A Summer of Chances Read online

  A SUMMER

  OF

  CHANCES

  A SUMMER OF CHANCES

  ROXANNE TULLY

  Copyright © 2019 Roxanne Tully.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Names and Characters are the product of the author's imagination and any resemblance to actual person's living or dead, events or locals, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Artist: www.mayflowerstudio.com

  Photography: @AllaSerebrina, @amarosy, @lakov

  PUBLISHER'S NOTE

  This book was previously published as Chasing a Sunrise.

  To Shiran for being my inspiration and

  David for my motivation

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Epilogue

  CHAPTER 1

  There’s nothing worse than a pouring rainstorm on the first day of summer. Wait, there is—a pouring rainstorm while sitting in traffic on the first day of summer. Luckily, the radio in my old sedan was still working, and it was ‘90s weekend, which helped drown out the pattering of the rain on my roof. I didn’t mind the traffic too much; I just preferred to see where I was going instead of squinting through the windshield. I was finally about to reach my destination after spending close to thirty hours on the road in the last two days. My best friend, Emily, thought it was completely senseless of me to drive pretty much cross-country in a car that looked like it wouldn’t make it to the next town—all in hopes of getting a job working at a beach club for the summer.

  No, I was not crazy. It all started when I’d seen an ad about a week ago, for last-minute spots at Bays Beach Club and Summer Camp in Madison, Connecticut. It had popped up in the ad field of a search engine when I was shopping online for beach sandals. Except those spots weren’t for job openings; they were for campers. I didn’t bother calling first; in my experience, that’s the best way to get an immediate rejection. It’s harder to turn people away in person…right? It didn’t matter; my first instinct was to get in the car and drive more than halfway across the country with a positive attitude.

  Sure, there were closer camps where I could find employment. But Bays offered free housing with employment. I’d finished my first year at the University of Denver, where I’d been lucky enough to qualify for housing; you had to either be from way out of town or a perfect straight-A student. The thing I kept hearing from my adviser was that I had to keep my GPA above a 3.7 to keep my dorm, or I’d be sent back home to commute. Two things were wrong with that threat: First, I didn’t consider my dad’s house a commute. It was a mere twenty-minute drive from campus. Second, I hadn’t considered it my home for over a year, since my dad’s girlfriend, now fiancée, moved in last April. Since then, that homey feeling had turned to something else. It had become more like living with a new couple as they discovered new things about each other—eye-rolling, nauseating, and alienating. Those long months before I moved into my dorm at the end of August were unbearable.

  So, I’d managed to keep my grades up—barely—to the minimum. But now I needed a place to live for the summer. Emily and her parents had been gracious enough to invite me to stay with them, but I couldn’t keep “staying with people” throughout the next three summers.

  “Just make sure you have enough money for gas to get back home,” Em had warned me after I revealed my “completely thought out plan.” Let’s hear it for the support of friends.

  Bays Beach Club seemed perfect—at least from what I could tell from the photos online. Beautiful beach, stunning sunrise by the pier. Far. New.

  I glanced at my GPS and noticed that my exit was coming up. I squinted to see through my poorly wiped windshield. At last, I finally entered civilization. A very wet and humid civilization, I observed. I’ve always loved the outdoors, rain or shine. But I sincerely hoped this gloomy weather wasn’t a sign as to how the rest of my summer was going to go.

  I pulled up to the main office and parked in one of the visitors’ spots in front of the two-story building. Taking a moment to myself, I smiled with the satisfaction that I’d made it. Not only had my underestimated eight-year-old vehicle gotten me here, but I had made a decision and followed through, without an ounce of hesitation. But the fulfillment was short-lived when I confronted my next step: securing a job and a place to live for the summer. I quickly reached for my bag to count what cash I had left. If I was going to be heading home in the next twenty minutes, I’d need every penny of it.

  After a moment’s pause, I decided against it and threw it back in the passenger’s seat. That wasn’t the attitude I got into this car with, and it wouldn’t be the one I got out with. I pulled myself out of the car and glanced up, squinting at the peeking sun. At least the rain had stopped. That had to be a good sign.

  As I approached the entrance, I glanced down at my appearance: khaki shorts, white long-sleeved blouse, and my white sandals, which I had bought online the day I found this place. They weren’t exactly interview appropriate, but they were the cleanest pair of shoes I’d brought with me. My dirty-blond hair was up in a ponytail, which I hoped looked more appropriate than if let it down. I paused before I walked in and quickly put my hand to my mouth, letting out a short breath. I nodded, remembering the mint I’d popped after that last cup of coffee a few rest stops back.

  I walked in to a poorly lit and empty lobby.

  I peeked around, looking for any sign of life. There were banners, photos, and an abundance of kids’ artwork hung on the wall a few feet in front of me. A very short stairwell on either side of that wall led to an even more poorly lit second level. I took a few more steps, peering into the few rooms that were open. The tiled black-and-white floors reminded me of my college cafeteria.

