by Lily Danes
Ruby dipped a brush in pink paint and wrote her initials in fancy script on a paperweight. Some twisted part of her itched to write Josh’s below—until she remembered she didn’t know his last name.
She thunked her forehead on the table. She’d slept with a man without knowing his last name.
After lunch, they hiked through the trees in search of a secret waterfall, but thirty minutes later were forced to decide it was a camp myth. Emma consoled herself with another bloody mary.
“This camp is amazing,” she declared. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“What are you talking about? I’ve been giving you daily updates.”
“Yes, but your sentences had periods at the end, not exclamation points. Camp Firefly Falls deserves better punctuation.”
If Ruby had been subdued in her descriptions, it was because all her exclamation points for the last week had been reserved for Josh.
He was a good guy. That much she knew. He hadn’t abandoned her for another woman the day before, and she shouldn’t have jumped to that conclusion. Maybe he was the one-woman guy he claimed to be. Maybe she could trust her heart with him.
Too many maybes—and they were still strangers who lived in different states. He couldn’t walk away from the store, and Briarsted wasn’t big enough to support a full-time vocal coach. It was the reality of their situation.
Ruby remained distracted at dinner and ordered the lobster linguini without thinking. When it arrived, she considered the plate of fat and calories.
No, the plate of food. Really yummy food.
All week, she’d been resisting the camp’s five-star cuisine, and she couldn’t even say why. Yes, she wanted to be healthy, but she’d spent the morning exercising. That excuse didn’t cut it.
It wasn’t as if she didn’t like her body. Maybe her rounder stomach had been unfamiliar once, but the night before, she’d been downright wanton, eager to share those curves with Josh. It had felt right.
For the last year, Ruby had associated singing with humiliation, and she’d associated food with public shame. She hadn’t been dieting, not really. She’d been trying to spare herself more pain.
Ruby took a defiant bite and moaned as the lemon-herb sauce hit her tongue. It was time to rewire the parts of her brain that had become so twisted. If she could sing at Boone’s and love it, she could damn sure eat a bit of pasta.
At nine-thirty, she crawled into bed. Considering how little she’d slept the night before, she should have instantly dozed off. Instead, she stared at the ceiling as the clock ticked off one hour after another.
She’d also thought she could spare herself pain by avoiding relationships. That wasn’t working out very well.
It was time to make different choices. Instead of avoiding things that scared her, Ruby could seek out things that made her happy.
Because, if she remembered how to be happy, maybe she would stop missing Josh.
* * *
The next day, Ruby made her first good choice.
“I’m not going to D.C.,” she announced. She and Emma were sitting at a picnic table in the middle of camp.
Emma didn’t pretend to be surprised. “Of course you’re not. It was a stupid idea.”
Ruby glared. “Then why did you offer me the job?”
“Well, I had to do something to get you out here, right? It all worked out.”
Ruby grimaced. It didn’t feel like things had worked out. Everywhere she looked, people were with new friends. Plenty were in groups, but more than a few couples had formed over the last week.
“How long do you think they’re going to last?” Ruby gestured to a pair of graduate students snuggling beneath a tree.
Another voice answered. “You’d be surprised.”
A woman joined them. Ruby had seen the camp owner several times over the last week, but they hadn’t spoken since registration.
Heather Tully didn’t sit. Instead, she surveyed her domain, and whatever she saw made her smile. “It amazes me, seeing what this place has become.”
“A giant party people will remember the rest of their lives?” Emma asked.
Heather’s smile didn’t drop. “This week, yes. Earlier this summer, we had a couple’s retreat and retro week. Camp Firefly Falls changes throughout the summer, but it always seems to be exactly what people need. I’m not sure how much credit Michael and I can take. It’s something about this place. It has a little bit of magic.”
Emma snorted. “I could have managed a little less magical poison oak.”
Heather winced in sympathy. “I’ve been there. Awful, isn’t it? I hate to think that was your whole experience at Firefly Falls. If you want to try next year, let me know. I’m sure we can work out a deal.”
Raucous laughter caught their attention. A group of friends were on the lake, having a heated—if slow-moving—canoe race.
Emma watched them play, her expression wistful. “I might like that.”
Heather squeezed her on the shoulder. “Then we’ll see you next year.” She glanced at the empty space next to Ruby. “You’re alone? Every time I’ve seen you this week, you’ve had company. Very handsome company too.”
Ruby stilled at the mention of Josh. “I think he was busy today.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Heather’s eyes narrowed, and it was clear the woman saw right through her. The camp owner excused herself and headed toward the lodge.
Emma fixed Ruby with a determined glare. “Okay, I’ve been quiet as long as I could, but this is stupid. You’re doing that silently miserable thing. What happened?”
“It got complicated.”
Before Emma could reply, Cory strode toward them. Ruby was so grateful for the interruption that she was happy to see him.
“Are you kidding me?” he demanded. “You played a show at Boone’s, and I missed it. You couldn’t give me a heads-up?”
Emma’s jaw dropped. “You. Played. A. Show. Two nights ago, and I’m just hearing about it now?”
