Camptown Ladies (26 page)

I could hear Erica barking at her crew, but I knew that her annoyance had transferred from Eddie (and what she called his decorator-playing-contractor-clay-tile-fuck-up) to my sister, who instead of letting Erica replace the group of damaged rafters, had asked that Erica keep some of the older rafters for a more authentic look. After much work had been done, it became clear that many of the exposed rafters had been eaten by termites in ways that were not immediately visible, and her crew had roofed over several rafters that would now need to be replaced, and this could not be done after the new roof was on, or they would risk cracking the clay tiles. This meant the crew was stripping parts of the roof, instead of replacing it—and going backward was something that did not make Erica a happy camper.

“You can knock off for the night if you want, but don’t bother coming back,” she yelled across the rooftop. Along with the constant hammering, I could hear the heavy feet of the men, followed by her lighter, quicker steps as she led them about. “There are soft gaps over here!” She pounded her foot on the roof. “And who did this area?” There was silence. “Do not step where the clay tiles are. Only the Italian crew goes there, got it?”

I came out of the camp store to see two of her crew unwrapping a sign and leaning it against the outer wall. I remembered Lisa’s first choice for a name, and how we had to talk her out of it. She was pushing for “Does a Bear Eat In The Woods?” Although Bear Week would surely bring in a crowd of hairy men to appreciate her joke, we convinced her that most campers wouldn’t. She ended up opting for a sign colored with the green and red of the Italian flag and with a beautiful white dove sculpted in the wood. “Dove Gaio Mangia,” or, as we called it, the Dove.

It pleased Lisa to think of all the hillbilly campers that would be eating under this sign before returning to their trailers adorned with confederate flag stickers. Lisa told the campers the sign said: “Where happy people eat,” but only Uncle Freddie had been able to translate the name on the sign, which actually read, “Where Gays Eat.”

Erica was on top of the roof with her arms folded in front of her as she chastised a worker who was on his knees on the roof. “I feel bad for your wife. You call that hammering?” Then she whirled around to bust on an older guy I hadn’t seen before. He had been chuckling at her comments as he hammered and she said, “What the fuck are you laughing at? Not enough work to do here?”

There was something about this man, but he was not part of her regular crew; too old, I thought. He quickened his hammering to double time, and something about the way he hammered, his “bang-bang-tap,” sounded like he had been trained well by Erica.

Erica shouted out, “At least the old man knows how to hammer, not like the rest of you pussies.” The old man turned his head toward me to hide his smirking, and I realized the man looking down from the roof was Uncle Freddie. Our eyes met and he stopped hammering for just a second, before happily winking at me and turning back to his work. Erica followed his gaze down to me.

“You’re not going to interfere with my crew, right?” she said.

“Never,” I answered, feeling a powerful warmth spread within me, which I dearly hoped was Uncle Freddie’s happiness. I thought I saw Erica let out a small smile before she turned her back on me, and I felt the alarming warmth again.

Later that evening, after Mom and Dad and Uncle Freddie had gone home, Vince, Lisa, and I realized we had been working all by ourselves for quite a while when the lights at the Dove Gaio Mangia shut off by automatic timer, leaving all of us in the dark, except for the moonlight.

Lisa said, “Well, I’ll take that as a sign from God. Let’s go home and get some sleep.”

Vince loaded up some extra kitchen things in a box Lisa she said she didn’t need and said, “I’ll leave these by your car. I’m done.”

“You done here, Mare?” Lisa asked me.

“Almost,” I said, wanting to finish up the last preparations on the buffet area. When my eyes adjusted to the loss of light, I saw how
beautiful the atmosphere had become in the hall, even without the tiny lights on. The campfire light and heavy smoke just outside the hall had mixed with heavy fog and created a thick orange glow that held low in the air, pooling inside the hall. The path of the fog was moving, gently swirling as if someone had been drawing patterns into it with a giant stick.

“Wow,” Lisa said, “fog by campfire light is amazing! It needs to look like this every night. I’m going to pick up a dry ice machine in time for the Dove Gaio Mangia opening. It’ll be fantastic!” As crazy as it sounded, I had to admit it would be beautiful if she could recreate the effect.

Lisa left and I finished covering the buffet tables with new blue tarps to keep the dampness from settling on the plates and flatware. When I finished, I was struck by the silence of the campground. All voices had fallen to a distant hush, even the gay boys had stopped hooting, and all that could be heard was the pop and crackle of the campfire just outside the hall. It had been smart of Lisa to build a large fire pit within full view of the tables in the hall. I thought, if I were the type of person that allowed myself to stop and enjoy a moment, I would chill out in front of the Dove Gaio Mangia right now, just to feel some time pass.

Before I could change my mind, I walked to the bench outside the hall near the camp store to sit and enjoy the sounds and smells of the camp. There was a chill in the air, but it was not uncomfortable, especially since the fire had warmed the wood bench seat. I breathed in the smell of pine and sweet wet smoke as I made a conscious effort not to think about Lorn or Erica. It was impossible.

I heard footsteps to the side of the hall and checked my watch, and was surprised to see it was only ten-thirty.

“Hey.”

