grabbed the folder and crossed the street. The Sky River Bakery was a thriving business that had been around for decades, having been started by immigrants after World War II. Under its hand-lettered sign, it said, Leo & Helen Majesky, prop. since 1952. The white step van with its picture of the river painted on the side used to make a daily delivery to Camp Kioga, Olivia recalled. She had a vague memory of a dark-haired girl in a white jumpsuit and white baseball cap, wheeling bread racks into the camp kitchen.
Even though local rumor had it that this was the best place in town for coffee and pie, she’d been avoiding it. She had to steer clear of pie or wear the evidence on her hips.
A bell jangled as she pushed the door open. She nearly stumbled over the raised threshold as she stepped inside, and held on to the door handle to steady herself. A hand-lettered sign on the door warned, Watch Your Step.
Olivia felt a little sheepish but quickly recovered. A moment later, she nearly fainted from the fragrance. The bakery smelled of all that was sinfully delicious in the world—fresh bread and cinnamon rolls, homemade pies and delicate kolaches, savory rolls and the dizzying rich smell of doughnuts. She inhaled, breathing the heady scent of paradise. This is where I’m coming when I die, she thought.
It was an old-fashioned family bakery with glass display cases and a big brass cash register. On the wall behind the counter was a display of framed photographs and memorabilia—a dollar bill, a business license, newspaper clippings, an array of what appeared to be family photos. A sleepy-looking, heavyset teenager looked up from reading the sports pages at the counter. He had straight blond hair, a sullen expression and a name badge that identified him as Zach Alger.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“I have something to drop off. It’s about a special order.”
“Just a sec.” He pushed through a door to the back.
A few minutes later, a young woman of about thirty came through the door. She was quietly attractive, with dark hair and brown eyes, full lips and a ready smile. She definitely had an air of being in charge. “Hi,” she said. “Can I help you?”
Olivia felt an odd little twinge of awareness. She studied the pretty face—creamy skin, vivid, beautiful features—and tried to place her. Back in the days of the camp, perhaps they had crossed paths.
The dark-haired woman offered a polite smile. She wore a lot of jewelry, Olivia noticed, indicating she probably wasn’t involved in production at the bakery. Graceful gold hoops dangled in her ears, and she wore a silver necklace from which a pendant dangled. No wedding band. “I’m Jenny Majesky.”
“I’m Olivia Bellamy,” she said. “I’m dropping something off—a picture of a wedding cake.”
Jenny brightened. “The special order. I spoke to someone on the phone about it.”
“My cousin Dare, the event planner. We’re hoping you’ll be able to do the cake for our grandparents’ fiftieth anniversary celebration.” Olivia opened the folder to reveal a black-and-white photo of her grandparents on their wedding day, about to cut the cake, a towering confection covered in sugar flowers and doves. “This is a shot of my grandparents back in 1956,” Olivia explained. “They were married up at Camp Kioga. Maybe you know them—Jane and Charles Bellamy.”
Jenny Majesky’s mouth softened into a bemused smile. “I remember them well. How are they?”
“They’re doing great. Looking forward to a big party up at the camp at the end of August.”
Jenny held the photograph by the edges. “They look wonderful, like movie stars. And so young and happy. I love wedding pictures.”
“You have a lot of pictures of your own.” Olivia indicated the display on the wall.
“Uh-huh. My own grandparents started this place back in the early fifties.”
Olivia scanned the pictures—a grinning woman with a thick braid arranged in a coronet around her head, a man in coveralls, a young slender girl and…Olivia did a double take. One of the shots looked eerily familiar. It showed a laughing girl in a camp shirt and shorts, her head thrown back, her feathered hair shining. Then she realized where she’d seen that picture before. It was the same shot Olivia had found among her father’s things, the picture from 1977. Only the photo on the wall had been cropped, showing the woman only. She glanced from the picture to Jenny Majesky, seeing a strong resemblance there, except she had a small, rather attractive dimple in her chin.
Olivia felt strangely detached from reality. This woman. Jenny Majesky. She…Get a grip, Olivia, she coached herself.
“Miss Bellamy?” Jenny prompted, and Olivia realized she’d let a long silence stretch out.
“Please, call me Olivia.” She regained her composure, although she knew her face was flushed a bright, probably unattractive red. “Anyway, the whole idea behind the anniversary celebration is to re-create the camp as it was fifty years ago. Dare and I thought we’d have you create a replica of this cake.” She flipped the picture over. Someone had written “cake by Mrs. Majesky.”
“That would be my grandmother, Helen Majesky.”
“Of course. I see. So is she…is your grandmother retired now?” She didn’t want to ask the obvious.
Jenny rescued her from saying it, though sadness haunted her deep brown eyes as she spoke. “My grandfather passed away several years ago, and Gram had a stroke.”
“I’m sorry.”
“She’s disabled, but I bet she’d coach me and the master baker through making this cake.” Jenny smiled, and again Olivia was struck by a sense of familiar
ity, maybe déjà vu. Or something else. She found herself staring at the pendant dangling from Jenny’s necklace. It looked just like the odd cuff link she had found among her father’s things, at the same time she found the photograph. A small, stylized fish.
“That would be wonderful,” Olivia said, flustered now. “Dare will be thrilled to hear you think it can be done. And keep the photograph for reference. It’s a copy.”
“I’ll show it to my grandmother.” Jenny beamed and closed the file. “You know, Zach’s dad, Matthew Alger, might be a good resource for details about the camp. He went to Kioga as a kid, and then he worked there. He’s lived in Avalon for decades.”
“I’ll look into that.”
“Thanks for stopping in.”
Olivia left feeling a little unsettled by the encounter. She didn’t mention it to Dare, and was quiet as they drove back to the camp. When they arrived, Uncle Greg and the kids were busy exploring, with Barkis trotting at their heels. Greg was like the Pied Piper, leading them around the lake to the boathouse and dock. Max sent up whoops of glee, clearly thrilled with everything. Even Daisy looked eager as she skipped stones across the water.
“So far so good,” Dare said.
“Yes, but they’ve only been away from their TV, cell phones and Internet for half a day.”
“I never missed TV when I was a camper here,” Dare mused. “I think kids are kids. Put them around a campfire and start telling scary stories, and they’ll have a ball. If you don’t hand them their fun on a platter, they figure it out for themselves.”
Laden with parcels, they went into the main pavilion. “Looks like trouble,” Dare murmured as they entered the dining room. Freddy’s design plans were laid out on tables and tacked to a wall. In front of a big drawing of an elevation, Freddy and Connor Davis were locked in a stare-down.
Dare lowered her voice even more. “My Lord,” she said, sizing up Connor, from his shoulder-length black hair to his battered work boots. “He’s Conan the Barbarian.”