Page 157 of Camp Bliss
GRETA
My hands are shakingwhen I hang up with Zach.
I wasn’t ready for him to fight me so hard. Maybe it’s stupid of me, but I thought he would understand.
Am I doing the wrong thing?
I don’twantto help Josh. I want him gone.
But maybe Zach is right. Maybe this is about closure or, I don’t know—
Vindication?
Because Zach has a point. There are other people who could help Josh. I think Zach and I were the closest people in his life, but he was always friends with Evan Dubrock and Hunter Hulin, his Sigma Chi brothers. And I still have their numbers in my phone.
I know I won’t be calling them.
But I do need to get busy.
I have guests checking into both cabins today at four. I still have to run to Black Pot to pick up breakfast casseroles for the next two mornings, and we need coffee and toilet paper. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with Josh in the meantime.
He sure as hell isn’t coming with me, but how can I trust him to stay here?
And I thought about it all night. Getting him help isn’t going to be easy. Clearly, he needs an in-patient program to help him sort out his issues. Medicine for his depression. Counseling for his coping skills. Therapy to address his origin wounds.
Except, I don’t think he has insurance anymore.
He sure as hell isn’t on our plan. That was one of the things Zach took care of days after Josh split.
So one of the things I need to add to my to-do list is to research viable treatment options.
But coffee first.
I’m so exhausted, my skin feels like it has been sandpapered.
As Russell and I make our way to the lodge, I try to brace myself to face Josh again, but the lack of sleep and my stressful talk with Zach leaves me with some serious doubts.
What if I can’t do this? What if I can’t handle it?
I wish Zach were here. I can’t imagine he’d be so opposed to helping Josh if he actually saw him.
Clutching a fresh set of clothes for Josh, I brace myself with a deep breath, and open the lodge door to find Josh in the kitchen, leaning against the island.
His color looks terrible. If he slept any more than I did, it sure as hell doesn’t show on his face. He stands with his hands balled into fists on the edge of the countertop, tension making veins and tendons stand out in his arms.
Coffee is brewing, and Josh is in a stare down with a tall glass of ice water on the counter.
“I haven’t eaten anything. I’ve tried to drink water, but I don’t want it,” he drones, dragging his gaze to me and holding up my angry note. “And the only time I puked after I came inside was in the bathroom.”
I nod, not wanting to give him anything more than that.
I mean, hooray. He’s managed to do what I demanded in my note. Whoopie.
And he’s made coffee, but I’m not about to saythank you.A pot of coffee doesn’t go very far after you’ve stolen hundreds of thousands of dollars from someone.
He turns the note back to face him and scans his eyes over the page. It’s then that I see the way the paper shakes in his hand. “And I haven’t left the lodge, and it’s now after eight am.”
“‘Kay,” I say before breaking eye contact and crossing to the fridge. I grab the carton of creamer and two Mason jars of the overnight oats I made the night before last. I thank past me for taking the time to layer oats, flaxseed, coconut flakes, blackberries, honey, and almond milk so I don’t even have to think about breakfast today.
