“I’d buy Jack out if I could,” Mary says. “But there’s no way I can afford it—”

“And your health, Mary,” Jack cuts in.

Mary closes her mouth and nods. “Yes. Well, that too.”

I don’t know what they’re referring to, and it doesn’t feel appropriate to ask. But Mary looks thinner than I remember, the shadows under her eyes deeper.

Panic is rising in my chest. This can’t be happening.

“So…what does this mean?” I ask.

Mary and Jack exchange glances again. Mary’s eyes fill with tears, like she’s silently pleading with him, but Jack gives a shake of his head before turning to me.

“We’re listing the property as residential real estate,” Jack says, his voice brisk. All business.

I know what this means—I’ve seen it happen throughout our area. Luxury vacation developments, condos, and town houses crowding the lakefront, rustic cottages torn down to make way for huge, fancy lake houses.

“Of course, you’ll get a portion of the sale, Jessie,” Mary says brightly.

I startle. “Wait—what?”

Mary turns to her brother. “I thought you sent her a copy of the will, Jack?”

“I’ll send it when I get home,” Jack says, shooting his sister a peeved glance. Then, to me: “You get one percent. Should be a tidy sum with a sale this large.”

He seems offended by this, as if losing a fraction of his own profit is a profound injustice.

For my part? I don’t care about the money. I’m not sure I even want it—it would feel tainted somehow, though it was thoughtful of Nathaniel and Lola to think of me.

“But what does this mean for my staff?” I say. “Do you want us to just…clear out?”

“No, no, of course not,” Mary rushes to say. “The whole process will take a while.”

“Probably not as long as you think,” Jack mutters under his breath.

Anger flares inside me. I want to grab them by their shoulders and shake them, ask how they can do this. Don’t they understand how much this place means? To their parents, to all our campers. To me.

I remember Dot saying Jack hated camp as a kid, that he resented how his parents spent all their time and energy here. Mary loved camp, apparently, but she’s never been strong enough to stand up to her older brother.

Now she smiles gently. “Don’t worry—we haven’t even listed it yet. And whenever we get an offer, we’ll make sure to delay closing until next fall. We’re not going to just toss you out on your keister, you know?”

She gives a little laugh, but I can’t join in, even half-heartedly. My camp is closing. After twenty years, this summer will be my last.

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Photo by Robin Facer