“We found everything!” Kenzie crowed when Matt drew closer.
“Hey! Way to go!” He held up his palm and they gave each other a high five.
“Is there a prize at the end?”
Matt laughed, “Sure. A prize everyone gets to enjoy.”
“What is it?” asked a girl—Lucy?—speaking up for the first time.
Dana had been curious about her, observing how she was always hanging back. She hadn’t partnered up with anyone, as the other girls had begun to, and her participation in the activities had been automatic to the point of detachment, going through them with neither enjoyment nor dislike. As if the games were a task to be endured.
“Freshly made cookies for snack,” Matt said.
The whole group, except for the girl who’d posed the question, cheered. But Dana caught her timid smile.
“When do we get them?” asked Ruby, almost breathless with excitement.
Dana and Matt looked at one another over their heads and laughed. “Well,” he said, “that’s what I’ve come to tell you. We’re changing the schedule a bit. The cooks thought it best if we all had snacks at the same time to let them start preparations for supper without being interrupted.”
“Okay, so when?” asked Ruby again, hands on her hips.
“Right after the activity you’re going to now. Which is...?”
“Ping-Pong!” all of them shouted.
“What are you waiting for?” Matt was grinning at Dana as he spoke.
The group toned their running start down to a speed walk at Dana’s “Girls and boys!” while she and Matt followed.
“Are you having fun yet?” he asked, leaning down to whisper in her ear.
His warm breath sent a shiver along her spine.
“At least I hope you are,” he added at her hesitation, stopping her with a hand on her shoulder. The room, echoing with laughter and shouts, faded into the background of Dana’s senses. All of her being was focused on Matt and the dark, worried eyes fixed on hers, the soft pressure of his hand and the heat flooding through her from that hand.
When it came, her voice was reed thin. “I am.” She cleared her throat and tried again. “Yes.” She moved slightly away from him.
“Good,” he said, his hand dropping from her shoulder.
She watched him carry on to another group before heading for the Ping-Pong table, where her group was already beginning a game. Grateful for the diversion, Dana got so into the game that she forgot she was playing with ten-year-olds until one boy wailed, “You can’t win every game! That’s not fair,” at which they all laughed good-naturedly. When Matt blew his whistle, signaling snack time in the dining hall, Dana gave up trying to muster them into an orderly manner, letting them run ahead. Something all the groups were doing anyway.
Platters of chocolate chip and oatmeal cookies—behind a sign that read Two Only!—and rows of juice boxes lined a long table at the entrance to the hall. Dana managed to assert some control over the gathering, grabbing Ruby’s hand as she reached for a third cookie, and shepherded them to their customary meal table while the boys headed for their own table with the boys’ counselors. Kristen and her girls were already eating their snack.
“Nothing beats a homemade cookie,” Kristen said as Dana took the vacant seat next to her.
“For sure,” Dana agreed, wishing there’d been a coffee option for the adults. She watched the girls chatting and munching happily. All except for Lucy, who was savoring her cookie with an intensity the others lacked, nibbling, chewing and swallowing slowly. Making it last, Dana was thinking.
Kristen broke the silence by asking quietly, “So, what’s the story with you and Matt?”
“Sorry, what?”
“How did you two connect?”
“Uh, what do you mean?”
Kristen laughed, “Well, he told us you’d seen the article in the Trib and had free time from your job, but—”
“Uh-huh. That’s it. That’s the story.” Dana kept her voice level, not bothering to tone down its iciness.
“Just that...you know...he seems to have some kind of special interest in you.”
“No more than he has with any of the staff or volunteers,” Dana said, shrugging nonchalantly. Then she stood up, wrapped her second uneaten cookie in a napkin and said, “My group, don’t forget to carry your empty juice boxes and napkins to the recycling bins. I’ll be waiting for you by the door.” Passing behind Lucy, she leaned down and slipped the wrapped cookie into the girl’s hand when no one was looking.
He seems to have some kind of special interest in you. The words wormed their way through Dana’s mind all the rest of the day and into nighttime preparations. She couldn’t figure out if Kristen was attracted to Matt and viewed her as some kind of threat, or if she was simply being protective of him.
After the girls were in their bunks and she’d gone over the morning’s events with them, interrupted once by Ruby, who’d murmured, “Maybe there’ll be pancakes for breakfast,” followed by “You wish!” from Kenzie and laughter, Dana crawled into her own cot, exhausted more by the turmoil in her head than the day. She finally drifted off, this time with the replay of Matt’s earnest eyes and the reassuring warmth of his hand lulling her to sleep.
Until long into the night when the sounds of sniffling roused her. She found two girls holding hands, standing next to her cot. Dana blinked, thinking she must be dreaming. What were two little girls doing in her condo?
“Hmm?” she asked groggily.
“We can’t sleep.”
“And we keep hearing noises.”
Dana sat up, reaching for the bedside lamp that should have been on her night table, but wasn’t. Instead, her fingers found the flashlight and she switched it on. The light’s beam hit the ceiling, avoiding the faces at her bedside, but giving enough visibility for her to recognize Kenzie and Ruby.
