Every Summer: Book One In The Love Through The Seasons Series

Chapter 17

Jeremiah's POV

On the ride home I have a permanent smile on my face. David's no different as he tries to bury his own grin in his phone, texting about us no doubt. 

I rest back, my hands laced around my neck, and legs spread comfortably. Gran is whistling along to show tunes and as cheesey as it sounds, but the sun looks brighter and the sky way bluer. Not Davey blue, though. That's more like before a rainstorm when you see the first bolts of lightening. Sexy. Just like he is.

When we reach the house, I wait for Davey to descend from the car and only just refrain from helping him down like he's royalty. But, knowing him, he'd sock me again.

David hustles over with the bag of our clothes and a tiny smile resting on his pretty pink lips. Gran dissappears into the house and I bravely take his hand and pull him up the stairs with me. We get inside and Dave has to hurriedly shut the door. 

We dash through the entry room and to the spiral case that leads to the floors with the guest rooms. Hand in hand, we pass the second landing and Dave let's out a labored, "Wait, we passed my room." I laugh and make myself slow down as not to wind ourselves.

"I know. We're going to my room." I hear him go silent, but don't let it discourage me. Finally we make it to the only room on the third floor of this wing. Like always, the door is wide open. I have nothing to hide. Well, at least, nothing in there.

I enter and drag David along. I firmly shut the door and turn to him before giving him a quick peck on the lips. I just couldn't not. He stays there, frozen, as I begin to dash around my room, looking for it. "Um... Jem?" I don't answer. "Hey, bro?" I can't find it! "Dude, what the hell are you looking for!"

"Aha!" I declare, lifting the single sheet of paper to eye level and facing Davey. He gives me a weary eye.

"What is that?"

"This...this is gold!" I thrust the letter into his hands and he gently takes it and gives me another odd look before beginning to read the document.

As his eyes shoot around, they become sadder and sadder until he looks up at me. "Who...why're you showing me this?" I shake my head at his obliviousness.

"See that name, right there?" I point to a point on the page.

"Yeah, that's the guy who died."

"Well, he...he was my camp counselor." David still looks confused. "From the gay camp that I went to for a while. He's the guy that taught me that I...that this" I gesture between us "is wrong."

"Oh..." he says, obviously not knowing what to say. "I'm sorry for your loss?"

"No, Davey. This is a good thing!" I exclaim.

"How?!" he returns with a horrified expression.

"Because, come look at this." I scurry over to my unmade bed with my laptop resting on it. Hastily, I click out of every pop up ad and extra tab until it leaves the one article. "Read it." David's eyes start to scan the screen. "No, out loud," I redirect.

"Okay, okay... Eight forty seven, August 11th, at age 65 a man by the name of Henry Stain took his own life in his little cabin in upstate Dakota. Though not a celebrity in a general sense, he is very popular within the majority of gay hating communities. Stain served thirteen years in an over summer program for illegidly gay teen males. It's said his original inspiration for this was the death of his first wife, Cassidy, which occurred in a car accident with a friend in the passenger. A gay friend, at that. His prejudice was fueled and drove him through to be one of the most powerful enforces against the rights of the lgbt cause. So having a gifted son, Raymond, to come help with his camp running gave him the family man title. That is until his own son fell in love with one of the campers and came out during a nightly roast and sprung himself and the boy, Anthony Thrall, out of the camp. In his suicide note the following was listed- Jeremiah, I don't feel comfortable reading th-"

"Please. It'll help you understand," I urge. David huffs out some air and continues.

"The following was listed: Dear, Raymond, I know you probably don't wish to hear from me right now. And you're not. You're reading this. So please, as your father, do this last thing for me. Read this. Today, I went into the basement and found an album book that I've kept locked away for nearly a decade. Inside that album was a picture of you and me. We're at the camp around the camp fire. And I noticed something that I've been completely ignoring since your first day as a junior counselor. The way you looked at Anthony. You loved him, I know that now. At this moment, my biggest regret is not seeing that. Along with not attending your wedding. Or coming to see my grandchildren. Or having not in any way checked up on you in seven months. So as it seems, I'll be taking these regrets to my grave. I hope you forgive me for everything I've put you through and every other child who has ever had the misfortune to show up in one of my camps. But, if it matters, I have one last thing to say- well, write- Jem, I don't think I can-"

"David. Read, please," I beg. 

"I have one last thing to say. It's not wrong. You're not wrong and you're loved. I love you and every other camper I've ever broken. My recompense is to go as some of my own victims have and take my own life. Bye, Ray. I'll say hi to your mother for you."