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.
