Camp (9 page)

Jody reached into a shopping cart brimming with tennis balls. She tossed five or six our way. Two girls from Bunk 8 sprinted to the other side of the net.

Robin bounced a ball as if it were a Spalding.
A my name is Alice, and my husband’s name is Al.
A few years earlier, we were giggling together, turning our legs up and over on the bounce. How could Robin have sided with Rory?

My cousin took her time as if sorting through thoughts. Ready to apologize maybe?

“Come on. Let’s start!” our opponents yelled.

Robin hooked me with her eyes. “How ’bout we forget this hitting nonsense and play a game?” she said.

“But Jody told us just to hit,” I answered.
Say it, Robin. Say you’re sorry.

“Little Miss Perfect, always does what she’s told,” Robin said instead. “Goody-two-shoes Amy. And then my father wants to know why
I’m
not helpful, why
I
don’t make honor roll. Well, at least I have friends. At least I’m popular. And I sure would have yelled and fought harder at the lake.”

How could Robin think the initiation had been my fault? That’s one thing my cousin and my mother would agree on: They’d say I was to blame.

“Come on!” the Bunk 8 girls hollered. “Hit the ball already!”

“What’s the rush?” Robin asked. “We’ve got two full periods.”

“Let’s just hit,” I said.

“Why? ’Cause that’s what the counselor said?” Robin’s stare gave me goose bumps. “Well, I for one don’t care what Jody says,” she went on. “We’re gonna play this game right, show those Bunk 8 campers who rules.” Robin watched me hug the baseline. “So get ready.”

“I am.”

“No you’re not. You need to be up by the net.”

“Why?”

“’Cause that’s where you’re supposed to stand when your partner serves. Jesus, Amy, if you don’t even know that, you don’t belong in intensive.”

I felt as if my cousin had rammed the ball down my throat as I inched toward the service line. I had played only singles. How far up was I supposed to go?
Say you’re sorry, Robin. Say you’re sorry.
The words repeated in my head.

I turned to see Robin holding the ball in the air, signaling our opponents. “I don’t need a warm-up. These are good.”

Ever play doctor with your cousin?
Rory’s question rattled in my brain.

Hit the ball, Amy. Smack it hard.
It’s Rory’s face, I imagined. Her perfect hair, her made-up eyes.

“Wow! Good shot!” one of the girls called when I slammed a forehand. “Where’d you learn to hit like that?”

“Good question,” Robin said.

“My father taught me.”

“Uncle Lou? Well, go figure.” Robin studied the ball for a moment. “Just another Becker secret, I guess: your father teaching you tennis. And all this time I thought it was Aunt Sonia who had all the secrets.”

“What do you mean?”

“Come on. You know damn well what I mean. All those things about your mother we’re not allowed to talk about.”

What did Robin know about my mother? What things? What secrets?

Hit the ball, Amy. Smack it hard.
It’s Robin now. Her hair rollers and four-poster bed. Her record player, which my mother said I didn’t need for the pop music I listened to on the radio. A record player would be too expensive.

Hit the ball, Amy.
It’s Robin’s precious records, her Everly Brothers collection spilling from her bookcase without any books.
Wake up, little Susie. Wake up!
What secrets, I wondered again. What did my cousin know that I didn’t?

Jody stood by the court. “What’s going on here, ladies? I thought I told you just to hit.”

“Sorry, Jody,” Robin singsonged. “We thought you said we could play.”

“Eager beavers, huh? Well, go ahead then. Keep playing. I’ll just watch for a while. See how you do.”

A Bunk 8 camper readied her serve. “New game. The score’s one-love.”

“That’s love-one,” Robin said. “Server’s score first.”

Cousin Robin sounded like Rory. She grabbed the power. She needed to win. She said she knew secrets. Secrets about my mother. I wanted to ask again what she was talking about. But I couldn’t let on that she knew more than I did.

I felt Jody’s eyes on me, waiting for my return.
Hit the ball, Amy.

“Great shot, kiddo.” Jody applauded. “No wonder you wanted to play.”

“Beginner’s luck,” Robin mumbled.

“Everyone take a water break,” Jody called across the courts. “It’s hotter than blazes. A regular heat wave.”

Robin raced for the fountain. I propped my racket against the net, then walked toward the line of girls eager for drinks. Jody came up beside me. “You’re a natural, kiddo. I’m glad you’re in intensive. And don’t forget to put your name up on the board for the senior round-robin tournament.”

“So, gals, how did activities go?” Patsy tried to energize us in the thick evening heat that blanketed the dining hall. “Come on, y’all. No answers from my chatterboxes? Nobody willin’ to tell me ’bout their day?”

Rory broke the silence. “Oh, like you really give a damn about our dumb activities.”