It was Erica.

“Hey,” I said back. “What are you still doing here?”

Erica said, “I don’t want to face your sister if this hall isn’t ready for her opening night. I secured a tarp over the last weak spot in the roof, but there’s a storm coming in.”

“I heard,” I said. “Want to sit?” I slid over to one side of the bench,
feeling the warm wood from the fire once again. She hesitated before joining me. She was dressed too well for someone who had climbed roofs to supervise men all day and I looked away, but not before I thought how campfire light was indeed her best friend. As she pulled her hair band out to shake her hair down, I could smell fresh air and the scent of her shampoo, so I got up to throw another shard of wood on the fire, now making an effort to think about Lorn.

As if she had been reading my mind Erica said, “It was hard seeing her today.”

“It was,” I agreed, then repeated what she said in my head as I thought, Had she meant me? The pounding in my chest seemed audible to my ears. I thanked God for the soundproof insulation of my large boobs, fairly certain they would stifle the loud thuds that were bellowing deep within my chest. Thank you, my boobs. Thank you.

This wasn’t the first time I have thanked my boobs. I thanked them a lot, and to distract my thoughts of Erica, I began recounting the many times—ending with the time I caught my shoe heel in a parking lot pothole, sending me splatting to the pavement—that my boobs hit everything first and saved me from breaking my nose, or my jaw. “Bumbles Bounce,” I thought each time, one of many Rudolph quotes that ran through my head at regular and inappropriate intervals.

I grabbed a few more pieces of wood and threw them into the struggling fire and stood watching the fire an extra moment before I turned to look at her. How long had she been staring back at me? Erica’s serious expression brought the thudding back—or was it just the nearness of her? I heard Rudolph’s thrilled and nasal voice, “She thinks I’m cuuuuuuute!” while I sat stewing in hatred of the part of me that was so thrilled to hope, the part of my idiotic heart that was galloping wildly out of control.

When I walked back to the bench, Erica looked away from me, staring hypnotically at the campfire as I heard the distance voice again, although this time it was warning me: Of course Vince loves her, look at her. Vince will always love her. Don’t forget that. Ever. And don’t forget the person I used to be, the person that chased
Lorn Elaine like a lunatic from one side of the country to another, dragging her out of the closet kicking and screaming in total fear of what it would do to her career—all because it was what I had wanted. Well, not this time. Not with this woman. Not to my brother. Not ever. Not that I even had a chance.

Erica looked back up at me as if she’d somehow heard, and I quickly sat back down.

I felt her arm graze against mine as she reached deep into her jacket pocket. She handed me a flask.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“Your Dad left it on a table back there. Tequila.”

“Of course,” I said.

“Let’s give it back to him empty. That’ll teach him to leave things lying around.”

I smiled at her. “I wondered why he was so generous with the wood today,” and she laughed.

Note to self: Don’t make her laugh. She is ridiculously beautiful when she laughs. I remembered working so hard to make her laugh before. Before, when I was clueless.

I spun the plastic top open and took a long swig and passed it to Erica as she said, “For his birthday, you should get him a real flask. What’s with this Tupperware version? It looks like something truckers pee in on long hauls.”

I laughed. “Airplane proof. He bought that to take on the Jamaica trip a while back.”

“Your dad is crazy.”

“And this is news?” I said.

She took a long swallow and we sat side by side, both feeling the warmth of the hot liquid slide into our bellies. A symphony of crickets drowned out the fat croaking bass note of a nearby bullfrog.

“Jamaica is where you met her,” Erica said, and I didn’t answer.

I was thinking about how so much had changed. How Erica had joined us in Jamaica for Lorn’s mother’s wedding to my Uncle Tony, and how she had been in love with my brother, and how it didn’t seem that long ago.

“You should stay away from her,” Erica said in a low voice I
didn’t recognize. She took another sip from the flask before handing it to me.

I nodded and said, “I learned who I need to stay away from.”

I said this knowing that not once in my life had my dim-witted heart ever listened to a word I said. I pulled another long swallow from the flask, and half-closed my eyes. There was warmth spreading on my face from the tequila and the fire, but it was nothing compared to the side of my body that was nearest to her.

There was a long silence, then Erica took two sips in a row, and coughed a little from the strength of it. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft.

“Marie. I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something.”

I didn’t know this voice, either. This voice could say anything. The voice that said my name like that could change everything. I pretended I didn’t hear her, stood up and started talking.

“I know the schedule has been tight and there’s still a lot of work to do, but Lisa is hell bent on opening the restaurant tomorrow night.”

I was rambling, and by the look on her face, she thought I was rambling, too.

“So, I guess I’ll head out so tomorrow I can start out early.” She nodded at me, and the look on her face was heartbreaking. My stomach turned as I wondered if maybe I was wrong and she wanted to talk about Vince. Maybe she wanted me to help get him back for her. Maybe the look on my face was already revealing I didn’t want this. Maybe I needed to follow my instincts and just get the hell out of there.

I asked her, “You OK with putting out this fire?”

There was a long pause as her eyes met mine, as if she was searching for another choice from me, before she finally said, “Yes, if you need me to, I’ll put it out.”