At the sound of the bell, we ran toward the rec hall to greet our parents. By the time we approached the dining hall, most of the seniors had raced well ahead of us.
Erin pulled me along. “Let’s go,” she said. “I want to be there when they arrive.”
Eagerness blinded her to my lack of excitement. Though I wanted to see my father and Charlie, I certainly didn’t want to see my mother.
I freed myself from Erin’s grasp. “Go ahead. I’ll meet you.” Then I lied without pause. “My father said they might be late.”
“If you insist.” Erin sprang from my side. “See you there,” she called over her shoulder.
I looked over my shoulder to check for Rory, though I didn’t think I would see her. No need for her to come to the rec hall; she had no one to meet. I passed the dining hall on my left and turned up the path, as familiar to me now as the hallways of my own house. Had it been only four weeks since my parents and Charlie dropped me off at the bus? Only a month since Rory had steamrolled over me?
The area in front of the rec hall reminded me of the sidewalk by the Museum of Natural History: another jumble of campers. But now everyone wore Takawanda uniforms. And now parents carried the bags—shopping bags stuffed with cookies, cupcakes, candy, potato chips, pretzels, and Cracker Jack, I imagined. Parents hauled goodies across the grassy field, where Andy and Jed directed cars into makeshift spots. I looked at the clearing, not so much to find our car as to catch Andy’s attention. But Uncle Ed was there to welcome families. So I doubted Andy would wave, even if he wanted to.
I watched as Andy guided the brown Impala into a space. My mother got out first. She fluffed her pale green skirt, then reached into the car for a canvas bag. She looked past me toward a group of mothers in Bermudas wrapping arms around their daughters. My father stepped out next. He stretched as if he had just driven up from New York, though I knew he’d done the driving the day before. For a moment, I forgot about my mother, forgot about Rory even, as I waved for my father to notice me. But he focused on helping Charlie out of the car. Then with one hand gripping my brother, Dad stretched back into the car with his other. He pulled out a grocery bag. My goodies. A feast to share with Erin. Where was she? I realized I hadn’t looked for her in the mix of campers and parents.
My father spotted me as he hefted the bag in his arm. I wanted to run over, to hug him, to hold Charlie. But Pee-Wee barricaded us—those who listened, that is—behind sawhorses.
“Amy!” my father called, his voice a kiss over the screeches of campers reuniting with parents. He placed Charlie’s hand in my mother’s, thrust his out in a giant hello.
“Dad! Hi!” I yelled. “Charlie!” I pushed my way around the barrier. “Charlie, over here, buddy!”
His face lit as he and my mother approached, my father at their side. Charlie wriggled to free himself, to zoom in for my hug. My mother looked up and nodded at me. I held up a hand but couldn’t get it to wave to her, couldn’t push out a Hi, Mom. “Hey, buddy!” I shouted again to my brother.
Charlie pulled loose. His hands flapped as he flew toward me. He jumped into my arms. Was he even scrawnier than a month ago?
“I’m so happy to see you, buddy. I’ve missed you so much.”
“Amy,” he whispered. Then “Amy?”—his voice rising with the question.
“I’m right here, buddy. And we’ve got the whole day together.” I didn’t try to put Charlie down when my father reached for a hug. He had placed the grocery bag, top folded over, on the ground. No packages of cupcakes spilling out. No multiple shopping bags like other parents had brought.
My mother leaned forward. I forced myself not to pull away when her lips grazed my cheek.
“You look great, honey,” my father said.
My mother studied the printed visiting day schedule, which I knew would end up in that metal box in her closet. She looked at her watch. “Lou, get Charlie down. It’s time to see Amy’s cabin.”
“All right, son.” My father tried to loosen Charlie’s arms. He clutched me harder. “It’s okay now, son. You can hold Amy’s hand. We’re just going to take a walk.”
“No.” Charlie’s voice came low but firm. Then louder and louder, until his “No!” filled the air. I tuned out the laughter, wanted to ignore the pointing and stares.
“I mean it now, son.” I heard the effort in my father’s voice, his trying not to lash out at Charlie.
Everyone headed toward the cabins. I looked for Erin, but I didn’t see her. Instead, I saw Aunt Helen, dressed like a counselor in black Bermudas and a white, sleeveless blouse. She torpedoed toward us. “Why’d you bring him, Lou?” She nodded toward Charlie, still attached to my neck, then faced my mother. “You could have stayed home with him, Sonia. We don’t want any problems today.”
“Charlie won’t be any trouble,” my father answered. “Ed said he’d be welcome.”
“Well then. In that case…” Aunt Helen’s thought floated away. “And how was your trip?”
“Fine.” My mother’s voice banned further conversation.
“It’s good to see you, Helen,” my father said, kissing his sister-in-law’s cheek.
“I know Ed wants to talk to you, though Lord knows it’s a busy day around here. But anyhoodle, I’m sure he’ll catch up with you later.”
Would Uncle Ed tell my father I had trouble with the popular girls? Would my mother hear it too? Though I didn’t want to care what she might think, I still did.
Charlie’s fingers dug into my back as Aunt Helen left us, the last family group, alone in front of the rec hall. “Come on, buddy,” I whispered. “I’ve got you now.” Charlie loosened his arms and let me stand him on the ground. I gripped his hand. “I’ll show you my cabin.”
“And Mom and I want to meet all your friends.” Dad sounded so happy. “You know, honey, I was worried about you when your last letter came. But Uncle Ed says it’s been a great season. I’m so glad you’re having such a good time.”
We walked the deserted path to senior camp. The other campers already nestled in cabins, giggling with their families, I was sure. Sharing goodies.
My father cradled the grocery bag in his arm like a child. I held Charlie’s hand. My mother followed, her white leather shoes squeaking with each step. Why couldn’t she have worn sneakers like the other mothers?
“So what’d you bring?” I asked my father as I tapped the bag, lumpy and hard. No crinkle of cupcake wrappers. No stack of chocolate bars. “Did you get what I asked for?”
“What you asked for is garbage,” my mother answered from behind. “And it looks like you haven’t slimmed down, not even with all the activities here.” I had expected my mother’s negative verdict on my appearance. I just hadn’t thought it would come so fast.
“Sonia, please, Sonia. Amy looks great. And the important thing is she’s having fun.”
“It’s okay, Dad.” My lies started pouring out. “It doesn’t matter what you brought.”
Charlie stamped on a pinecone, kicking up a cloud of dirt. “Stop it,” my mother ordered. “Walk nicely.”
I squeezed Charlie’s hand to tell him he could walk any way he wanted. Fourteen years under my mother’s thumb, then four weeks under Rory’s. It had finally gotten to me.
“So how’s tennis?” my father asked. “Any chance we’ll get to hit? My racquet’s in the car.”
“I don’t understand why you’re playing so much tennis,” my mother jumped in, her feet at our heels so she wouldn’t miss a word. “You’re supposed to be trying new things, making friends in different sports.” How could she love me so little yet care so much about which friends I had? And what did it matter, anyhow? My friends would never win my mother’s approvaclass="underline" not smart enough, not pretty enough, not popular enough.