  I spotted a light coming through a slightly ajar office door with a sense of motion behind it. I pushed it open lightly. A fairly short, dark-haired woman was putting up colorful charts on the half-empty bulletin board, which took up most of the wall behind her desk.

  She looked back over her shoulder. “Registration office?” she asked.

  “I’m sorry?” I asked, confused

  “Are you looking for the registration office for the Beach Club? Because that’s around the corner.” She sounded as if she’d answered that question fifteen times today.

  “I’m looking for the camp director.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Of course, come on in.” Her tone changed immediately as she put down her pushpins and paper. “I’m Sarah Thornton, the camp director. My camp coordinator has left for the day, but I’ll happily give you a quick tour. Are you and your child”—she looked me once over and continued—“or sibling staying here at the club or living nearby?”

  “I’m Amy Kragen. I’m not staying at the club and I’m not here to sign up a camper. I’d like to apply for a position at the camp,” I said co
nfidently. I was convinced that looking people straight in the eye and having full confidence in what you’re saying usually gets you a positive response.

  Clearly, I was wrong, since she was staring back at me blankly as if to see if I was serious.

  “Oh, honey, all of our positions have been filled for over a month. We start getting applications early March. Maybe try next—”

  “I’m great with children,” I interrupted enthusiastically while pulling out my résumé and handing it to her. “I haven’t worked at a camp, but I did lifeguard at the community center pool the last two summers.”

  “Because a lifeguard isn’t the first position we fill or anything,” she mumbled without taking the paper from me.

  I kept a hopeful gaze on her.

  She tilted her head and relaxed her shoulders. “Look, I’m sorry, but we are fully staffed for the season.”

  “I’m CPR certified. I also have great references,” I paused, searching for anything else I could do that might draw interest. “I’m extremely outdoorsy, fun, and very creative. I’m actually an artist by hobby. Not to praise myself or anything, but I’m pretty good. Good enough to teach.” I waited for the slightest bit of a reaction. “I’m also very patient, and I love children.” I nodded enthusiastically, knowing that last part was better interview lingo for teachers and counselors.

  Picking up the résumé without even giving it a glance, Sarah shook her head, irritated. “A lot of our staff come back from previous years, but open positions are posted in February.” She said, sticking to her come-back-next-year blowoff. She handed me my résumé and turned back to her bulletin board.

  I looked around at the photos from past years. A group of children stood in a perfectly aligned manner underneath a handmade sign that hung over the main building. The sign read “Bays Beach Club and Day Camp.” I saw another photo of a group of kids and a counselor, all wearing green vests, standing in front of a gorgeous mountain. The kids looked like they varied from early elementary to late junior high. Scanning more of the photos, I noticed other camp activities: swimming, arts and crafts, various indoor sports, rock climbing, and even a few water sports. It looked like they really did have a good number of fields covered.

  I considered turning around and walking back to my car when I noticed a series of photos in a crafts class. The campers sat neatly at their desks, drawing, crafting, scrapbooking, or painting. And all that was available to them was a straight row of boxes with supplies in front of the classroom.

  I thought about how limiting that was for children. Sure, it was raining that day, but there had to be some wonderful things to see outdoors, inspirations that went beyond wondering what you can craft up from a pair of scissors, construction paper, and dried pasta. Back home in Denver, I loved spending time outdoors and enjoying nature for everything it had to offer, in even the cold weather: the mountains, the rivers, the trees, the parks, most of all the early sunrise at Red Rocks, where I’d drive up with my coffee and sit there to watch the advance of that spear of light. Most times I’d missed the moment, lost in thoughts that the peace would often bring. I guess that was the point of my occasional early-morning getaways. For a moment, I thought about what these kids could get out of just sitting out in nature for a few moments and if they’d still find those beads and lanyards as captivating.

  “Nature art,” I thought out loud, smiling at the image.

  Sarah turned to me, startled that I was still in the room. “I’m sorry?”

  “Nature art,” I repeated, with more exuberance. I caught myself and tried to lead her down the path I’d just gone on in my head. “If you don’t mind my asking, what does your arts and crafts class consist of?”

  She stepped down from her stool to grab another handful of pages. She turned back to the board. “Oh, Molly Hanks has worked the arts-and-crafts program for the past two years. She’s fantastic, not just your regular paintbrush and glue-on-a-stick kind of class. They make tie-dye shirts, pottery—they even make handmade decorations for our end-of-summer party,” Sarah explained proudly.

  “Ever take them outside?”

  “Not for arts and crafts. Outdoor activities are reserved for hiking, water sports, rock climbing, special events…”

  “Nature walks?” I inquired. She looked at me questioningly and with clear skepticism. I ignored and continued, before I caved and walked out defeated. “Why not try a nature art class? Take them outside, to the beach or by the river. Before they plan their hike or go climb those rocks, why not have them sit and enjoy the scenery for a moment and paint their thoughts? You know, freely. It doesn’t have to be paint necessarily, it could be carving, sculpting, or using things that you pick up along the way in your art, like rocks or leaves.” I kept going strong, but her expression didn’t change. At least she wasn’t throwing me out. “These campers didn’t spend all year cooped up in a classroom just to do the same in the summer.” That statement seemed to earn me some interest, from what I could tell by the slight rise of her eyebrows.