Ruby tried to wave it off. “It was nothing like that. It was a bunch of covers at the local bar. Singalong stuff.”
Emma wasn’t mollified. “But nothing like the last single, right?”
“I hope not,” Cory said. “That song was shit.”
Emma covered her laugh with some fake coughing.
Cory was unapologetic. “Come on. Your first album was way better. You could hear label interference all over the new stuff.”
Ruby blinked at him. “You know my first album?”
“Know it? I had it on repeat for months. I was holding out hope the second one wouldn’t all be like the single, but it wasn’t released. I mean, I guess you know that.”
Ruby braced for the usual stab of pain at the reminder, but all she felt was a dull ache. It hurt, but it was manageable. “Yeah. I think a lot of people know about that.”
Cory studied her. “I guess so. But you’ll play at the talent show tonight, right?”
Her heart jumped at the idea. Another song. Another chance to hold the guitar and create beauty with just her voice and six strings.
“I’ll think about it,” she promised.
* * *
The knock on the front door startled Josh out of…well, whatever the fuck he’d been doing. He couldn’t even remember. All he knew for sure was he was standing at the register, staring into space. He’d been at the store all day, and for the life of him, he couldn’t name a single thing he’d accomplished.
Josh swung the door open and let Max inside. “Shouldn’t you be at work?” He returned to the counter and stacked the receipts from the last quarter.
“Heather gave me the afternoon off, said I should see some friends. Something about sixty-hour weeks and labor violations.” Max grimaced.
“Did you get enough hours to be okay this winter?” Josh tried to keep the worry from his voice.
Max gave a one-shouldered shrug. That was a no, then. His friend wandered to the lighting section and absently picked up some holiday lights
that hadn’t sold the previous December. “You haven’t been at camp.” The words were casual.
“I only said I’d go for a couple of days. It was a nice break, but I wanted to finish the backsplash in the kitchen. I cleared out the Airstream too.” Josh didn’t mention that he’d been in the camper well past midnight, scrubbing the fixtures till they gleamed. It was better than trying to sleep.
Max ambled toward the tools. He picked up a couple of hammers, testing the weight. “So that’s it? You’re done?”
“Yeah. The electrician finished yesterday.”
“If he finished yesterday, why are you still closed?”
“Inventory.” The lie came easily.
“Mmm-hmm.” His friend walked behind the counter and tapped the glass frame that held the first dollar the store ever made. “Did you ever ask your dad about this?”
“He said the first thing he ever sold was a roll of duct tape. A store full of permanent fixes, and the guy wanted to tape some pipes together.”
Max laughed. “Don’t knock duct tape. But that’s not what I meant. I was in one afternoon when you were up at SUNY. I asked about the bill, and he told me the same story you just did. Then he told me it was a stupid tradition. He put it up because customers liked the reminder that they were in a small-town store instead of some big chain.”
“That sounds like him.” Josh smiled, though it was bittersweet. It always would be when he thought of his father.
“Yeah. Which makes me wonder why you’re so determined to hold on to this place.”
Josh tried to follow his friend’s logic, but point A didn’t lead to point B. “What are you talking about?”
Max spun around, taking in the store. “This was his. He was proud of it. It let him take care of you, and he was well-suited to the work. That’s what it meant to him. But he didn’t care about tradition, Josh. That’s all you.”
Josh rested his forearms on the counter, forcing himself to appear casual. “This again? The all-you-do-is-work talk?”
“Your father loved the work, and he loved you. He would be pissed as hell if he thought his memory was the reason you’re unhappy.”
“I’m not unhappy.” He’d been saying that too much recently. “Or maybe I am. I don’t know. But don’t you get it? I have to keep the store going. When I’m here, it’s like I can feel my dad. It’s all I have left of him.” Josh’s voice hitched on the last word.
“No one’s saying you should sell it,” Max said, soft and steady. “Hire someone. The place makes enough. Whenever you need to spend time with your dad, the store will be here. But this was a man whose will specified that his ashes be placed in a cardboard box. He wasn’t precious about his death or his legacy or any of that stuff. He cared about life and he cared about you. You’re not honoring that.”
Max couldn’t have hurt him worse if he’d punched him. “So I hire someone, leave the store, and then what?”
“Find something you love.”
Josh laughed, a short, harsh burst. “What’s that? All I know how to do is fix things.”
“You studied design. You grin every time you talk about that damned house of yours. You’ll figure something out.”
Josh took a deep breath, trying to the settle the buzzing energy in his chest. He couldn’t tell if it was excitement, nerves, or crippling fear, but it felt better than the weight that had pressed on him since he’d taken over the store.
“While you’re at it,” Max added, “maybe find someone you love.”
Ruby. The word popped into his head like it was waiting for an opening.
“That may take a bit longer.” She didn’t want to date him, and it was going to be a long time before Josh felt like dating anyone else.
Whatever Max saw on Josh’s face, it made him shake his head. “You already love her, don’t you?”
Josh swallowed. “I haven’t known her a week. Doesn’t it take longer than that?”
Max shrugged. “Hell if I know.”
