[RO] THE LAST SONG OF SUMMER

The first thing Robbie noticed when he stepped out of the car was the smell. The stables were to his left, just beyond the entrance. The scent of horse manure mixed with dirt and wet grass drifted toward him. For a moment, the noise in his head—tour schedules, interviews, stadium lights, the constant buzz of being recognized—went quiet. 
The archway with a giant W at its center still stood above the entry gates, and below, hand-painted letters, faded but stubborn: WELCOME HOME. He almost laughed at that. Home. 
A couple of teens jogged past him without looking twice, clearly late for lunch. No recognition. Just another old-timer arriving for the weekend’s festivities. 
Robbie exhaled, taking it all in. He’d spent twelve summers at Camp Winatu, eight as a camper and four on staff. Now he was back, not a kid anymore. 
He made his way slowly down the gravel path, hands shoved into the pockets of a denim jacket he’d bought in Tokyo that somehow looked exactly like the one he’d worn here at sixteen. Cabins lined the path. Same crooked porches with sandals flung about. Same screen doors that slammed too hard. Same clotheslines covered in bathing suits and tie-dyed T-shirts. Somewhere children were singing loudly and off-key. It was that time of day, the dining hall roaring with the chaotic joy of kids who had never heard of inside voices. 
He strolled down to the lake, struck by how much smaller it looked than he remembered. It had always felt sprawling, like the walk from boys’ camp to girls’ camp took an eternity. 
He heard the familiar opening chords before he saw anyone. And then, a woman’s voice, earnest and imperfect, rose above the guitar. 
Robbie stopped walking. For a second he was seventeen again, sitting cross-legged on the dock, watching her sing that same song while the lake turned gold behind her. He turned toward the sound. And there she was. 
Hailey was seated on a wooden bench inside the hub, an open-air gazebo situated between the dining hall and the waterfront. She was helping a camper, a boy no more than twelve years old, find a chord. Her hair was shorter, tied loosely at the nape of her neck. She wore the same staff T-shirt he remembered, sleeves rolled. She laughed at something the kid said. But her laugh carried a sadness that hit him harder than any applause ever had. 
He hadn’t heard that laugh in twenty years. 
When the camper ran off back to the dining hall, she noticed him. For a long moment, neither of them moved. 
“Hi Robbie,” she said finally. No anger. No surprise. Just recognition. Like he’d been gone a week instead of half a lifetime. 
“Hi Hails.” 
Hailey was the daughter of Benny Levitt, who had owned the camp with his wife Helen for longer than Robbie had been alive. After Helen died six years earlier, Hailey had slowly taken on the work her father could no longer shoulder alone. 
“Didn’t think you’d make it,” she said. 
“I made it.” 
Robbie suddenly felt absurdly overdressed—boots too clean, watch too expensive. 
A pause stretched between them, filled only by the sound of the mosquitoes buzzing about. 
“You look…” She studied him. “Exactly the same. Just more tired.” He laughed, relieved. “That tracks.” 
“The CIT girls are gonna lose their shit when they realize you’re here.” She wasn’t wrong. 
“I’d prefer if they didn’t.”  Hailey grinned. “You came back to the wrong place for anonymity.” They embraced. A hug two decades in the making. 

