“Well aware, never stopped me. I’m fascinated by people. I like to see what they’re doing, what they’re going through, what kind of deodorant they’re using and if it has aluminum in it.” I glance at her. “Does yours?”

She shakes her head. “I use Native.”

“Hey, so do I.” I point to my chest. “And here you were worried, but we’re already bonding. Nerds Clusters and aluminum-free deodorant. Like two peas in a pod.”

Chapter Eight

SCOTTIE

“Why is this exactly what I pictured in my head?” I say to Wilder as he puts the Jeep in park.

I stare out the window at the sight before me: a combination of vintage cabins, dirt paths framed by rocks, and tall oak trees that stretch up toward the sky, providing a canopy of shade with their pointed, lobed leaves.

It’s as if the movie The Parent Trap has come to life and sucked me into a vortex.

The main building is a log A-frame with a flagpole right outside the office, the camp logo of a simple H freely flying in the air. A lake runs along the backside of the camp, stacked with canoes and rowboats ready to be tossed into the water. Toward the middle, there’s a large firepit with Adirondack chairs circling around it and piles of logs stacked high, ready to be burned. Off to the right, back into the woods, are the quaint log cabins where I’m assuming the camp attendees stay. Cutely, they are all adorned with porches and seating areas in the front, each with a decent width between.

This is it.

Camp Haven.

“I was reading up on Camp Haven before coming here,” Wilder says. “Apparently Sanders’s grandparents started it as a sports camp for children, a place to escape to during the summer. But over the years, it lost its luster, and only recently has Sanders revived it into a marriage camp. He does quite a few retreats every year.”

“Yeah, and at fifteen thousand a pop, he’s probably sitting pretty.” I chuckle.

“Probably, but seems peaceful,” Wilder says as he opens his door.

“For now,” I mutter as I get out of the car as well. Despite the picturesque scene in front of me, I know for a fact that I don’t want to be here. The drive up wasn’t terrible. There were long moments of silence when we didn’t say anything; he just drove and I stared out the window, soaking up all the greenery I miss at times while living in the city. And when we did talk, it wasn’t really anything of substance. Things like have you ever hit a deer while driving? This was asked because we saw several carcasses on the side of the road while making our way up to the Catskills. For the record, neither of us have experienced such a horrific event.