Camp Sutton Pt 08

BOOK THREE: AUGUST

CHAPTER ONE: A Gesture

I'd been in love before. Or, at least, I thought I had.

Was what I had with Olive love?

I didn't know.

In the empty cabin, a few nights before the dreaded teens would arrive, I stewed about it. Olive and I had not-so-subtly avoided each other for the last two days after I embarrassingly scampered away from her confessions like a scared middle schooler. I've never been good on the spot before. Not my best work, but it got even worse when compounded with the avoidance. Now, it wasn't just awkward, it was embarrassing.

There was a knock at the door. Jackie again. She'd been stopping by every couple hours, pretending that she wasn't just there to ask about my feelings. It was nice, though. I'd held out so far on actually processing anything, but now

Flipping through the book I hadn't been reading this summer, I said without looking up, "Hey Jacks."

She plopped down on the bed next to me, her presence offering a comforting reassurance amid the turmoil of my thoughts. "You have to talk to her, you know."

"I know." I sighed, the weight of the situation pressing down on me. I fiddled with the pages of the book, flipping through them like maybe I could divine some meaning. "But I don't know how to apologize."

Jackie leaned in closer, her voice gentle but resolute. "You want to apologize?"

I closed the book and set it on the bed next to me, dropping my head into my hands. "Well, yeah. I mean, right? I'm supposed to."

"That depends." She looked at me seriously; I turned slightly to meet her gaze. The usual bubbly, gossipy Jackie had turned into a stoic, genuine person right in front of my eyes. "You should only apologize if you love her back."

"She didn't say she loves me," I insisted for the hundredth time. Jackie and I had gone back and forth over the phrasing of Olive's confession every time we'd spoken. "She said she thinks she's falling in love with me."

Jackie waved her hand dismissively. "That's the same thing."

"It's not." We looked at each other for a minute, the tension between us palpable. Then, we both sighed in tandem. I said, finally ready to admit defeat in this battle if it meant I might win in the end, "You're right. It is."

She nudged me playfully. "Duh. It must be hard being such a useless lesbian, huh?"

I laughed, a mixture of amusement and self-deprecation, and for some reason, tears stung at my eyes. "Yeah, it is. So...what do I do? It doesn't feel like just walking up and saying sorry is enough."

"Because it's not," she agreed, a sweet glow in her eyes as she leaned closer, her tone conspiratorial. "You've got to do a gesture. I'll help."

I rolled my eyes with a smirk. "A gesture? I'm not exactly a romantic."

"Oh, please. Sneaking off at all hours with some star-crossed hottie? That's so Nicholas Sparks."

"So I should, like, dangle one-handed from a Ferris Wheel? Take her to an abandoned house for sex on a tetanus-filled floor?"

"Maybe not exactly that." She chuckled, her imagination running wild with romantic possibilities. "I'll help you figure it out."

So we brainstormed for a few hours in the cozy cabin, our voices filling the room with laughter and enthusiasm. The noon sunlight filtered through the cabin's windows and it felt like the white light was illuminating something inside of us.

As Jackie shared her favorite romantic movie moments and plot twists, her eyes danced with an infectious excitement, and I couldn't help but get swept up in her enthusiasm. She'd always been the more sweet and hopeful of the two of us, and it was evident in the way she poured her heart into crafting the perfect romantic gesture, even for someone besides herself. I hoped she'd be able to find the right person for her soon.

The thought of creating a memorable moment, straight out of a Nora Ephron film, seemed to ignite a spark in Jackie that I hadn't seen in a long time. She scribbled down ideas on a notepad, animatedly discussing candlelit dinners, surprise picnics, and starlit strolls by the waterfront. For a while, the weight of the situation and my own insecurities melted away as we embarked on this mission to mend the emotional chasm between Olive and me.

Later that afternoon, I had to make a trip into Bar Harbor to collect the supplies needed for my fated, maybe ridiculous apology. The drive into town took up most of the afternoon, the coastal scenery a soothing backdrop to my thoughts. With each passing mile, I felt the magnitude of what lay ahead, the daunting task of making things right with Olive. I knew I was making too much of it in my mind, of course. It was hard not to.

Because I loved her.

If the positions were reversed and she'd said some heated, mean thing in a moment of anxiety, I knew that I would fly into her arms if she even muttered the word 'sorry' for me. I knew she'd forgive me, but I didn't want her to do it if I was half-assed about apologizing. I didn't want her to say she forgave me only to harbor something deep inside that would fester between us.

