“Enough, Lou!”
“What? Amy’s not old enough to know these things?”
I made a fist, used my other hand to hold it on my lap. Why did my father always bring up Uncle Ed? Didn’t he see that every time we visited his brother’s family, my uncle hugged my mother too long, too close?
“Amy knows about those girls on Flatbush Avenue.” My father wouldn’t stop. “She knows about the stickball games and all the girls who came to watch Eddie.”
“Some good that did him,” my mother said. “Look who he ended up with.”
“See, it’s like I always say, Ame. I’m the lucky one. So listen: Whatever your mother tells you about what to eat at camp, you pay attention. ’Cause in the looks department, your mother sure knows what she’s talking about.” My father tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. I waited for him to start whistling, but we drove in silence through the city, through Central Park.
We pulled up in front of the Museum of Natural History to a jumble of campers, parents, and baggage. The other moms dripped sweat—despite sleeveless blouses and Bermuda shorts. Why did my mother always have to stand out? Mom in her navy dress with matching shoes.
But when I took in the campers, my mother’s outfit didn’t matter. Nobody was wearing the Takawanda uniform—except the seven-year-olds. Everyone else had on Saturday going-to-the-movie clothes: dungarees with short-sleeve blouses or Bermudas with madras tops. The oldest girls strutted in pedal pushers and shirts knotted at the waist.
“Hey, Amy!” Cousin Robin waved with both arms. “Over here.”
I tried to smile, then studied the pavement. I wanted to slink into a crack when the laughter started. It floated above the whoops of campers reuniting, over the horns on Central Park West, over Charlie’s whimpering as my father pulled him along.
“Go ahead, Amy,” my mother demanded. “Go meet the girls.”
“But they’re all in regular clothes,” I said to the ground.
“Go on, honey,” my father prodded. The exasperation in his voice made me feel responsible, somehow, for not having known the dress code. “I told you, you look real nice in that uniform.”
“But I didn’t even pack other clothes. The instructions said uniform only. Mom said I couldn’t bring anything that wasn’t—”
“Ed should have told us she could wear something that wasn’t on the list,” my mother cut in. “Or Helen could have called.”
“Well, it’s too late now,” Dad said. “So go on, Amy.”
“But Dad…”
“Hold still!” he ordered Charlie, who squirmed to free himself from my father’s grip. “And you, young lady, go meet your new friends. We’ll be right here. We won’t let you leave without saying good-bye.”
Charlie twisted his skinny body. “I’ll be back in a minute, buddy,” I said, stroking his matted hair. “You wait here.”
“No.” Charlie bucked against my father. “No!” he screamed. “No! No!”
My mother took a step back from us. I heard her purse click open, the clinking of keys, the sound of a lipstick hunt. “I told you we should have left him home, Lou. The sitter was available. I told you that.”
My father clutched Charlie’s shoulder. “Son, settle down now, son. Nothing to get worked up about.” Charlie wriggled to slip from his grasp. “I mean it!” My father’s voice grew sterner.
“It’s okay, buddy. I’m right here.” I spoke softly, hoping to soothe Charlie. From behind, my mother said, “Here.” She had fished a package of Charms from her purse.
I pulled out a red candy square as Aunt Helen barreled through the crowd. “It’s all right, folks,” she called, peering at me in my uniform. Her naked arms jiggled on approach. “Nothing to get excited about.”
Aunt Helen stood in front of us. She scrunched her fists and planted knuckles on wide hips. In brown Bermuda shorts, she looked like a baked potato, all pasty and stuffed. “Just a little brother who doesn’t want his sister to leave,” Aunt Helen went on. “Isn’t that right, Charlie?” She patted his head as if he were a dog, then looked at my father. “Why’d you bring him, Lou?”
Charlie struggled to turn away. “Everything’s okay now, son,” Dad said, using a soft voice this time to calm Charlie and, I suppose, to stop Aunt Helen’s attack. Still clamping Charlie’s shoulder, he gave his sister-in-law a half-hug and an air kiss. My mother moved forward in family unity.
“Sonia,” Aunt Helen said with a nod.
“Helen.”
“We could have avoided this, you know,” Aunt Helen said, drilling her eyes into my mother. “Lou could have brought Amy, and you could have stayed home with Charlie. Frankly, I don’t know what you were thinking, Sonia, bringing him here this morning.”
My father must have loosened his grip. Charlie slid out and attached himself to my leg. I popped the candy into his mouth as I heard cousin Robin and her new friends laughing.
Aunt Helen turned toward them and megaphoned her hands. “We’ll be getting on the buses in a minute,” she broadcast from her post, just inches in front of my family. “Our head counselor’s comin’ around to see that all the New York and Jersey campers are here. So parents, start your good-byes.” Aunt Helen lowered her hands, then blared without assistance, “And it’ll be easier on the girls if you make it fast. No need to hang around till the buses pull off.”
“Oh, now she knows what’s easier on the girls?” my mother whispered to no one.
“Sonia, enough, Sonia,” my father said.
Charlie squeezed my leg. I looked down and touched his arm. “Listen, buddy. I have to get on the bus in a minute, but you’re gonna be fine. And remember, you’re coming to visit me in four weeks. And I’ll send you lots of letters. Dad will read them to you.” Charlie squeezed harder.
“Amy?” A voice I didn’t recognize.
I looked up as a blond, ballerina-type woman approached. “You must be Amy Becker.”
Charlie eased at the softness in the stranger’s voice.
“Yes, I’m Amy.”
In plain black Bermudas and a white sleeveless blouse, the woman looked like a Breck shampoo girl with an Ivory soap glow. “I’m Nancy, the head counselor. And let me see…” She crouched and placed her clipboard on the ground. “You must be Amy’s brother,” she said without rising. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, young man.”
“His name’s Charlie,” my father said, as Nancy gathered her clipboard and stood. “And I’m Lou. Lou Becker.” He extended his hand.
“Nancy Logan.”
“And I’m Mrs. Becker.”
“Yes, of course. Amy’s mother. I’m delighted to meet you. And don’t you worry about your girl here. Takawanda’s a great place. Amy’ll have a terrific time.” Nancy smiled a promise of support before she spoke to me again. “Sorry you didn’t have a chance to meet the other seniors, but you’ll meet everyone soon enough. So say good-bye. Then hop on that second bus over there.”
“Sure thing.” I tried to sound joyful, though Charlie wove an arm around my leg again. How could I say good-bye to him?
“Mr. and Mrs. Becker, I’ll see you on visiting day.” Nancy smiled once more, this time at Charlie, who didn’t look up. “And Charlie, I’ll see you then too, I hope.”
My father pulled him from me, held him by the hand. No struggle. No screaming. Good, I thought. No problem.
I hugged Dad first. “I’ll miss you so much, honey,” he said. “But I want you to have lots of fun. And don’t worry about things at home. Just have a great time. You deserve it. I love you.”
“Thanks, Dad.” I choked back tears. “I love you too.”
I let go of my father and looked toward the buses. A few stragglers in uniform by the first one, Nancy hurrying them along. By the second bus, no one. They all must be on, I figured, waiting for me. “Time to go, Amy,” Nancy called. “I’ll be on the other bus. See you at the first rest stop.”