Chapter 1

23 years later

"Mom, we're going to be late!" I shout up the stairs as I try to get my mother to move her behind. It's the opening day of camp, which is always a busy time, and Mom is always terrible at time management. 

Today all the camp counselors make it in, and we will spend the next 2 days planning and prepping, making sure all people have their job allocations squared off and know what activities they are in charge of, where to be, and when to be there. We have to go over the safety rules, dorm chaperone assignments, and first aid updates; it’s a crazy organized mess. This place will become a madhouse of preteen arrivals, excitement, giddiness, and friends meeting up after a year and then the inevitable crash and breakdown when they have to say goodbye again. Thank goodness this is just before the hormonal phase kicks in; I don’t know how we would have coped with teens creeping about for hookups and bag searches for the odd one that would inevitably try to sneak their parent's liquor cabinet in.

This is my first year flying solo at the nurses' station; I was on my first official break after finishing my studies and getting my supervised hours complete. I am now an official doctor without a clue about what to do next. Granted, I did finish my studies earlier than most, and I was still in the process of finding out what I wanted to specialize in for now, though here I am, overqualified yet reporting for duty.

Alzheimer's had been my reason for my becoming a doctor after I watched the disease slowly eat away at Dad. He was diagnosed rather early on, and the past few years have been tough on us; we finally put him in a care facility after he went a little off the charts. I still remember him saying, "You look just like your mamma, it's a pity she didn't make it." He sounds heartbroken when he says it, then his eyes glaze over again. Mom had been standing directly next to me at the time, and it was always something I used to laugh about because she was tanned with blond hair, green eyes, short, and a little skinny. I am completely the opposite to her. She looked sad when Dad said it. I know it hurt her, how quickly he was fading and getting muddled with people. 

We all know I take after Dad and his side of the family. I have black hair with a slight sheen of blue when the sun hits it just right; incredibly fair skin; and ice blue eyes. I’m taller than most, and while I'm not overweight, parts of my body are still more padded than most. I blame college! Really I do. The things served in the cafeteria on campus should be banned for life! I already miss the junk and carbs, if I'm honest, but it's for the better; I don’t think my clothes would have fit if I had to survive any longer on it all. Dad's family all had dark hair, different shades but still dark, and fair skin, so it must have been from their side. I'm still not sure where the blue eyes come in, but Mom tells me her gran had them, and I’m the only one lucky enough to have gotten them passed on to.

I stand in the passage, looking at all the memories Mom has on display. Me as a baby and my awkward teens. I wish I could hide some of those, like prom, the big smile with braces, and graduation photos; they look terrible. Dad’s in almost every single one of them. My eyes catch on one I haven't thought of in years. Me and Dad, in our hiking gear on one of our father-daughter days. 

I was eight the first time Dad took me out before sunrise, just the two of us, boots crunching over frost-stiff grass down past the tree line. I complained the entire walk; it was too early and too cold, and Emma Sutter's mom let her sleep till nine every single day of summer. Dad just laughed that quiet laugh of his and kept walking, hand wrapped around mine like he had somewhere he needed me to be. 

We came out of the trees at the low field, and that's when I saw her, a beautiful, strong doe, standing dead still at the tree line on the far side, bold as brass, watching us like she'd been expecting company, not a fear in the world. Every other deer I'd ever seen bolted the second you so much as breathed wrong in their direction. This one didn't move.

“Why isn't she running?” I whispered, tugging on Dad's sleeve.

He crouched down next to me, keeping his voice as low as mine. “She doesn't need to blend in with the herd to survive, Az. Look at her, out here on her own, out in the open, and she's not scared. You know why?”

I shook my head.

“Because she knows exactly what she is. The herd blends in because that's how they survive, a hundred deer that all look the same, moving the same way, all at once, so nothing can pick just one of them out of the crowd. But this girl?” He nodded toward the doe again. “She's not built to disappear into a crowd, kiddo. Some things aren't. Some things are built to stand out, stand tall, and stand still when everything in them wants to run, so the rest of the herd knows exactly where safety is.”

“That's just 'cause she's alone. She doesn't have a herd.”

“She's got one. It's just not around her right now.” He tapped two fingers over my heart. “Yours won't always be around you either, all the time. Doesn't mean you don't have one. And it doesn't mean you stop standing tall while you're waiting for them to find you.”

I hadn't understood it then, not really. I was eight, and mostly I'd wanted pancakes, my bed, cartoons, and to know why we couldn't have just looked at deer from the car like normal people. If only we could go back to simpler times.

I understand it a little better every year that goes by, especially the years I spent as the tallest, darkest-haired kid in every single school photo ever taken in a class filled with blonds and brunettes. You don't need to fit in the space they built for you. You need to stand out, stand tall, and find the ones who stand with you. Dad's words, cemented into me like scripture I didn't know yet that I'd need.

I don't know what makes me think of it now, standing in the upstairs hallway with the light hitting the mountains the way it always does on the first morning of camp season. Maybe it's just this place and how much I miss having Dad here. Maybe it's some part of me that remembers what today is, even if my calendar doesn't. I hadn't thought about the doe in years. I don't know why she picked today to show up in my thoughts.

Mom passes by me at a jog. "Come on, slowpoke; you're making me late." Mom has always been the goofy one in the family. Full of life, laughter, and an incredibly talented artist. I know she loves having me back under her roof. Classes were tough on both of us the past few years, with me being away and only being able to come during breaks. With Dad at the care facility, Mom had to hire some help to maintain the camp. This was my grandparents' dream, and Mom didn't want it to die; it is part of her blood. Every memory she had of her parents was rooted in the camp and the house we now stood in. She said if it brought in her share of income, enough to cover the operational costs and a little extra, and made sure kids were not getting up to mischief, it was worth it.

This place will always be my home, my haven, and I love it. The mountain ranges, the woods, and the lake all around us. This is where I belong and the only place I ever feel I could just relax and let go with no pressure.

Mom races me to the door as she bolts out towards the cart; it’s the start of a new summer that awaits. Her excitement at the start of camp always reminds me of a kid on a sugar rush. I shake my head. “That’s cheating and you know it," I shout after her. A few new faces will be waiting at the staff facility as well as some of the regulars. My heart speeds up thinking about Michael. I saw his name on the roster earlier; Mom teased me about him. He seemed interested last year when we met but never reached out once camp closed. I grab the clipboard and close the door on the way out, hearing the click of the lock engage, feeling giddy with excitement and nerves. I can't hide the smile on my face; my cheeks ache from it. I also have the cart keys, so Mom's not making it anywhere without me.