**

They walked toward the lake together. 
“Where are you staying?” she asked. “I think a couple of the others rented an Airbnb in town.”  
“I booked a room at The Dudley Inn.” 
She smiled. The Dudley Inn was where Winatu staff stayed on their days off, the site of many late nights, cheap beer, and more than a few firsts. For a second, their eyes met, both remembering one first in particular. 
They stood on the beach and Robbie removed his boots. The sand felt firm and cold beneath his feet.  
“It’s surreal to be back here.” He looked out at the lake. “It looks… the same.”  
“Well, we redid the tennis courts and the barge got a major upgrade. Other than that, not much has changed.” 
He took in her profile. The lake light caught the edge of her face, softening the lines that time had etched there. A few loose strands of hair lifted and fell in the breeze. 
“You look good, Hails.” 
“Wow. A compliment from the Robbie Hart,” she teased. 
They moved toward the dock. It creaked the same way it always had, and he sat next to her at its familiar edge, feet hovering above the water. 
“This is where you wrote your first song,” she said. 
“Our first song,” he corrected. She smiled and didn’t argue. 
They sat in silence, watching campers spill out of the dining hall, headed to their various activities across the lake. 
“You still sing?”
Hailey shrugged. “With the kids. Campfires mostly.” 
Kids. He wondered if she meant her kids, or the campers, or both. He knew the broad strokes, that she was married and had children of her own. He learned only recently that she had daughters, and he imagined them having that same spunk, that same sparkle, and that same goddamn gorgeous smile that unarmed him. He had many questions about where life had taken her. But he wasn’t ready to hear the answers.   
They stayed on the dock longer than either of them meant to. It was the kind of silence that didn’t ask to be filled. The lake did all the talking—small waves slapping the ski boats, distant shrieks from kids who’d just discovered the bravery of cold water. 
Robbie watched Hailey watch everything. It struck him, suddenly and sharply, that she belonged to this place in a way he never had. Even at seventeen, even when he thought he did. He’d loved this place like a kid loves a summer: fiercely, possessively, believing it would never end. Hailey loved it like an adult loves something that raised her: complicated, enduring, real. 
“Do you want to walk?” 
“Yeah.”

**

They were halfway back toward the hub when a counselor bumped into them, a young guy with sunburned shoulders and a whistle around his neck. He stopped short when he saw Hailey. 
“There you are. Phil called. We need more—” Then he saw Robbie. The guy’s face flickered, like his brain was buffering. 
He blinked once. Twice. “Holy—” The word came out on an exhale. Not loud. Almost reverent. 
Robbie felt the old instinct kick in: shoulders tighten, chin tilt down, eyes search for an escape route. The counselor took a step closer, as if gravity had changed. 
“Are you… are you Robbie Hart?” 
Hailey’s mouth twitched. She tried not to laugh. Robbie gave the smallest nod, like it cost him something. The counselor’s hand flew to his mouth. He turned toward the dining hall steps where some kids were straggling, then back to Robbie, and for one full second Robbie thought he might actually keep it quiet. Then, as if he were yelling “FIRE”— 
“GUYS. GUYS. YOU’RE NOT GONNA BELIEVE THIS!” 
A beat. And from the dining hall steps, as if on cue, a dozen faces looked up. More faces soon appeared. Twenty. Then fifty. Kids poured toward them like a tidal wave. 
“Oh my God,” said one fourteen-year-old girl, hand on her heart. “That’s him.” 
“It is him,” another trainee whispered, pulling out a phone she wasn’t supposed to have. 
The hysteria spread, but it was camp hysteria—theatrical, communal, like a chant about to start. 
And then, as if Camp Winatu had been waiting twenty years for the prodigal son to return, the kids began shouting and clapping in rhythm: 
“ROB, ROB, THE SEXY MAN, IF HE CAN’T DO IT NO ONE CAN!”  
Robbie’s stomach dropped. He hadn’t heard this god-awful cheer since he was Head Tripper aka everyone’s camp crush. Apparently, the legend of him was alive and well.  
Hailey stepped in front of him slightly, a shield without making it obvious. And then, like a beloved grandfather scolding his unruly grandchildren, Robbie heard that old familiar voice:   
“Okay! Okay!” it called, cutting through the frenzy. “That’s enough everyone.” 
The kids quieted instantly. Everyone was always a little bit scared of Benny Levitt. 
Benny stood at the edge of the crowd, hands on his hips, surveying the scene with the patient authority of someone who had spent a lifetime wrangling generations of campers. He was smaller than Robbie remembered, his shoulders slightly stooped now, but the eyes were the same: sharp, amused, and deeply kind. 
For a moment Benny just looked at him. Then his face broke into a wide grin. 
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said. Robbie laughed, suddenly feeling thirteen again. “Hey, Benny.” 
Benny walked toward him with the slow, deliberate steps of a man who had lived a lot of life. 
“About time you showed your face around here,” he said. 
And then he pulled Robbie into a hug. It wasn’t a polite embrace. It was the kind that knocked the air out of you, one arm around Robbie’s shoulders, the other thumping him on the back like he was still a gangly camper who needed reminding where he belonged. 
“Good to see you, kid,” Benny said quietly. 
Robbie swallowed hard. “Good to see you too. Love what you’ve done with the place.”  
One small boy, maybe nine, edged forward, eyes big. “My mom told me you wrote the song she danced to at her wedding.” 
“Alright, let’s leave Mr. Rockstar alone, kids,” Benny said. “Don’t you all have activities to get to?” 
Robbie smiled at the boy and he walked off entranced, like Robbie had validated his entire existence. 
Then another kid, a senior girl with freckles, stepped up. “Will you sing at the ceremony?” she blurted. 
The ceremony. Right. That was why everyone had come—the camp’s fiftieth anniversary celebration, coinciding with Benny’s seventy-fifth birthday. A joyous weekend reunion for alumni alongside current staff and campers. 
Robbie nodded, but privately he knew that wasn’t why he’d returned. 
Hailey clapped her hands once, camp director energy snapping into place. “Alright! Everyone, to your activities! Before I start assigning extra cleanup duties.”
The kids groaned and shuffled off, still craning their necks at Robbie. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. 
Benny looked at him. “Welcome home, kid,” he said, only it sounded like a dare.