In the dwindling minutes before the sun dipped below the horizon, I made my way up to the highest fire lookout at camp, which sat perched near the summit of a rugged hill. I had my big hiking pack filled up, heavy on my shoulders even with the weight spread out through its straps. The trailhead was nestled at the edge of the campgrounds, a well-worn path that campers and counselors traversed for decades seeking adventure and camaraderie and beauty. Today, it was my pilgrimage of self-reflection.

The trail meandered through the forest, the path dappled with the play of sunlight filtering through the dense canopy of tall trees. Birds serenaded me along the way, their songs bright and unbothered. As I climbed higher, the air grew crisper, carrying with it the scent of pine and earth. Each step I took brought me closer to the lookout that stood like a silent sentinel at the hill's zenith. The anticipation weighed heavily on me.

Occasional glimpses of the surrounding landscape through breaks in the foliage hinted at the spectacle awaiting me at the summit. The trees thinned out as I ascended, and a sense of elevation settled upon me, reminding me of the grandeur of nature and the magnitude of the emotions that had unfurled in the wake of Olive's confession.

When I finally reached the fire lookout, it was as if the world had been laid bare before my eyes. The panoramic view stretched in every direction, a vast tapestry of green forests, the glistening waters of the camp's lake, and the expansive horizon that met the boundless sky.

I took a moment to catch my breath, standing before the lookout's sturdy frame. The wooden structure, weathered by countless seasons, was almost protective. The setting sun painted the sky in shades of pink and gold, casting a warm glow over the landscape. It was a sight that demanded reverence, an acknowledgment of the vastness of the universe and the smallness of human concerns, even the ones that felt as enormous as the coastline.

My finger hovered over the button on my walkie-talkie and I took a deep breath.

"Maintenance, this is Maisie," I said into the receiver, voice shaking even as I tried to steady it. "One of the, uh, rain gutters by the A-6 lookout is busted. Could you send someone up?"

Silence for a few moments. Most of the maintenance team had off today save for a skeleton crew -- including Olive. It felt like we'd been waiting for one another to break the silence. She knew I had lied when I said I wanted to break up, and I knew she was telling the truth when she said she was falling for me.

Finally, Olive's crackling voice came through, as soft as it was hurt and hopeful. "I'll be there soon."

I waited, taking deep breaths, in and out and in and out, as the sky began turning lavender and orange. The sunset filtered through the trees and I watched the colors create bright freckles over my arms and legs. I'd worn my nicest clothes -- which meant jean shorts without dirt stains and a tied-up tee. My hands were shaking; I tried hard to steady them. When I heard Olive's footsteps snapping twigs in the woods, they started shaking again.

When she appeared, it was like something out of a movie. The sunset surrounded her in a halo of warmth. She approached like an angel, not to be overly romantic. Although this whole thing was overly romantic. Olive took in the soft blanket I sat on, the picnic basket nearby, and the soft, hopeful, apologetic expression on my face.

I went for levity, first, instead of jumping in to what I needed to say -- and, more importantly, what she needed to hear. Deserved to hear. "I see you didn't bring any tools."

Her voice was soft and nervous. But she sat down. That meant something. We watched each other carefully, trying to read body language for the words we hadn't yet said.

She replied, "I see you didn't bring a broken rain gutter."

"Couldn't find one on such short notice."

"Could've found a hammer," she pointed back. I'd missed just talking with her. My heartbeat quickened. "And the rain gutters are ancient; a good kick would probably get the job done."

I chuckled softly, thankful that she was opening a door for me. She was open. "Well," I said, trying to keep my voice light even as it shook, "I've already smashed our relationship, so I figured I should stay away from blunt instruments of destruction."

Silence for a few beats. Olive got into a more relaxed position, leaning on her hands as she looked at me.

I stumbled over my words, nervous. "And it wasn't actually short notice, really. I've been trying to figure out how to do this for days."

I opened up the picnic basket and started to take the lids off the containers inside, laying them out on the soft blanket to release my nervous energy.

Olive asked absently, her own anxiety beginning to dissipate, too, "Did you just repackage food from the dining hall?"

"No, I got real food." I showed her the contents of each Tupperware with a smile and a flourish. "Couple of lobster rolls, two craft beers, and one very large slice of blueberry pie if you agree to forgive me."

