Camp (24 page)

“Are you all right?” Erin asked when she bounced in to meet me. “You don’t look good. Can I get you an aspirin or something?”

There was nothing Erin could get me. Nothing anyone could do. The one thing I needed, the truth about my mother, I would get for myself.

I told Erin I’d catch up with her at the lake. “And don’t worry. I’m fine.”

My final lie of the summer, the biggest yet. How could I be fine when my mother had a life I didn’t know about? When I had a sister I’d never even heard of? My mother’s secret with Uncle Ed was shameful enough. What else had she hidden from me?

At our last breakfast, Patsy told us she’d be right pleased to give us her address “in case any o’ you gals have a mind to write me.” We waited for Rory to say it wasn’t
us
Patsy would want to hear from, was it now? But Rory just kept her head down and twirled the spoon in her cereal bowl.

Andy showed up as we boarded the buses. No kiss this time. Too many onlookers, I guessed. He handed me a small notepad and a stubby pencil. “Can I have your address?” he asked, his voice low. I wrote fast, eager to get it down before Uncle Ed might spot us.

“Come on, campers. Everyone on the buses,” Pee-Wee called while I was writing. “No lollygagging now. See you next summer.”

“I hope I see you again,” Andy said when I gave him the notepad. Without even thinking, I stood on tiptoes and kissed him smack on the lips.

The bus ride home felt shorter than the ride to camp. Erin and I sat up front. “Andy’s great, Ame,” she said. “I really hope you see him again someday.”

Chanting came from behind us. “Amy and Andy sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g.”

I didn’t mind at all. In fact, I smiled. Andy really liked me, and camp was finally over. And I had kissed him. Wow!

Nancy sat across the aisle from Erin and me. She was keeper of the cookies on this trip. And this time, no one would stop our indulgence. “I worried about you two,” Nancy confided, “but look how things worked out. You got to be great friends, you learned to take care of yourselves, and Amy won the tennis trophy. Not bad, I’d say.”

After the first rest stop, Nancy gave out lunches. We ate and we sang, though I joined in only when I felt like it or when Erin elbowed me. I no longer needed a chorus of friends.

“I’ll miss you two,” Nancy said once we hit the city. “And I don’t know if I’ll be able to give you a proper good-bye when you get off; I’ll be making sure everyone’s accounted for. So I just want to thank you for all those rest hour visits.” She reached over and touched my shoulder.

“Thanks for being there, Nancy,” I said. “I don’t know what I’d have done without you. And without Erin. I wouldn’t have made it through.”

“Sure you would’ve,” Nancy answered. “You’re a lot stronger than you think. But you can’t be afraid to ask for what you need. Remember what I said about the volcano? Call for help before the lava flows.”

Sound advice. If only I had listened.

Chapter 18

I Opened the Lid

E
rin hugged me before she raced to her mother. I called to Charlie, wrapped around my father’s leg. I expected my brother to zoom over, but he stayed where he was. When I melted into my father’s arms, Charlie pushed between us. “Hey, buddy.” I rumpled his hair. “I couldn’t wait to see you. I’ve missed you so much. And I’ve got something for you in my bag.” I pointed to the carry-on I had dropped at Dad’s feet. “Wanna see?”

“He hasn’t been himself,” my mother explained when Charlie didn’t answer.

I stood and faced her. “What do you mean?”

“How about giving your mother a proper hello first?” Did my father believe my mother and I had forgotten to greet each other? Couldn’t he see we had chosen not to?

I pecked her cheek. “Welcome home,” she said.

I squatted down by Charlie. “So what’s going on, buddy? Aren’t you happy to see me?” Still no reply, though he let me take his hand.

“Amy should say good-bye to her friends before we go,” my mother said when Dad picked up my bag. Not a suggestion but a command. I ignored it as I took in the scene around me: families hugging and talking and laughing; Rory standing alone, no one to welcome her; Nancy weaving through the crowd, checking off names of campers as parents claimed them. She waved as she came toward us. “Mr. and Mrs. Becker. And Charlie. I’ll bet you’re glad Amy’s home.” Nancy put a mark on her clipboard— by my name, no doubt. I flashed back to my mother ticking off items when I’d packed them in my trunk. Four pairs of shorts. Check. Ten pairs of underpants. Check. How could that have been only a couple of months ago? Now Nancy marked my name. Amy Becker. Check.

She shifted her clipboard and shook my father’s hand. “So nice to see you again,” Nancy said. “And you should be very proud of your girl here. Did she show you her trophy?” Without pause, Nancy smiled at my mother. “You’ve raised a terrific daughter, Mrs. Becker. I’m really going to miss her.” I would miss Nancy, I realized—her affection, her concern.

“Hey, Charlie!” Erin called.

Mrs. Hollander greeted my parents. She held me close for a moment, then told Erin to say good-bye. “Friends forever,” Erin said as we hugged and cried.

It wasn’t saying good-bye to Erin, though, that made my tears come. It was seeing Charlie.

“What’s going on, buddy?” I asked again once we settled in the car.

