The Summer Hideaway by Susan Wiggs

wouldopen up for Ross. The two of them…George had a good feeling. They could really be something together, if they’d allow themselves that possibility.
    He worried about Ross, of course, coming back from the war. George had no doubt his grandson had seen horrors beyond imagining. Ross would need to learn again that the world was a good place to be. Maybe Claire would be a part of that process. George certainly hoped so.
    By the time he got himself up, he was feeling rather better. He shaved and dressed himself in chinos and a fresh golf shirt, and put on his favorite hat, the sporty one that covered his too-short hair. Then he went outside to see what the day was like. Moving slowly, with cane in hand, he went down a path that ran along the lakeshore. The air was so sweet it nearly took his breath away, and a searing grief streamed through him. How was it possible to leave all this?
    “Hello,” someone said behind him.
    Startled, he turned to see a woman seated on a bench by the path. She had white hair and wore a violet dress and sneakers with no socks. Just the sight of her made him smile. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t see you there. Too busy admiring the lake.”
    “I don’t blame you. Would you like to have a seat?”
    “Thanks. Nice morning,” he said. “Are you here on vacation?”
    “My married grand-niece and her husband persuaded me to come. I happened to mention I’d spent summers at Camp Kioga as a girl and young woman, so they insisted that I should visit once again. It turns out the resort, in its new incarnation, offers a fifty percentdiscount to anyone who used to attend Camp Kioga.” She offered a charming smile. “I love discounts. It’s my favorite thing about being a senior citizen.”
    George chuckled, liking her more by the minute. “You don’t say. We have something in common, then. I used to come here, too. It was a long time ago.” Now he was thoroughly curious about this woman, who had nice brown eyes and a somewhat impish expression. He checked her hand. No wedding band.
    He must not have been very discreet, because she smiled straight at him. “I’ve never been married. I suppose that makes me a professional spinster.”
    “I’m a widower,” he said. “And I’ve never much cared for the term spinster. There’s something lonely and unattractive about it, and you hardly appear to be either.”
    “Thank you. And for the record, I have never spun a single thing in my life, so the label is inaccurate, as well.”
    “I’d best find out your name, then.”
    “It’s Millie. Millicent Darrow,” she said.
    Recognition—remembrance—nudged at George. “Millie Darrow. I should have recognized you from our college days. You and your sister Beatrice went to Vassar.”
    “Why, yes. I graduated in 1956.” She leaned forward and peered at him, hard. “George? George Bellamy.”
    “It’s good to see you, Millie.”
    She took off her sun hat and fanned herself. “This is extraordinary. What a surprise. What an incredible gift.”
    She had no idea. She was the first person he’d seen in months who didn’t know George was sick. He liked that. He was glad for the hat covering his peach-fuzz hair. “You look wonderful, Millie,” he said.
    “So do you. How is your brother Charles?”
    It was too complicated to explain the situation, so George said simply, “He’s fine. Thank you for asking.”
    “I always thought you were the handsome one.”
    “Liar,” he said, laughing.
    She replaced her hat. “It’s the truth, George Bellamy.”
    “And I thought you were the sweet one,” he said.
    “How long are you staying here?” she asked.
    “As long as I can,” he said with an unbidden lurch of his heart. “As long as I possibly can.”

Five
    B ecause Ross Bellamy’s discharge had been expedited by request, he was supposedly moved faster than normal through outprocessing and demobing. Still, the journey home seemed to take forever. After debriefing at Fort