Free Fallling for the Prodigal Son by Julia Gabriel

lifestyle accoutrements they all coveted: the expensive car, nice clothes, newest cellphone. And he'd been a camper himself, to boot.
    Derrick's annual visits had a twofold benefit. The avalanche of checks that his articles always generated was nice, to say the least, but this right here was probably even more important. His live, in-the-flesh appearance was a real, tangible example to the kids that they could be more than people expected them to be. They were not stuck where they had started in life. Lucy only wished Derrick's schedule permitted him to visit the camp every week. But life wasn't fair, even at camp. Only one session's campers got to meet Derrick Jones each summer.
    The camp did a lot for these kids, Lucy reflected. But there was always more that could be done. Douglas and the counselors had only enough resources to barely scratch the surface of what these kids really needed. And there was always a handful of kids who needed a day or two to just decompress from their gritty lives back home, to acclimate to the slow pace of St. Caroline, even to just let go of their constant alertness for danger. One summer, Douglas had brought in the local yoga teacher to help the kids relax, empty the tension from their bodies and minds. But then she'd gotten married and moved away.
    "I have to get back to my office, Lucy said quietly to Derrick. "But you have free rein of the place, as usual. Sterling is in New York all day. I know it's going to be a bittersweet story this year."
    Derrick shrugged and smiled slyly. "You're giving up too easily, Lucy. I didn't get off the streets by letting rich people push me around."
     
    Lucy spent the rest of the day sequestered in her office, staring at her computer screen, staring out the window, willing some grand, magnificent idea to appear before her. She'd been sending revised marketing plans to Sterling all week. He'd shot down every single one.
    She'd emailed him her latest iteration last night at 8 pm, as she was eating dinner at her desk. Less than a minute later, he was in her office, leaning against the doorjamb.
    "You don't follow directions well, do you?" he said.
    "What you want can be accomplished without getting rid of the camp."
    "No. No, it can't. What I want is to use that land for more profitable activities. Any other use of that land would be more profitable than a charitable use. One thing you had right—the Inn has to up its game and be even more upscale. Can't do that with a bunch of underprivileged ragamuffins running around."
    Lucy felt like she'd just been punched in the gut. Ragamuffin? Was that what he thought of her? Was that what he thought of her back then?
    "No guest has ever complained about the campers. Not in my time here."
    "That's not the point." Sterling was clearly exasperated, and tired. Purplish-gray shadows darkened the skin beneath his brown eyes. "You know, I get the social good of the camp. And I'm sorry we can't afford it any longer. But the Inn simply can't."
    "You aren't sorry one bit."
    He made a show of rolling his eyes at her. "And another thing, Ms. Wyndham. The campers don't come back as adults, as paying guests."
    "How do you know that?"
    "Do you have any proof that they do?" he challenged.
    "I came back," she said. "My husband and I booked our anniversary weekend here. Is my ragamuffin self an embarrassment to the Inn?"
    "So you're the exception."
    "Actually, there are other former campers working at the Inn. And others who live in St. Caroline. Who can afford to live in St. Caroline. But you can't recognize them just by looking at them. Many of us are proud of our time at the camp. It might be nice if the Inn could return the favor."
    "The Inn is in the business of making money, Ms. Wyndham, not rehabilitating people. I'm not a social worker."
    Not a human either, apparently.
    It wasn't until Lucy was back home last night and getting ready for bed—replaying the scene with Sterling over in her mind, thinking of better things she