Page 207 of Camp Bliss
But it’s also not a camper.
She gasps again. “There’s a bathtub in the bedroom suite.”
My laughter bounces down the slope. But, yes, there’s a bathtub. She’s gone long enough without one.
Greta sucks in a huge inhale, so I should be ready for it. I’m not. She throws her arms around my neck and squeals so loud, a flock of red-winged blackbirds launch out of the golden grass and trill their outrage. Behind us in the cargo hold, Russell barks.
Closing her in my arms, I crack up all over again. “I guess you like it?”
“Ohmygod, Zach!” I can already hear the tears—the happy tears—in her voice even though her face is buried in my neck.
I squeeze her tight again and put my lips to her ear. “If there’s nothing you want to change, we can break ground on the first.”
Okay, now she’s sobbing. I rub her back in smooth strokes, in no hurry to let go. Might as well give it all to her. The contractor we’ve used for our other construction projects is reliable and realistic. But when I shared our plans—and our timeline—he said he’d make it work.
“And if we’re lucky, we’ll be able to move in late September.”
“Z-Zach—Oh, God, Zach.” The sobs have become hiccups, and tears are soaking my T-shirt. Chuckling, I kiss her hair and just hold on tight.
Sniffling, she leans back and blinks up at me. “Y-You… You are i-incredible.” She shakes her head, swiping beneath each eye. “I wasn’t sure we c-could do it yet. Build a house, I mean.”
I take her face in my hands and gently brush her tears with my thumbs. “Well, baby, I think we need a house for us—and for Pancake—before we need more bunkhouses.”
She’s sniffling and nodding. Then she licks her lips, her bottom one still trembling. “And we can afford it?”
Over the years, we’ve been using the annuity checks to help Camp Bliss grow. Pay for our bus. Cover construction costs. But even with the monthly payouts, we’ve had to be thoughtful and disciplined about each acquisition. Each project. Each hire.
But it’s time for our family to grow. And while we can’t liquidate the annuity, we can use it as collateral on a mortgage.
“Yeah, honey, we can afford it.”
This assurance triggers another onslaught of tears, and she crashes back into my chest. No complaints here.
I hug her tight, breathing her in. Again, taking in where we started. How far we’ve come.
How lucky I am.
And I bear no ill will to my old friend, but thank God it’s me and not him sitting where I’m sitting. Holding her. Giving her babies. Building her a house.
Making her dreams come true.
I wish him every happiness—except mine. And he seems happy enough. We don’t really keep in touch much because it’s still weird, but every six months, when he passes another sobriety milestone, Josh sends us a little something. Something for Camp Bliss.
A pickleball set.
A basketball goal.
A tetherball stand.
A ping pong table.
And a few weeks ago, customized cornhole sets with the Camp Bliss logo on them.
I know he’s in Jacksonville now, working for The Greater Sum, a non-profit incubator and accelerator.
Helping people help other people. Pretty cool.
And maybe we helped him find his way. If that’s true, it’s all because of Greta. Because her heart is as big as the sky, and I don’t think she can draw breath without thinking of others. How to help them. How to make them happy.