"Figured out how to do what, exactly?"

"Apologize."

A tiny smile flirted with the corner of her lips, sparking hope beneath my ribs. "Lobster rolls are a good start. I always miss them when I'm out in California."

"I know." Tension hung in the air between us. The sunset painted her in colors that saturated themselves in my memory. She was so beautiful, and I was an idiot. "I was stressed, and I felt guilty, and I lashed out. And I'm sorry." As she cracked open her beer and took a tentative sip, I said, "So anyway, I'm in love with you. And I'm really hoping that you're still in love with me."

Olive nearly did a movie-ready spit take. She turned to me with wide eyes. "Do you mean that?"

"You're beautiful. You're smart. You're funny. You challenge me." I shrugged and watched her expression carefully; she wasn't upset or angry. She was...happy, maybe. Hopeful. Soft, at the very least. "How could I be anything but in love with you?"

She put the beer down and moved toward me. I didn't realize how much I'd missed her lips until they were millimeters from me. Her hazel eyes roved over my features without curiosity or agenda. She just wanted to look at me. And I wanted to look at her, to memorize each slope of her cheekbones, to feel her breath beginning to mix with mine in the air between us.

The kiss felt like our very first. Our lips touched at the moment the sun dipped below the hill across the bay. We were bathed in inky blue and purple. Her lips tasted like all the words that could be penned with that sky. I felt everything we needed to say to each other. Her hand went to the side of my face and, instinctively, mine found her side. She straddled my lap and kissed me harder. We missed each other and I felt it.

I pulled back an inch. The stars had come out. I grinned, the hoppy taste of her lips tingling mine. "Should we split that pie now?"

CHAPTER TWO: Figuring it Out

We finished eating as the stars bloomed in the sky. With the dishes securely packed up back in the picnic basket, Olive and I reclined on the blanket, looking up at the stars. Since there were no campers and limited staff for a couple more days, it was a perfect, serene dark night with no moon or lamps to sully it. The Milky Way was out, its purple and brown cloudy swirls housing thousands of stars.

Speaking so softly into the silent night, Olive asked, "You know any constellations?"

I scoffed. "I'm a camp counselor. The girls need to know when their astrological signs are visible, after all." I pointed just above the treeline. "There's Scorpio. And then sort of up and to the right, that's Libra. Back to the left, that triangle thing, that's Capricorn."

She carved out the bright stars that ran between Aquila, Cygnus, and Lyra with a delicate hand, completely black against the sky. "You know the Summer Triangle? The story of Vega and Altair?"

I did, of course, from books and from classes and from others, but I wanted to hear it roll off her tongue. I said, "I've heard it, but tell me anyway."

"The original star-crossed lovers." She sighed and watched the sky as it told her the old story again. "There's this old Chinese poem about it that I love. 'Through the varying shapes of delicate clouds, the sad message of the shooting stars, a silent journey across the Milky Way. One meeting of the cowherd and weaver amidst the golden autumn wind an jade-glistening dew, eclipses the countless meetings in the mundane world.'"

I turned toward her as she paused. "I had to memorize that same poem in an international lit class. It's always stuck with me." I paused. I reached out and found her face, only slightly illuminated by the starlight. Stroking her cheek, I finished it. "The feelings soft as water, the ecstatic moment unreal as a dream. How can one have the heart to go back? If the two hearts are united forever, why do the two persons need to stay together -- day after day, night after night?"

She nudged me softly, teasingly with her elbow. "You left out 'the bridge made of magpies' line, where they don't want to go back to."

"Well, they don't have magpies in Philly," I replied, my voice all sigh and sweet and longing for a different set of circumstances. "And that's where I don't want to go back to."

Olive's head rested on my shoulder. She folded into the crook of my neck, her lips nearly on my collarbone. "It's your senior year, Maisie; you're going to have an incredible time."

"Not without you."

My response hung in the air between us. It had been completely honest, borderline impulsive, uninhibited by nerves or hesitation. I could feel the soft smile of her lips on my skin as she kissed me once. Then, her unseen expression changed. When Olive responded, it was measured and unsure. "I could come with you. I mean, why not, right?"

"Well, for one thing, I definitely wouldn't be invited back to camp next year."

"So? You'll have just graduated. Starting whatever amazing, illustrious job you find."