“Rory!” Campers turned to stare as Patsy’s voice flew through the room. I caught Erin’s eyes and exchanged a quick smile.

“What? You think you can fool us? Asking about our day as if you really care.”

“See, you’re wrong ’bout that.” Patsy spoke softly now.

“Yeah, right. What do you think we are? Stupid? I know all you care about: a nice big hard one. Yes indeedy. Catch my drift, girls?”

“Enough!” Patsy tried to stop her, while Jessica banged a spoon on the table. The rest of us sipped bug juice and moved food around our plates.

“Well, it’s the truth,” Rory kept on. “And it’s Mr. Becker you want. I see how you look at him, how he looks at you. I know what you two are fixin’ to do.”

Patsy seemed to ignore the comment. “Amy,” she said, turning toward me, finding her gentlest voice, “would you go up for more bug juice, please?” When she handed me the pitcher, half full, I assumed Patsy didn’t want me to hear Rory’s accusations. But I already knew that my counselor wouldn’t be able to protect me from Rory. What I didn’t know was that no one would be able to guard me from my mother’s past.
What secrets does Robin know?
I asked myself again as I carried the pitcher toward the front of the dining hall.

Nancy looked up as I walked by the owner’s table. Her smile knifed through my anger and confusion. “You okay?” she mouthed. I nodded and turned away.

Clarence greeted me at the counter. “Hey, little lady. I was hoping I’d see you.” His teeth were so white they looked fake. “My boys feel real bad about what happened at the lake.” Clarence reached for the pitcher, my fingers still glued to its cool metal handle.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and took a long breath. “But Andy and Jed didn’t do anything. They’re nice boys.”

“Well, they feel real bad, all the same.” Clarence leaned forward on fingers like chocolate twigs. “Rory’s bad news,” he whispered. “As my mama used to say, ‘You don’t have to be a chicken to recognize a rotten egg.’ It’s just too bad she’s in your cabin. But you know what, little lady? This place ain’t no different from the rest of the world. You pays your money and you takes your chances. Just do the best with the cards in your hand. Ain’t nothing else you can do now, is there?”

The heat wave ended, bringing a shot of crisp air and a flurry of letters. Bunks 7 and 8 sorted mail and delivered it, in brown accordion envelopes with elastic cords, to all the cabins. Older campers, eager for news, hung out on porch steps during rest hour.

Not Rory, though. She sat with feet pulled up on her bed, swishing her hand back and forth over newly painted toenails. Even Jessica, engrossed in reading a letter, ignored Rory’s offer of Passion Pink polish.

“What’s wrong with you retards?” Rory asked. “You’ve wasted this whole rest hour waiting for mail, as if what your parents write means a goddamn thing. Jesus, who cares about them, anyway?”

No answer. The only sound in the cabin was the ripping open of envelopes, the thumbing of stationery.

“Come on, girls.” Rory wouldn’t stop. “Time to have some fun before the bell rings. How ’bout a little smoking session behind the nature hut? I’ve got the cigs.”

I glanced up from my father’s letter as Rory flashed a pack of Salems. “Come on, Jess. Let’s go.”

Silence.

“Come on!” Rory tried again. “We’re outta here.”

I peeked at Rory as she slid into her flip-flops. For an instant, I almost felt sorry for her, the only one in the cabin with no word from home. But then I reminded myself who she was. I picked up my letter and read from the top:

I pictured Charlie on the floor by my room: hands clasped around knees, elbows jutting like wings. Amy, how could you leave me? he probably wanted to know. But all that came out was a whispering of my name. How could you leave me with Mom? he might have thought. I made a building, but at cleanup time, I didn’t put the blocks in order. And she told me to do it again—the right way now, Charlie, she ordered. Your father will be home soon. And dinner will be on the table, and the laundry will be folded, and the house will be clean. Everything in its place, and a place for every thing.

I read my father’s letter again and saw my mother glancing at Charlie, curled into a ball on the hallway floor. I pictured her turning away, leaving him there all alone.

Why couldn’t my mother just love us?

Chapter 7

I’m Not Fooling with You Now

M
y mother sat on my shoulder—watching me, warning me—in the dining hall.
It’s a lot easier putting on weight than taking it off
, she whispered when Nancy announced we won an ice cream party for having the cleanest senior cabin.
You’re not going to eat that cake, Amy. Not if you’re having ice cream later.

I longed to shove her off, to replace her with a mom who wouldn’t demand I be thin, who wouldn’t make me explain why I needed another bar of soap or tube of toothpaste. I wanted a home where I wouldn’t have to ask my mother to unlock the closet in which she stashed shampoo and tissues, extra combs and toilet paper—parceling out each item as if it were rationed.