  “Have you ever led such a class?”

  I started seeing my door open a little, because now I wasn’t selling her on the idea as much as I was selling her on myself. I started to get a little more comfortable.

  “I’m from Colorado. We spend all year outdoors; if we’re not skiing or snowboarding in the winter, we’re hiking and camping in the summer.” I’d always loved those ski lifts. I wished I could spend hours up there painting. “And like I mentioned before, I’m great with children, I’m already a certified lifeguard, which I know is a prerequisite for any position in most camps.” I noticed her nod and lift my résumé again, this time really looking at it.

  “Spending time outdoors is an important part of summer camp,” she acknowledged.

  I nodded. “And let me show you some of my sketches and paintings, which are mostly inspired by nature.” I kept a folder of photos of my favorites on my cell phone and showed her a few.

  She lifted an eyebrow. “How old are you?” she asked without looking up.

  “Nineteen.”

  She nodded slowly and skimmed through my résumé again. She looked up at me once more before turning to her desk and handing me a folder. “Please fill these out and return them to me first thing tomorrow. I’ll need a copy of an ID and lifeguard cert.” She looked outside and spotted my car. “Denver, huh?” She turned back and gazed at me for a moment. “Hmm—we have a few out-of-towners here. They stay at the Bays House. You may have passed it on your way here.

  “Bays House?”

  “Also known as the Bays Beach Club Housing Center; everyone calls it Bays House.” She grabbed a key from the wall. “Let me show you to your room.”

  CHAPTER 2

  I moved in a few days ago, but I haven’t really been around town yet,” my new roommate, Rachel Barnes, said as she watched me put the last of my stuff away. In the hour since I had been in my new summer home, she’d managed to tell me a great deal about herself. I learned that she was from upstate New York, a college sophomore, and a swimmer on the team at Buffalo State. “I’ve only gone down to the main dining hall and out to the beach and taken a few laps in the pool, just to get used to the space.” Rachel informed me that she was one of the lifeguards at the camp pool, one of two who would be on watch while the other would be in the pool helping kids take strides. I found out that the camp hired about six lifeguards in total: two for their camp pool, which was only eighteen-by-thirty-six feet, and four who covered the span of the club’s beach.

  “Oh, have you met any of the club’s staff or counselors yet?” I wasn’t sure if I’d missed any type of orientation. I hadn’t had a chance to look over the employee pamphlet Sarah had handed me earlier. My eyes needed a rest from watching the road for two days, with only a few hours’ sleep.

  “Sort of. There was an introduction luncheon at the dining hall yesterday. Most of the staff at the camp are returning, so a lot of people already know each other.” She rolled her eyes. “Seemed like no
body wanted to approach the new girl…” She trailed off for a brief moment then suddenly jumped in spirits, probably determined not to bring herself down. “But I managed to make my rounds and try to at least find out who’s doing what this summer, so I’m not at a total loss when the campers get here on Monday.” She looked at me. “I should probably get out there tonight, see the nightlife, find the best place for a cup of coffee. Care to join me?” she asked hopefully.

  “Thanks, but I’ve got some forms to fill out here.”

  Rachel glanced at my folder. “So, you’re from Colorado. I hear it’s beautiful out there.” She waited for me to either agree or tell her more about myself. “I’m sure there must be camps closer than driving past seven states toward the East Coast,” she continued, clearly needling me.

  “Maybe,” I replied with a purposefully absent tone while I scanned the open folder in front of me.

  “Most likely,” she said with a slight nod while squinting at me. When I didn’t show any indication of responding, she continued. “In fact—” She pulled out her laptop, which was sitting at the edge of her bed. “Let’s look some up right now… what’s the zip code again?”

  I moved over to her, shutting her laptop. “I don’t feel like talking. Okay?”

  Rachel looked at me for a moment before nodding and getting up to put her sneakers on. It’s not that I was trying to be rude. I just knew where she was going with this and really didn’t have the answers to the questions that would follow. And even if I did have a faint clue as to why I drove practically cross-country, I couldn’t put it into words. “Well, an ad popped up for this place, and I thought, hey, why the hell not?” wasn’t exactly a sufficient reason.

  Caving, I jumped up, grabbing my wallet and slipping on my shoes. “Should we walk or drive?”

  Rachel looked up at me from tying her laces and smiled. “Let’s walk.”

  The town wasn’t exactly small, but luckily, everything we needed was pretty much within walking distance. It was just after 8:30 p.m., and the clouds were turning dark. We’d been out for over an hour talking about some places we should try for breakfast or hotspots for the weekends. Now we were strolling down the shopping strip about two miles from the beach with our single-scoop ice-cream cups.