**

Robbie and Hailey walked onwards toward the path that led to the staff cabins. 
“I should tell you something,” she said hesitantly.  
Robbie’s heart tightened. “Okay.” 
“My kids are here,” she said, like she was bracing for impact. “They’re campers, both of them.” 
Robbie stopped. “You have… kids.” The words came out quiet, not because he didn’t know, but because hearing it out loud hit him differently. 
Hailey nodded. “Sammi’s ten. Lily’s eight.” 
“That’s—” Robbie swallowed. “That’s amazing.” 
“It’s… something,” she said in a way that carried a complicated weight. 
He didn’t push. Not yet. 
“They know who you are, by the way,” she added. He wondered what exactly she meant by that. 
She glanced at him. “I’m sure they’ll be excited you’re here. Sammi had a poster of you hanging in her bedroom at one point. Matt was thrilled.” 
Matt. Robbie felt a small, involuntary tightening in his chest at the sound of his name, though he kept his expression steady.  
“How’s he doing?” Robbie asked before he could stop himself. 
Hailey studied him for a moment, mildly surprised that Robbie, a man the world tended to orbit around, knew that her husband of twelve years was sick.  
“It’s been… a year,” she said. “But he’s a fighter. And stubborn. He insisted on coming up for the weekend.”   
“How are you managing?”  
They reached a small fork in the path. One route led back to the stables and the parking lot and Robbie’s car. The other led toward the woods where Benny’s cottage stood and where Hailey’s family had built their own cottage next to it a few years earlier. Hailey stopped. She wasn’t sure how to answer his question. She had built a life with Matt, a real one, full of history and children and a kind of steady love that had grown and morphed with time. But the past year of caring for him had changed something in her. Some days she felt more like a nurse than a wife. Other days she felt guilty for ever feeling that at all. 
“I have to go help with stuff for the ceremony tomorrow. Logistics, you know,” she said changing the subject. 
“Right,” Robbie said. 
She looked at him, and for the first time there was nervousness in her eyes. 
“Will you come back tonight?” she asked. “Some other alumni will be here by then and the staff wanna do a bonfire. Sort of a pre-celebration celebration.” 
Robbie’s chest lifted, then tightened just as quickly.  
“Yeah,” he nodded. “I’ll come.” 
Hailey let out a breath, like she hadn’t realized she’d been waiting years for that answer. Then she walked away. He watched her go until the trees swallowed her.

