Till Summer Do Us Part(51)

“That’s not my story to tell,” Mika answers. “But I will say this. She might act like she’s tough, but I know deep down, she’s still hurting. Being at this camp, around married couples, acting like her marriage is failing, it can’t be easy on her.”

“Shit,” I say, rubbing my palm over my eye. “Okay, I, uh, I need to go find her.”

“Hey, Wilder,” Mika says before I can hang up.

“Yeah?”

“Be careful with her, okay? She needs a good guy on her side.”

“You don’t have to say it twice,” I answer. “Love you, Mika.”

“Love you, Wilder.”

I hang up the phone and head out of the booth with one thing on my mind: finding Scottie.





The day has gotten away from me. After hours upon hours in a therapy session, we are now closing in on dinner time as I walk around camp looking for Scottie, trying to act casual, like I’m just walking off the intense session I had with my wife, even though deep down inside, I’m desperate to find Scottie.

I feel like such a jackass. I was simply trying to play along with her energy, but she was hurting, projecting, and now she’s struggling with whatever is going on in her head.

It’s why I need to find her. I don’t want her alone right now.

“Looking for the wife?” I turn to the right to find—I want to say Chad—sitting on a bench eating an ice cream sandwich that looks fucking delicious. One of those Chipwich things.

“Yeah, have you seen her?”

“Surprised you don’t know where she is.”

What is this guy’s problem?

“We decided to take a break from an intense therapy session,” I answer.

He slowly nods, almost as if he doesn’t believe me. “Intense, huh?”

Eyeing him, I answer, “Yeah. Intense.”

“Well.” He takes a bite of his ice cream sandwich. “Good luck with finding her.” Then he leans back on the bench and crosses one leg over the other.

Fucking weirdo.

Ignoring him, I scour the camp for Scottie, searching until I spot her sitting on a bench under a large oak tree, looking out toward the lake that borders the property. Her legs are tucked into her chest, and her arms are wrapped around her shins, squeezing them in tight.

I approach slowly, not wanting to scare her away or cause a scene.

When I step on a branch, she turns her head, and that’s when I see her tear-soaked face. She quickly wipes at it, but it’s too late. I’ve already seen it.

Fuck, I made her cry.

My stomach twists in knots as I close the distance between us. When I reach her, I ask, “Can I sit down with you?”

She shrugs, trying to be nonchalant. “Do whatever you want.”

I’ll take that as an invitation to join her.

I move around the bench and take a seat next to her, keeping a few inches between us. Leaning forward, my forearms on my thighs, I stare out at the lake as well.

After a few seconds of silence, I say, “I talked to Mika.” I glance over at her, but she doesn’t say anything, so I keep going. “Was calling to check on him. He’s doing well, but, uh, he told me something about you—”

“We don’t need to talk about this,” she says.

“Scottie,” I say softly, turning toward her. “Why didn’t you tell me you were divorced?”

She shakes her head. “Please, Wilder. It doesn’t matter.”

But it does.

It clearly does.

I can see it in her defeated shoulders.

I can hear it in her heartbroken voice.

But I don’t want to push her. She’s already been pushed enough today, so instead, I’m just going to be here for her. I drape my arm along the back of the bench and scoot an inch or so closer to her, letting her know that I’m here for her.

And then we sit and stare out at the lake together, letting the sound of nature fill the silence between us.

The lake ripples at the shore while a bird sounds off in the distance, and the sun slowly starts descending behind the tall pine and oak trees, still providing a lot of sunlight. Off to the left, some of the couples are moving toward the dining hall, their laughter in the far distance, but Scottie just keeps her head forward, her chin now resting on her knees.

Taking a chance, I scoot closer and place my hand on her back. When she doesn’t shake me off, I give her a gentle rub.

From the corner of my eye, I catch her lip start to tremble, and then after a few more seconds, a tear falls down her cheek.

I can’t let her just sit there and cry in silence, so I say, “Scottie, come here.”

Ready for her to push me away, I brace for her response, but when she leans into me instead, I wrap my arm around her shoulder and let her lean on my chest.

She shakes under my grasp as she cries into my shoulder.

And I don’t bother saying anything, because what is there really to say? Instead, I hold her. I hold her as the sun dips behind the trees.

And I hold her while the lights around the camp begin to turn on.

I hold her until there are no more tears left for her to shed. I hate that I misunderstood her today. I hate that she’s experienced so much pain that she needed all this time to vent and feel. I hate that she’s hurting.