I couldn’t talk to her about my friends without risking a clash. And if I started something, my father might change sides. I knew that fine line between his keeping my mother from getting annoyed and his keeping me from becoming wounded. Yet that day more than ever, I needed Dad’s support, his “You look great, honey,” his joy at the thought I had friends.
He seemed to study me as we walked. Was my father looking for clues, a crack in my surface? I thought again about what Uncle Ed might have told him.
“From what you say, honey, you’ve got lots of friends. And if you can play tennis and try new things too, why there’s nothing wrong with that.” So my father agreed with me. I smiled, even as I felt my mother’s eyes pinning me from the rear.
“Hey there, Amy.” Patsy greeted us at the door to Bunk 9. I tightened my hold on Charlie as I took in the cabin: guests and food and gifts. Where was Rory? “I was wond’rin’ when I’d have the pleasure of meetin’ your family,” Patsy said.
My father fell for the drawl that used to hold me like a hug. “Lou Becker,” he announced, smiling as he extended his hand.
“Patsy Kridell. And it’s right nice to meet ya, sir. Your daughter’s a mighty fine gal, a pleasure to have in my cabin.”
My mother stepped forward, hands at her side. “I’m Mrs. Becker. Amy’s mother.”
“Pleased to meet ya, ma’am.” Patsy reached toward Charlie. “And you must be Amy’s brother.”
Charlie latched on to my leg.
“Ah, you’re a shy one, are ya?” Patsy backed away, peering at Charlie as though she recognized him from somewhere, then encouraged us to make ourselves at home.
We hovered near the door as if we had crashed a private party. I wanted Donnie to invite us in, to prove I had a friend. But she stayed on her bed, laughing with her parents while she counted red licorice whips.
“So, home sweet home,” my father said after a moment. “This is nice. Which is your bed?”
Two empty cots: Rory’s and mine. “That last one,” I answered, disengaging Charlie to take his hand.
Jessica, Fran, and Karen barely looked up as we passed. But Donnie scooted around her parents and held out a red candy string. “Hi, Charlie. Want one?” Charlie burrowed into me.
“Thanks,” I answered. “I’ll take it for him.”
My father placed the grocery bag on my bed, where it sat unopened. Why bother? My mother had surely vetoed my list, opting for something healthy, no doubt. For an instant, I almost envied Rory—no visitors to impress, no shame over unwanted treats.
Uncle Ed had been right about the intrusion of the home world into the camp world, as his “no-phone-calls letter” stated. Parents didn’t belong in this place, where all the rules were broken.
Charlie hopped up on my bed and pulled his stick legs to his chest. “No shoes on the bed. You know the rules,” my mother said as she stood by my cubby, studying the arrangement of soap, shampoo, and toothpaste. I was glad I had stripped the caked-on residue from the tube earlier that morning.
“It’s fine, Mom,” I murmured, anxious to avoid a scene. I sat next to my brother and stroked his back. “The rules are different here. His shoes don’t bother me.”
“Then it’s good we didn’t buy that more expensive blanket.” Did she notice mine was the only bed not dressed in Hudson Bay?
“Sonia, please, Sonia. You don’t have to worry about Amy’s things here.” My father fidgeted with the nail from which my laundry bag and robe dangled. “How ’bout introducing us to your friends, honey.” It wasn’t a request but a directive, my father’s effort to stem the tension between my mother and me.
I tried for a deep breath, but the air locked in my chest. I didn’t want to hear what my mother would say when she learned I wasn’t popular. And what would my father think when he found I’d been lying? I pushed out Donnie’s name, had to say it twice before she heard me over chatter and the ripping open of candy wrappers. I introduced her to my parents. I could see my mother sizing her up. Donnie: pudgy thighs, untucked shirt. A low ranking on the Sonia Becker scale. “And your other friends?” she asked.
Before I could answer, Charlie opened the grocery bag and pulled out a nectarine. It plopped on the floor. I jumped to pick it up as my mother started in. “Behave now, Charlie. Don’t touch anything else.”
Should I put the fruit back in the bag or toss it in the garbage? I stood there, not knowing which would make my mother less angry. I turned the nectarine in my hand. The soft spot where it had hit the floor made me think of a baby’s head. My father had told me about that space, where the skull isn’t fused, the first time I held Charlie, when my parents brought him home from the hospital. I remembered glancing at my mother, at her tired eyes. I was only six, but I’d noticed how sad she looked.
“Don’t worry, Mom,” I said in my camp cabin now as I tried to protect my brother. “It’s only a nectarine.”
“You have no idea how much fruit costs.”
“Sonia, please, Sonia. It’s one nectarine.”
As if my mother hadn’t heard, she went on about the money she’d spent for the best fruit she could find—more than any parents spent on junk food, she repeated several times. And while I stood there fingering the bruised nectarine, Charlie toppled the grocery bag.
Jessica chose that moment to walk by on her way to the bathroom. “Fruit?” she said. “You got fruit? Just wait till Rory hears. Boy, she’ll be sorry she missed this.”
Donnie helped me gather the peaches, plums, and nectarines that rolled under our beds like balls in an arcade machine. And though she clucked with comfort when everyone stared at my tumbling fruit, I feared Donnie regretted she had ever decided to be my friend.
I met Erin’s parents when the bell rang for morning activity period. Mrs. Hollander, her soft middle hidden by an oversized shirt, hugged me as if I were her child. “It’s so nice to meet Erin’s best friend,” she said. “I don’t know what she’d have done without you this summer.” I pictured Mrs. Hollander baking cookies, letting Erin eat dough off the mixing spoon.
“Hey, Charlie. This is for you.” Erin took a cookie from her pocket and placed it in Charlie’s hand as we headed for the campcraft area. Charlie wriggled from my father, who talked with Erin’s dad as if they’d known each other for years, and squeezed between Erin and me. Right behind us, Erin’s mother told mine how happy she was that Erin and I were friends.
“See, isn’t this great? I told you it’d be great,” Erin said. “And your mom’s really pretty, by the way.”
“Thanks.” I knew the response, though I didn’t know why I had to thank everyone who noticed my mother’s looks.
“So didya get everything you wanted?”
“You wouldn’t believe what I got,” I whispered so my mother wouldn’t hear.
Erin pulled out another cookie. “For you.”
I couldn’t take the offering with Mom looking on. “No thanks. My mother doesn’t let me eat sweets.” I continued to keep my voice low while I spoke over Charlie’s head.
“Sorry, I didn’t know. So what’d they bring you?”
“You ready for this? Fruit.”
“And what else?”
“Fruit. That’s all. Nectarines, peaches, and plums.”
“Holy moly! Does Rory know?”
“Not yet. She hasn’t been around since cleanup. But she’ll hear soon enough.” I tightened my hold on Charlie and peeked behind us in case Rory crept up, in case my mother was listening in.