**

When Robbie returned later that evening, the place had a different energy. Most of the campers were asleep now, save for a few troublemakers sneaking out on their ODs. It was pitch black and the air had cooled. Thankfully, he recalled these nights well enough in his bones to pack a flashlight and flannel. 
At the fire pit by the staff bunks, a group of alumni greeted him—people he hadn’t seen in years but recognized immediately as old friends, people who knew him before he was anyone else. Dan, an old cabinmate he first met when they were eight. Brian, a fellow tripper he had taken under his wing as first-year staff. Rachel, Hailey’s lifelong best friend who Robbie had kept in touch with over the years, perhaps as a subtle way of staying connected to Hailey. They were all excited to see him, and Robbie was used to that, but this felt different. With this group, he wasn’t a superstar. He was just Robbie. 
Hailey was there too.  
“Benny must be so proud you came back to celebrate with him,” one of them remarked. 
Robbie nodded, his throat tightening at the thought that Benny wasn’t why he had come.  
“You were always his favorite,” Dan teased. 
Robbie let out a chuckle and shook his head. “That’s not true.” 
“It is,” Dan shot back. “He told me earlier today he still has the first guitar he ever handed you.” 
“He does?” Robbie asked, looking to Hailey.  
Her eyes glistened.  
“It’s still in his cottage,” she said. “He always thought someday you’d come back and play it for him again.” 
Robbie stared at her, stunned. Her words landed somewhere deep in his chest.  
Chatter filled the air as the alumni swapped stories while the current counselors sat nearby, half amused, half awed by these old-timers. Chocolate and graham crackers were passed around as a few people roasted marshmallows over the fire. Laughter rippled through the circle as someone tossed another log onto the flames. After a while, inevitably, someone pulled out a guitar and handed it to Robbie out of instinct. 
“Not tonight,” Robbie laughed and held up his hands. 
An older alumna named Talia grabbed it instead and began strumming a few tentative chords before launching into an old Indigo Girls classic. 

And as the bombshells of my daily fears explode
I try to trace them to my youth… 

A few voices joined in, then more. By the chorus, the entire circle was singing.  

How long 'til my soul gets it right?
Can any human being ever reach that kind of light?
I call on the resting soul of Galileo
King of night vision, king of insight 

Robbie and Hailey found each other across the firelight, their voices landing on the same notes the way they always had. Years had passed since they last sung together, and yet something about it felt unchanged, like muscle memory their bodies had never forgotten. 
By the final chorus, the singing had grown loud and joyful. A brief escape from the weight of their lives outside of camp.  