I rolled my eyes. "With my philosophy degree? Sure."

"You could join the clergy," she joked, but I could hear the nerves in her voice.

"Perfect." I laughed. Then, more seriously, I told her, "I'm really busy in school. Lacrosse is a huge commitment, not to mention queer student union, which I promised to get more involved in this year. You wouldn't even want to be with me anymore."

"That's not true." She meant it. I could tell. Her lips went to my ear and I shivered. "We could sleep next to each other every night." Her fingers traced circles over my thighs, just below the hem of my shorts. "We could shower together at the ass-crack of dawn before your classes." My pussy was beginning to respond as her thumb rubbed the inside of my thighs. "I can keep myself busy while you're busy, and I can help you relax when you're not."

I swallowed hard. This was a big change for someone I'll have only known for three months by the time I went back home, but something about it felt right. The thought of not having to say goodbye to her felt so good it was impossible to ignore. So I relented to my own desire, which I hadn't spent nearly enough time doing in my life. "We can figure it out. I'll have to talk to my dad; he pays my rent, so he'll have to be cool with it."

"The same dad who bought you the ten-thousand-dollar guitar as a guilt gift?" She snorted and kissed my neck. "Sounds like he wants you to have what will make you happy."

"Fair point. You know what? Let's do it. We can figure it out." I sat up and swung my body into her lap. Her hands immediately found my waist like a familiar handhold on a rock wall. I pressed our foreheads together and we could still barely make out each other's features. "Now can we have sex?"

"You make a very convincing point."

And she kissed me. We didn't screw around with softness. This was make-up sex: Intense, wanting, ravenous. Not wanting -- needing. Her hands gripped my waist and fell to my ass, pulling me closer. Our kiss was the kind a long-distance couple shared after years apart even though it had only been a few days since our last. She caught my lower lip between her teeth and sucked it. My whole body shivered.

Our tongues met like a gymnast and her bar, dancing in tandem and with a flawless, gold-medal rhythm. I couldn't help grinding my cunt against her thigh as we kissed, and she chuckled into my mouth. Olive teased, "Did you apologize just to get in my pants again? Such a slut."

Breaths fast, I panted out, "Just an added benefit. Now take your fucking clothes off."

And our clothes were off and discarded within seconds. The air was cold but that only made the goosebumps on my arms and legs more sensitive to her touch. My eyes had adjusted as much as they could to the night's darkness, but I could still only see the edges of her body catching starlight. It was like we were parts of the forest ourselves, just another pair of animals hunting.

Somehow, that was even hotter. I could re-explore her body on a true, deep level without seeing it. We were just two bodies intertwining in an inky black sea of cool air and rustling trees. Still straddling her, I kissed her neck and her collarbones and her shoulders. Every inch of her tasted fresh and new.

I took her breasts in my hands as I kissed her. Our stomachs and hips touching kept us warm as I teased her. The way that her gasps seemed to rustle the trees around us felt so natural. I couldn't resist replacing my left hand with my mouth around her nipple.

My right hand slipped slowly down her body, making stops everywhere that I had missed touching, which was everywhere. I caressed the slope of her stomach, the dip of her waist, the swell of her hip. When I reached her thighs, Olive sighed out contentedly. She'd been waiting for that moment. I indulged in her thighs, though, instead of racing to her ready cunt. The gentleness of her skin on my fingertips felt special.

When I dipped my fingers between her legs, her pussy was wet and hot for me. It was my turn to sigh, but I wasn't content. The opposite. I was fevered. I dipped my fingers into her cunt, getting them slick, before moving to her clit. I started to rub in slow circles but Olive grabbed a handful of hair at the back of my neck and tugged. In a breathy moan, she said, "Faster. Harder. I need you to make me cum."

I laughed even though her words sent a wave of wetness into my pussy. "Now who's the slut?"

I could hear the eye roll in her voice as she replied, "Shut up and touch me."

So I did. With one hand, I worked her nipple between my thumb and forefinger, rolling hard until she gasped and then keeping the pressure there. I kissed her so that she moaned in my mouth. I loved the feeling of our hot breath mingling. And, finally, with my right hand, I rubbed her clit. I could feel her cunt pulsing alongside my fingers as she got closer and closer. I didn't speed too much, though, no matter how many whimpering moans of need she let out. I kept her right at that squirming, writhing pace that I knew would get her off harder than if I followed what she thought she wanted.