“It’s okay, girls. Why don’t you hop onto the end of my bed and tell me what’s troubling you?”
“I keep hearing moaning sounds. Do you think there might be a big animal out there?” Ruby asked.
“Or a monster?” Kenzie whispered.
Dana shook her head vehemently. “No big animals. Unless there are some cows at that farm you passed on your way to the camp.”
When Ruby tittered, Dana went on to say, “And you both know there are no such things as monsters.”
Their wide-eyed nods suggested some doubt about that.
“How about if I tell you about my first camping experience?”
“Yes, please,” murmured Ruby.
“Okay, so I was older than you. About twelve. And I’d never been to any kind of camp before.” Nor even a sleepover anywhere, she thought. They were rapt as she told them about the insects, the night sounds—“Only tree branches rustling in the wind,” she explained—and the homesickness. It was all true. She just omitted the anxiety, the subtle bullying, the mean nighttime pranks and the lack of a single letter from home.
Their heads were nodding as she finished, and when she said, “I’ll walk you back to your bunks and sit with you a few more minutes,” neither protested.
When she tucked Kenzie in, the girl clutched her hand and whispered, “Thanks for talking to us, Dana. Whenever I have a nightmare at home, everyone just yells at me to go back to sleep.”
Dana tossed and turned long after the girls were fast asleep and thought back to what Matt had said that morning about Kenzie—she might need more of your attention. Perhaps she needed to listen more herself, rather than make assumptions.
* * *
THE BUS DOOR closed but Matt waited until it started down the road to the highway before saying, “Can we meet in the Big Room in fifteen? That’ll give you a chance to pack up and do another look-around. There’s always something left behind, especially under the beds. I know all of you are eager
to get back to your regular lives, so I’ll keep the debriefing...well, brief.”
The group laughed as they broke up, heading for their various workstations and sleeping quarters. Dana was on her way to the girls’ cabin when Matt said, “Dana? A word?”
He saw the apprehension in her face as she walked back to him and he smiled reassuringly. “I wanted to thank you for your time this weekend. I know it wasn’t your idea to do this. I guess I kind of forced your hand but—”
“Forced is a bit strong, don’t you think?” she interrupted. “Maybe persuaded is better. Besides—” she gave a small laugh “—no one, except for my father, has forced me to do anything for many years.”
Put in my place, Matt thought. “Still, I appreciated your help.”
“I hope I was a help.”
Her frown suggested some doubt. He recollected the small learning steps he’d witnessed.
“You did just fine, and yes, you were a big help. Are you still interested in coming back next weekend?”
The frown deepened. “I thought that was the deal?”
“I’m happy with the way things went but—”
“Are you saying you’d rather I didn’t? Or that you don’t need me?”
Matt held up a hand. “Hey, no. I figured you might be anxious to get back to your work and thought I’d—”
“Let me off the hook?”
“Well, yeah, if that’s how you want to put it.”
“I haven’t put it any way.”
She really knew how to get his back up. He couldn’t resist saying, “I imagine you’re fierce in the courtroom,” adding a laugh to soften the comment.
She kept her eyes on him an uncomfortably long moment until, looking down at her watch, she said, “Five minutes till the meeting. I better get my things.” As she started toward the girls’ cabin, she stopped and turned around. “I’m a corporate lawyer. But I can be fierce in a boardroom.”
He thought about that parting remark through the entire meeting in the Big Room. While he thanked them and then reviewed the schedule for the next weekend—“Same drill but with different kids and it’ll be a whole weekend this time”—he avoided glancing her way, afraid he’d lose track of what he was saying. She’d been ticked off and rightly so. After all the years of learning to say appropriate words in emotionally charged situations, he’d become that self-defensive teenage Mateo in a matter of seconds around her. She’d insisted she’d be back, but he was almost hoping she’d change her mind for fear that she’d catch a glimpse of his old self—the Mateo he was that day on the subway platform—and not like what she was seeing.
Much later, after everyone had taken off, Matt finally gathered what he needed for the city and went to the parking area. He was surprised to see Dana’s BMW. He stowed his things in the back seat of his station wagon and climbed in behind the wheel, turning the ignition in a quick jerk, wanting to get away before she came out. He was still embarrassed over his courtroom gibe. The sputtering grind accompanied by a belch of black smoke from the rear was a sickening reminder of the overheating problem yesterday. Something he’d completely forgotten.
Swearing, he got out of the car and raised the hood. Not that he could fix anything or even determine what the problem was.
The quiet voice behind him was level though not without a hint of irony. “Need a lift?” she asked.
CHAPTER EIGHT
MATT WAS STARING out the passenger-side window. He hadn’t spoken a word other than a curt “Thanks” since they’d left Camp Hope, and Dana would have interpreted his silence as fatigue, but for the constant tapping of his fingertips on his knees. Clearly, he had something on his mind.
Turning to him, she blurted, “I—” at the same time as his “Look—” and they both smiled.
“I need to go first,” he said.
