Summer at Willow Lake Read Online Free PDF Page B

Kioga, which he thought was an Algonquin word for “tranquillity,” but which he later learned was meaningless. After the camp closed in 1997, none of the Bellamy offspring was inclined to take it on.
    Her grandmother helped herself to a cornet filled with chocolate ganache. “We’ll discuss it after the anniversary celebration. Best to get everything settled so no one will have to make a decision about that after we’re gone.”
    “I hate it when you talk like that. You’re sixty-eight years old, and you just did a senior triathlon—”
    “Which I never would have finished if you hadn’t trained with me.” Jane patted her hand, then looked pensive. “So many important moments of my life took place there. The camp floated my family through the Great Depression, just barely. After Charles and I married and took over, the place became a part of who we are.”
    So typical of Nana, Olivia reflected. She always looked for ways to hold on to things, even when she would be better off letting go.

    “That’s all in the future.” Nana’s manner turned brisk as she took out some pages she’d obviously printed off from Olivia’s Web site. “We have business to discuss. I want you to prepare the property for our gala celebration.”
    Olivia let out a short laugh. “I can’t do that, Nana.”
    “Nonsense. It says right here you provide expert research, design and services to stage and enhance real estate for optimum market presence.”
    “All that means is that I’m a house fluffer,” Olivia said. Some of the designers in her field objected to the expression, which definitely lacked a certain gravitas. They preferred house stager or property enhancer. Fluffer sounded…well, fluffy.
    The expression was fairly descriptive of what the job entailed. In the service of people seeking to display their property at its best, Olivia was a master of illusion. An artist of deception. Making a property look irresistible was usually a simple, low-cost process, incorporating elements the seller already owned, but combining them in different ways.
    She loved her job and did it well, and her reputation was growing accordingly. In some parts of Manhattan, agents would not even consider listing a property until it had been fluffed by Olivia Bellamy of Transformations. The job was not without its challenges, though. Since she’d launched her own firm, Olivia had learned that there was a lot more to property staging than weeding the flower beds, painting everything white and turning on the bread-making machine.

    Still, a project the size of Kioga was not in the realm of her expertise.
    “You’re talking about a hundred acres of wilderness, a hundred fifty miles from here. I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
    “I would.” Jane pushed an old-fashioned, leather-bound photo album across the table to her. “Everyone has a notion of summer camp in their mind, whether or not they even went to camp. All you have to do is create that illusion once again. Here are some pictures taken through the years to get you started.”
    The photos were, for the most part, classic views of rustic cabins clustered on the shores of a lake in a pristine forest. Olivia had to admit that there was something both peaceful and evocative about the place. Nana was right about the illusion—or maybe it was a de lusion. Olivia had had a terrible time at summer camp. Yet somewhere in the back of her mind, there lived an idealized summer place, free of taunting children, sunburns and mosquitoes.
    Her imagination kicked in, as it always did when she viewed a property. Despite her reluctance, she almost immediately started seeing ways to dress it up.
    Stop it, she told herself.
    “I don’t exactly have the best memories of my summers there,” she reminded her grandmother.
    “I know, dear. But this summer could be your opportunity to exorcize those demons. Create new memories.”

    Interesting. Olivia hadn’t realized her grandmother had known about her