Termination

The office porch stayed silent for what felt like forever.

Sal looked down at the clipboard in his hands. Then at the blonde counselor standing beside me. “I’m sorry,” he said. “We’re going to have to let you go.”

She didn’t argue. She didn’t cry. She simply nodded once, as though she’d already known. “I understand.”

Deb softened. “Go pack your things. Maggie’s taking you to the airport in thirty minutes.”

The counselor glanced at me. She managed a tired smile. “It was nice getting lost with you.”

“You too.”

Then she disappeared into the darkness between the cabins.

Just like that. Gone. No meeting. No second chance. I was next. I could feel my heartbeat in my throat. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. The silence stretched. I couldn’t breathe deeply enough. My eyes burned. I stared at the gravel because looking anyone in the face somehow felt worse.

Finally Sal cleared his throat. “You.”

I looked up. “Yes?”

“We’ve got campers arriving tomorrow.”

I waited.

“Get some sleep.”

I blinked. “…That’s it?”

Deb nodded. “Don’t be late again.”

Relief hit so hard my knees almost gave out “I…”

Nothing came out. I just nodded.

Deb and Sal headed toward the house at the edge of camp.

Their porch light disappeared behind the trees. Only Amanda remained. She watched me for another second. “You okay?”

I nodded automatically. “No.”

She walked over. “I figured.”

Without another word she started toward the cabins. After a few steps she noticed I wasn’t following. “Come on.”

I caught up beside her. The woods were quiet again. Only insects and the distant lake.

She slowed her pace. “Calm down.”

I tried.

“Breathe.”

I tried that too.

“I’ve got you.”

I looked over. She wasn’t looking at me. She kept her eyes on the trail. “We’re connected after what you did for me yesterday.”

She smiled faintly. “I’ve got your back.”

A beat.

“Unless you tell anyone my age.”

Normally I would’ve laughed. Tonight I couldn’t.

She noticed. Without asking, she slipped an arm around my shoulders. Not romantic. Protective. The kind of hug someone gives when they’re trying to keep another person from falling apart.

We walked that way for a while.

Finally the words escaped. “She was nice.”

Amanda stayed quiet.

“She wasn’t trying to use anybody. She was just…” I searched for it. “…good to be around.” My voice cracked. “And she’s gone. She didn’t even do anything last night. You fired her without asking.”

Amanda inhaled slowly. “That’s the real world.”

I looked at her.

“There’s an old saying,” she kept walking, “‘It’s not personal. It’s business.’ This place feels like summer camp. It is. But it’s also a business. We have standards.”

The consultant was talking now. Measured. Logical. Efficient. I looked for something softer underneath.

“You didn’t fire me.”

That finally made her stop. She turned toward me. “That’s the real world too.”

“What do you mean?”

“Connections.” She shrugged. “People help people they trust.”

“You know me.”

“And I know you. I told you I’d look out for you.” A small smile appeared. “Unless you do something spectacularly stupid.”

“So…” I frowned. “The real world is just favors?And being liked?”

Amanda gave an almost apologetic shrug. “More than most people want to admit.” She looked toward the lake. “I didn’t lose my job because I was late. I lost it because I solved the wrong problems.”

She laughed bitterly, “They sent me to a factory that already worked. Improving something that’s already good only creates tiny gains.” She picked up a pinecone with her boot and nudged it off the path. “It’s much easier to make bad look better than good look perfect. I irritated the wrong executive, so I became expendable. I did everything right. I still lost.”

Silence settled between us.

Finally she asked, “Didn’t your mom ever tell you life isn’t fair?”

I smiled despite myself, “My mom always said life is whatever God planned. I just got my bare ass paddled because my mom stepped on my legos.”

Amanda raised an eyebrow. She looked up at the stars through the pine branches. “I genuinely don’t know what to do with your evangelical upbringing as a non-practicing Jew.”

I stopped walking. “…You’re Jewish?”

She looked at me flatly. “I shouldn’t find that insulting. But somehow I do.”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “Sorry.”

She sighed dramatically. “I just saved your job. You know what you should say?b…Thank you.”

“Correct.”

She smiled. “And hug me goodnight.”

I blinked, “You want a hug?”

She folded her arms. “No.nYou need one.”

I couldn’t help smiling. “So…” I opened my arms. “You secretly want to hug me.”

She rolled her eyes so hard it was almost theatrical. “Oh, for heaven’s sake.”

Then she stepped forward. We embraced beneath the pines. It wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t flirtation. It was two exhausted people carrying different kinds of hurt, borrowing strength from someone else for a few quiet seconds.

I expected her to pull away almost immediately. She didn’t. Neither of us did.

When we finally separated, the porch light from the cabins caught the moisture gathering at the corners of her eyes.

She quickly blinked it away. “Goodnight.” She forced a smile. “And try not to be late agaim. My cousins are going to start thinking I have a thing for you.”

She turned and walked back toward the office before I could answer. I watched until the darkness swallowed her.

Back in my cabin, sleep came almost instantly.

The summer had been full of attention. Flirting. Crushes. Kisses, blowjobs, orgies. But lying there in the darkness, I realized something that surprised me.

What I needed most wasn’t to be desired. It was to know that, when everything went wrong, someone would choose to stay beside me anyway. He needed a true partner.

That feeling followed him into sleep.