So Long, Summer Camp

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Christy and I finally went back to bed in the wee hours of the morning. We slept late and emerged from the bungalow a little before noon.

The storm was a distant memory. A cool breeze had cleared the persistent summer haze, and fluffy white clouds floated in a topaz blue sky. The ground was a different story. It was littered with forest debris, everything from old brown pine cones to fresh green needles. The pool had been too, but someone had cleaned it.

Brooke and Wren were sitting in lounge chairs, talking more than sunbathing. They’d been laughing a moment earlier. They heard us and looked over their shoulders at the same time.

“Well, speak of the devil,” Wren said.

“In the flesh,” Brooke agreed.

Christy realized they were looking at her instead of us. “What?”

“Oh, nothing,” Brooke lied.

Wren switched gears and asked, “Did you finally get some sleep? What was it? Five a.m.?”

“Um… something like that,” I said, a little sheepishly.

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