**

The fire had dwindled to a low bed of glowing embers. The younger staff had long since retreated to their bunks, leaving a small circle of fortysomethings sitting in the dark. 
Brian, ever the tripper, pulled a joint from his jacket pocket.  
“Fuck it,” said Hailey. “I’m practically the boss now, right?” 
They lit up and passed it around. 
For a while, the conversation drifted the way campfire conversations always did—half reminiscing, half teasing.   
“Man, what’s it like to be you?” a glassy-eyed Dan said after a few minutes. 
Robbie looked up. 
“What’s it like to travel the world? Be famous? Have all your dreams come true?” 
Robbie glanced briefly toward Hailey. Her eyes were fixed on the embers.
“It’s pretty insane,” Robbie admitted. “When I write a song that connects, it’s the best high in the world.” He shrugged. “But it comes with a lot of shit. Things I can’t control. It’s hard to feel… steady.” 
He paused. Then added—
“It’s lonely a lot of the time.” 
“Yeah it must be rough having every girl in the world want you,” Brian chimed in. 
Robbie shook his head. “It’s not like that. Seriously. I get how it looks, but most of it’s bullshit. People projecting fantasies onto you. It’s hard to know what’s real.” 
“Must be nice,” Hailey said quietly. 
Robbie frowned. “What?” 
She finally looked up from the fire. “Having the luxury to question what’s real.”  
The group went quiet for a moment before Dan cleared his throat. “Still wild that you came all this way just for the weekend,” he said. 
Robbie shrugged. “Yeah. I guess part of me wanted to see if it still felt the same.” 
“And?” Brian asked. 
Robbie looked around the circle—the trees, the dark lake beyond them, the faces he’d once known better than anyone. 
“Honestly?” he said. “It feels like I never left.” 
Hailey stood abruptly. 
“Oof,” she said. “I think that weed got to my head. I should get to bed.” 
The friends watched her disappear down the path, and before anyone could react, Robbie was already on his feet following her.  
“Hailey!” he called. “Hey, Hailey!” He caught up with her halfway down the trail. 
“Let me walk you back,” he said quickly. “It’s dark and there are… branches you could trip on. And bears.” He winced at how stupid he sounded.  
She stopped abruptly and turned to face him. “What did you mean before?”  
“Before?” he asked, caught off guard. 
“When you said none of it’s real.” She stepped closer. He could smell the weed on her breath.  
“I meant the fame thing,” Robbie said. “It’s just smoke and mirrors.” 
She studied him for a moment. “Why didn’t you ever get in touch after you left?” she asked. 
He knew this question was coming. Still, it landed harder than he expected. 
“Because… because I knew I hurt you,” he said quietly. “I was trying not to be a dick.” 
“You think breaking up with your girlfriend with no warning,” she shot back, her voice rising, “someone you supposedly love, isn’t being a dick?” 
“You knew my plan,” he said. “We talked about it all the time.” 
“I thought it was our plan,” she said. “I thought we were leaving together.” 
“You could have come with me,” he replied.  
“You never gave me the chance! You broke my heart before you were even gone.” 
She shoved him in the chest, harder than she meant to. 
“You said you’d come back and then you disappeared,” she continued. “I never heard from you again.” 
He steadied himself. “I thought you wanted to stay,” he said. “I thought everything we talked about—the music, the dreaming—was just us being young. I thought you wanted a family. This place. All of it.” 
“You thought wrong.” She stepped closer. “And you should’ve known better because I thought you really knew me.” Her eyes welled. “All I wanted was to be wherever you were.” 
He didn’t respond. 
“You left,” she said, her voice breaking, “and you forgot all about us.” 
She shoved him again, only weaker this time. He caught her wrist. For a moment she tried to break free of his grasp. Then she stopped. 
He pulled her close, her forehead resting against his chest. Both of them were breathing harder than they should have been. Her hair smelled like campfire. God, he had missed that smell. 
“I never forgot,” he whispered. 
Nestled against him, she froze.
 “Every song I ever wrote was for you.” His words hung in the air between them. 
She lifted her head and searched his face, trying to decide whether to believe him. For a moment, neither of them moved. They stood inches apart, breathing together. Robbie thought she might kiss him. But then—
“I’m married,” she finally said, reminding herself as much as him. “My husband is fucking dying.” 
“I know,” Robbie said, eyes closed, releasing his grasp of her.  
“You don’t know,” she said sharply. “You have no idea what it’s like.” Her voice cracked. 
“We were already struggling,” she admitted. “We’d been drifting for years. Not fighting, nothing dramatic… just slowly becoming roommates who shared a couple of kids.” She gave a weak laugh. 
“We were trying to make it work. For the girls. You tell yourself that’s what grown-ups do, right? You stick it out.” She wiped her eyes. “And then he got sick. One day we’re arguing about whether Sammi should quit soccer and the next day I’m driving him to chemo and googling pancreatic cancer survival rates.” 
She looked up at Robbie. 
Her voice softened. “He’s a good man. A great dad. And now he’s dying and all I can think about is how I wasn’t even in love with him anymore.” 
Robbie wanted to tell her the truth. The real reason he had come. Would telling her make things harder or simpler? He ran through different scenarios in his mind. 
She let out a shaky breath. “Some days I’m exhausted. Some days I’m terrified. And some days I feel so guilty I can barely breathe.”
He placed a hand on her arm. “You have nothing to feel guilty about.” 
“I feel guilty because, more days than not, I think of you,” she replied.  
Robbie stood frozen, as if any sudden movement might break whatever fragile thing had just appeared between them. 
He wanted to kiss her. And for a moment, it felt like everything was about to change. She didn’t step away. 
Just then, somewhere down the trail, footsteps crunched through the leaves. Hailey pulled back quickly.
“I should go,” she said, brushing a couple tears from her cheeks. “My head is spinning and we have a crazy day tomorrow.” 
Robbie nodded, though neither of them moved. It seemed like she might say something else. Instead, she took a step backward.
“Goodnight, Robbie,” she said. 
She turned and started down the trail. After a moment, Robbie headed the other way. 

**

Next chapters to follow.