It felt like the ground pitched below him. He replayed his and Ruby’s argument, wondering if there was anything else he could have said, or a way he could have fought harder. “It’s too late for her and me.”
Max glanced out the window at the darkening sky. “Tomorrow is too late. Tonight, you get one more shot.”
17
Ruby skipped the talent show.
She told Emma she wasn’t ready to face a crowd or see herself back on social media. It was partly true, though the idea didn’t terrify her the way it once did.
More than that, she wasn’t ready to share herself with the audience, and that was what singing was—revealing herself through her voice and lyrics, turning her individual world into an experience everyone shared.
She couldn’t do that, not while every emotion felt like an exposed nerve.
Two days had passed since she and Josh argued, and it wasn’t getting better. If anything, with every passing hour she grew more hollow. She’d found her voice, but it still felt like a key part of herself had gone missing.
Camp ended tomorrow. She wouldn’t see him again.
Somehow, despite everything, she’d hoped he would appear. Josh would walk into camp with that big smile and tell her that he’d figured out a way for them to be together.
But nothing had changed. If anything, it was worse.
She was going back to L.A. That made a six-hour drive seem like an easy trip.
Most of the camp was at the lodge for the show, so Ruby was surprised to see a campfire lit near the beach. A man sat by it.
Her heart jumped, then sank when she realized it was Cory. He didn’t notice her, too busy strumming the guitar in his lap.
“You play?”
He glanced up with a smile and set the instrument to the side. “Three chords and the truth. I’m pretty terrible, but I try.”
She laughed. Somehow, over the last week, she’d come to like the guy. Ruby claimed a log next to him and warmed her hands. Even wearing a thin sweater, the night was cool. “Why aren’t you at the talent show?”
“Once I saw you weren’t playing, there was no point.”
She gave him a sidelong glance. “Should I be worried that I have a stalker?”
He brushed his floppy blond hair off his forehead. “My boyfriend would be distressed to hear that, I’m sure. No, I’m just a fan.” He handed her the guitar. “Any chance of a private concert?”
Ruby picked it up and settled it on her lap, though she didn’t play. She nodded at the lake and surrounding trees. “It’s going to be hard going back to the city after this.”
“It’s why I came here. I love L.A., but I need to get away from it on occasion.”
“I didn’t know you were from there too.”
“Yeah. I’ve got a house in the trees, so the city doesn’t wear on me too much. And you can’t get better sushi anywhere.”
Ruby studied him with new eyes. Not many people in Los Angeles had a house in the trees. The ones who did mostly lived in the Hollywood Hills, which meant Cory had a comfortable bank account. “What do you do?”
Cory gave the guitar a pointed look. “I’m waiting.”
She grimaced, then hit the opening notes of “Little Bunny Fufu.”
He laughed. “I deserve that.”
Ruby meant to put the instrument back down, but her fingers didn’t want to release it. She began picking out the song she’d written the other day.
It began as a small, quiet melody but quickly built, her fingers moving faster as the notes of the song threaded together. It had taken a while to figure it out. Her previous work had been simple and a little folky, and this song demanded complexity. She’d needed the melody to reflect the confusion of the lyrics.
“I’ve forgotten who I used to be.” The words poured forth like they needed to escape. “It’s been so long I wonder if I ever knew.”
She let herself feel every word.
“But it’s okay, because I learned to tell lies until the lies became
true.”
The melancholy of the song hit her, but it was more a memory of sadness and regret for the woman she’d been. She didn’t want to ever be that person again—but she might be telling herself the biggest lie of her life by pretending Josh was nothing but a camp fling.
When the last note faded, it took her a moment to return to herself. It was the applause that reminded her where she was. Not just Cory, but several other campers had gathered while she sang. One woman had tears in her eyes. It wasn’t the screams of an arena or even the cozy cheers of a small pub, but in that moment, it was the loudest applause Ruby had ever heard. She’d been raw, and true, and it was enough.
A man stood just beyond the glow cast by the fire. He applauded with the others, his eyes full of an emotion as intense as her own. Ruby’s heart jumped, and she hurriedly set the guitar down.
“That was incredible.” Cory sounded amazed. “Even better than your early stuff. Was that from the second album?”
Ruby glanced toward Josh, uncertain. He hadn’t moved, but she wanted to reach him before he changed his mind. She answered Cory without looking away from Josh. “It’s new. I haven’t recorded it yet.”
But she could. She had the equipment she’d used to make her demo. She didn’t need to limit herself to coffee shops. There were thousands of small clubs she could visit.
Being publicly shamed wasn’t her greatest failure. Giving up would be.
That was later. Right now, Josh waited. “I have to go.”
He stopped her. “Wait.”
Ruby turned back to Cory, impatient. It took her a second to spot the business card he held out to her.
“It’s not Capitol or Columbia,” he said, “but I’d kick myself if I didn’t tell you to call me when you’re back in L.A.”
She squinted at the card in the dim light, reading it twice before she understood. Cory ran a small record label. She’d heard of it, though it hadn’t pinged her radar before. There’d been no reason to go with a small fish when a whale was signing her checks.