“Okay.” Dana was happy to focus on driving rather than stare into those serious eyes that made her stomach feel like she was on a roller coaster.
“You were great this weekend,” he began. “I know there were a couple of minor things that might have concerned you, but everyone has those first-time learning bumps. It was obvious the girls liked you and that you made a connection with them. I saw Lucy grab your hand on the way to the bus and Kenzie and Ruby hugging you. Those girls don’t show that kind of emotion easily.”
Dana, too, had been surprised by Lucy’s sudden hand clasping. The brief shy smile as she turned around at the bus door while clutching a reusable shopping bag containing her belongings was Lucy’s only goodbye. But it was one Dana knew she’d never forget.
“I’m sorry,” Matt went on, “that I didn’t show my appreciation enough. That scene in the parking lot earlier.” He shook his head. “I was a jerk. I’d like to blame that bad mood on stress but to be honest, I can’t.”
Dana glanced quickly from the windshield. “Matt, you don’t need to apologize. I jumped on everything you said. When I went back to the cabin for a last look around, I felt bad for not even giving you a chance to say what you wanted. It’s a habit. All I can say is that I don’t like that side of me. It’s so defensive. I’m always on high alert whenever I think someone is about to doubt me or put me in the corner—figuratively, that is. I—”
“We’ve both been on the defensive, Dana. How about we start over? Forget about Camp Hope, KidsFirst and all the rest of it. There’s just you and me. Dana and Matt. Meeting for the first time in twenty years and getting to know one another.” He held out his right hand.
Dana removed one hand from the steering wheel to quickly press his, the warmth of the brief clasp lifting her more than words. “Deal,” she said.
“Now tell me something about yourself.”
“Why don’t you go first?”
He laughed, “We can’t keep doing this, Dana. Go ahead. Tell me what you told the girls.”
“I told them I’m a lawyer, that I work for my father, which they found amusing, and that I read about KidsFirst in the newspaper and decided to volunteer.”
“Uh-huh. Now tell me something I don’t already know. Though the father part... I don’t think you told me you worked for him.”
Dana looked at him again. “He has a law firm—Sothern and Davis—and I started there right after law school.”
“What made you decide to work for him, given what you have told me about him trying to toughen you up by sending you to camp and so on.”
She turned her gaze back to the road. “It’s complicated.”
“Really?”
“It just is. You’d have to look at my whole life since I was six.”
“When your mother died.”
“Everything changed then. Dad assigned a random collection of housekeepers and nannies to hover on his behalf. He was too busy with work and travel to be a helicopter parent in person.”
The sharp laugh she gave didn’t put him off. He lowered his voice to ask, “How did your mother die?”
Dana felt her throat constrict. She’d tried to avoid answering that question almost her entire life. When she felt his hand on her shoulder squeezing gently, she whispered, “She committed suicide.”
He moved his hand up to the nape of her neck, stroking small circles as her breathing eased. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to talk about it, Dana,” he murmured.
She blinked back the prickle of tears and waited a moment. “I’d like to,” she said, surprised to realize it was true. “I need to. Because I’ve only spoken about it once, when I was fourteen and I’d just found out the truth.”
“How did you find out?”
“How do we find out anything nowadays? The internet. Dad had always told me that Mom died in a car accident. The summer I was fourteen I was taking sailing lessons at the yacht club Dad belonged to. A girl came up to me and told me she was my cousin. I vaguely remembered her from family gatherings before my moth
er died but I didn’t really know her. I’d always wondered why we never saw my mother’s side of the family. After introducing herself, she told me she was sorry my father broke contact with her side of the family and if I ever wanted to get together with her and her siblings, to give her a call. Then she said her grandparents never got over their daughter’s death and blamed my father.”
“Did she actually tell you what happened?”
“No, but I was puzzled by what she said. When I got home from the yacht club, I searched the internet and eventually came upon a short article about a woman who’d been reported missing but had been found in her car, dead. The article ended with the phrase ‘no evidence of foul play’ and included my mother’s name. I confronted my father when he came home that night.”
“What did he say?”
That night surged out of the past. Dana, tearstained face, shouting at her father. Brent, pale and shaking, trying to calm her. “He told me she’d driven into the country one night to a place where they’d once been very happy, plugged up the car exhaust and...” She had to stop.
“Did she suffer from depression?”
“Dad said she did and that she often went off her meds because of the side effects. But...”
“You blame him?”
“I did at first, because I knew he was never home. And I was angry that he’d kept it from me.”
“But he couldn’t have told you when it happened. You were only six.”
“He could have later.”
He dropped his hand from her neck and she looked right, seeing his face angled to the window. “I think sometimes people can’t bring themselves to talk about the past,” he said, his voice so low she had to strain to hear it. “Either from shame of something they did, or regret for what they failed to do. Maybe your father preferred the story he told you, rather than the one that actually happened.”
Is he talking about my father or himself? When he didn’t go on, she said, “We’ve never talked about it since.”
That got his attention. “Is that okay for you?”
“It works.” Though did it really? After a moment, she asked, “And what’s your story, Matt?”
Her Kind of Hero Page 8