“The summer school teacher says he’s been in his own world since we got back from Maine,” my mother answered for him. “More so than usual.” She pushed her voice over city traffic as she focused out the front window. My mother didn’t seem to mind that Charlie could hear us talking about him.

I leaned forward and spoke softly in case he was listening. “What else did the teacher say?”

“I don’t know, Amy. What difference does it make?” Not even home yet, and my mother was annoyed. “There are only three more days of summer program. Then he’s off for a week before you both go back to school.”
He
, as if my brother had no name. I hated that my mother spoke as if Charlie weren’t present, as if he didn’t understand. Now more than ever, I hated my mother.

How could she have a whole other family I didn’t know about? Had my mother told Uncle Ed while they were having their little affair? And had he told Robin? Surely my father knew what had happened to my mother in Germany. “Your mother doesn’t talk about that” was his only answer the few times I’d asked about her past.

“Did something happen in summer school, buddy?” I reached across the car and patted Charlie’s legs, though they barely jiggled. What I needed to find out was if Charlie still pictured the dog. The dog that was my fault, really. Because that dog wouldn’t have had a chance if I wouldn’t have been on the tennis court. I didn’t want to believe Charlie held on to that fear. And I didn’t want to think my yelling at Rory had frightened him so much he withdrew from me still. “Anything happen in school, buddy?” I asked again.

My mother turned in her seat. “You know that’s not it. It was visiting day.”

“Sonia, please, Sonia. Can’t you forget it and just enjoy having Amy back?”

Of course my mother couldn’t forget it. And she couldn’t forget I knew about her and Uncle Ed. But now I knew other secrets too. Now I chased the ghosts of my mother’s past. Yet before I could catch them, I would win Charlie back.

He sat so still, nose pressed to the car window, while Dad and I talked about the tennis matches. My mother stayed as quiet as Charlie when I described the last one. “The trophy’s right here in my bag,” I told my father.

“We’ll see it at home,” my mother said. “Your father has to concentrate on driving.”

“But I want to show it to Charlie. He can keep it in his room.”

“We’ll see it later.”

Slapped by the period in my mother’s speech, we drove the rest of the way in silence. But I heard a voice, as clear as if Rory had pushed into our car.
Cat got your tongue, Amy Becker?

Rory and I had played our own version of hide-and-seek, I saw then. Like my mother, Rory stole my voice, then forced me to find it.
Well, la-de-da. Am I right or am I right?
One, two, three.
Yes indeedy. Little Charlie-boy could be Robin’s brother.
Four, five, six.
Catch my drift, Amy Becker?
Seven, eight, nine, ten. Almost home. Ready or not, here I come.

“Welcome home,” my father cried when we pulled into the driveway. “I’ll bring your bag up for you.”

“Amy can manage herself,” my mother said. “She might want a little privacy.”

Since when was she concerned about my privacy? Hers, yes. Her secrets, her whole other life. But mine? It’s not my privacy she’s worried about, I thought. It’s what I might say to my father if she leaves us alone.

But I had decided not to tell Dad about my mother and Uncle Ed. Why hurt my father when the enemy was my mother? Yet I should have told him about those secrets Robin had shared. The lava was already flowing. I should have asked for help.

“You get organized, and I’ll be up soon,” Dad called as I climbed the stairs, Charlie behind me.

“I’ll see you in a minute, buddy,” I said when I opened my door. Something cold and hard settled in my chest as I took in my room. I fingered the Russian dolls on my dresser, stopping at the next-to-the-smallest one. It cracked open with barely a touch, revealing that tiniest doll I had left trapped inside. I cradled the baby in my palm, amazed at the ease with which it had tumbled out, then lined it up with the others. I kicked off my shoes and plunged to my bed, where I snuggled with Puppy. “I’m home,” I whispered to my oldest stuffed animal. Home, where I would learn the truth about my mother. Home, where I would get Charlie to trust me again. We had time before the beginning of school. A whole week to build with his blocks, to kick a ball around the backyard, to go for ice cream at night—if my father would take us; if my mother would let him. Two items on my imaginary clipboard: find my mother’s past and right my brother’s present. I would check them off, I believed, starting now.

I padded into Charlie’s room in my stocking feet. He sat cross-legged on the floor, a rectangular block in his hand. “Look what I have.” I held out the trophy as an offering. He glanced at me, then lowered his head. “I won this for you, buddy. Want it on your shelf?”

No show of excitement. Not a flapping of arms. I curled next to Charlie and placed the trophy in front of him. “Look, buddy. I won it playing tennis. So why don’t we build a fort and put the trophy inside? We’ve still got a while till Mom calls us for supper.”

Charlie fingered my gift: a golden girl, racquet skyward, ready to serve. She stands on a wooden base, a plaque glued to its front.
Camp Takawanda for Girls. Senior Champion. 1963.
“It’s for you,” I said again. I placed my hand gently on his head and waited a moment before tousling his hair. “A tennis trophy.”

Charlie picked it up as if it were a jewel. “Amy. Tennis,” he whispered.

I choked back tears. “That’s right. I played tennis at camp. And now I’m home.” I pulled my brother close in a promise I would be there for him always.