Page 53 of Camp Bliss
I chase the bite of pie with a sip of the best goddamn latte in Lafayette. Velvety. Full-bodied. It boosts my hum to a grunt of pleasure.
Now Greta’s smiling for real. She lifts her wide cup, careful not to disturb the artistry of the barista’s foam fern floating on top, and takes her own sip.
Maybe it’s the sunlight from the big cafe windows. Maybe it’s the perfection of the coffee. Maybe it’s the steps we’ve taken today, but some life seems to be back in Greta’s eyes.
“Good, right?” I say before taking another bite of pie.
She closes her eyes and savors another sip. “So good.”
The look of enjoyment on her face is such a welcome sight, I literally stop chewing to watch it.
The moment passes. She sets down her coffee and picks up her knife and fork. “Maybe we should have board meetings here every month,” she says before
cutting into the loaded avocado toast.
I chuckle. “Board meetings. Sure thing.”
“So, shall I call the first board meeting of the restructured Camp Bliss, LLC to order? All in favor, sayaye.”
“Aye,” we both say and then laugh. Greta’s fades first, sadness weighing down her smile.
I don’t like it. Chasing it away feels imperative.
“What’s first on our agenda, Madame President?”
My title surprises her, doing the trick. “Umm,” she hums amused, “Okay. Agenda Item One. What the hell are we going to do?”
I nod, mock a frown as though I’m giving this serious consideration. Honestly, I’ve thought of little else the last three days. I’ve held off talking in too much detail to Greta, figuring that as long as she wanted to carry on, we could work out a new plan of action when she was ready.
Maybe she’s ready now.
I wipe my mouth with a napkin. “I think we have to scale down our original plans.”
She smirks. “Obviously.”
I guess she’s ready. I dive in. “I think we have to scrap the plans for more cabins.” When her eyes bug, I tack on, “At least for now.”
“Yeah, but… if we do that, we can’t offer overnight retreats or sleep-away camps.”
“Not at first,” I concede. “But if we focus the existing capital on the activities and the day camps we can keep ourselves afloat until we’re able to expand.”
“Keep ourselves afloat,”Greta parrots, sounding defeated.
I wince. “I mean generate income and buy ourselves time,” I say, sitting up straighter, trying to project confidence that I hope will convince her. “The changing rooms and restrooms, the high ropes course, the zipline, the climbing wall, the paddle gear, the fishing pier, the pavilion, the boardwalk—we can do all of those for the same cost of adding even three cabins, much less the six we had originally planned.”
Her gaze shifts to the left, and I can tell she’s picturing it, tallying it in her head.
“And if we put what we have into the cabins, we’ll have nothing left,” I say, my voice softening. “It’s really the activities that are the draw. Not cabins.”
Greta bites the corner of her bottom lip. I force my gaze to my remaining hand pie.
“I don’t know about that,” she says thoughtfully.
I glance up. Her eyes are sparking.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, we have two cabins now. Not enough to offer for a camp or a corporate retreat, but we could, like, Airbnb them.”
