“Okay,” I say, patting her arm. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. We’ll figure this out, okay?” I give her one of the napkins I’m holding, and she wipes her nose. Tears are still leaking out of her eyes, but she sniffles and calms down enough to take another bite of her fried dough. She looks so worried and so sad that I have to give her a hug.
“So, okay,” I say. “We have a phone. We could call the camp, except I don’t know the number.”
“We could look it up on the Camp Harmony website,” Tilly says, which is really smart and actually not something I would’ve thought of.
“Good idea,” I say.
“We’re going to be in a lot of trouble.”
“Yeah, probably.” Something occurs to me. “What time is it?” I ask.
Tilly pulls out the phone. “11:14.”
“So not even lunchtime. They might not even know we’re gone yet. They probably think we’re still out in the woods.”
I’m thinking while I’m talking. Here we are in this really fun place, more exciting than anything we’ve done in weeks; do we really have to turn around and leave right away? I know we’re going to get into trouble either way. Might as well enjoy ourselves first.
“Know what I mean, Til?” I ask. “They probably don’t even know we’re gone.”
She’s not getting it.
“You think we could get back without them noticing?” she asks.
I shake my head. “No. What I was going to say is, we’ve still got like fifteen dollars left. Why don’t we have some fun?”
In the end, we never do get to call the camp. About an hour later, we’re in the arcade playing Skee-ball, when a voice behind me says, “Matilda and Iris Hammond?” I turn around and it’s a cop.
Tilly says, “Are you going to arrest us?” and the policeman speaks into his walkie-talkie and says, “They’re here.” He takes us with him to a little police shack on the boardwalk, and fifteen minutes later, our car drives up with Scott sitting behind the wheel.
• • •
We’re in trouble, obviously, but it takes a while for us to get to that part. First, there’s just a lot of confused talking, with the policeman asking us questions and us trying to explain the situation with Candy. There’s a lot of stuff about her dad’s phone; the police seem to think that he left it with Tilly on purpose, so they wouldn’t be able to track where he went, but as far as I can tell, it was just a random mistake. Tilly ends up having to hand it over to them; I can tell she was hoping that maybe she’d be able to keep it.
Once they let us go and we’re all in the car—my dad’s up front in the passenger seat, while me, Tilly, and Mom are all squished into the back—everything’s just silent for a couple of minutes. I feel really tense, like it’d be better if they all just started yelling at us already.
It’s weird to have Scott driving, because it’s our car. Except it’s way cleaner than it ever was before, which makes me wonder who cleared out all of our junk, and whether Scott or somebody actually took it to a car wash.
Tilly must be thinking the same kinds of things, because after a minute, she leans forward and starts looking in the seat-back pocket.
“Hey,” she says. Her voice is really loud, after all that quiet. I feel my mom flinch a little, where her leg is touching mine on the seat. “Where are my statue notes?”
I sigh, keeping the noise as quiet as possible. I’m younger than Tilly is, and I know that the best thing for us to do right now is just to keep our mouths shut and wait to hear whatever the grown-ups are going to say. But she doesn’t get it, or maybe she gets it but she’s distracted by this other thing, and now she’s probably going to freak out, and it’s going to make everything worse.
Sure enough, Scott says, “Do you really think that’s the most important question right now, Tilly?” His voice isn’t mean or angry, but it’s so cold it scares me.
“Yes,” says Tilly, her voice rising as she talks. “Yes, I do think it’s the most important question. What happened to my statue notes?”
“We cleaned out the car,” my mother says softly. “I’m not sure . . .”
“Where are my notes?” Tilly yells. “They’re mine, I need them . . .”
“QUIET!” roars Scott. The tires screech as he pulls over to the side of the road. The car turns so fast that I slide sideways into Tilly, and my mom slides sideways into me.
Scott turns off the car and yanks the keys out. He twists around so he can look at the backseat. His face is all red, except for one little white patch on his forehead that gets whiter when he’s angry. I guess it’s a birthmark or something.
“What the hell were you two thinking?” Scott yells at us.
“Scott,” my dad says, just as I say, “You don’t have to yell.”
“You,” Scott says to me. He’s taken his seat belt off, and he lunges toward me, putting his face right up to mine and poking me in the chest. “You need to be quiet, too.”
“Enough,” says my dad. He grabs Scott’s arm roughly. “That’s enough.”
Scott sighs and pulls himself back into the front seat. We just sit there, by the side of the road.
“I hate you,” says Tilly quietly, her voice cracking. “I fucking hate you.”
“Listen,” says Dad, turning to look at us. “I don’t think you guys know how scary this was for us. We couldn’t find you, we didn’t know if you’d been kidnapped or if you’d gotten hurt in the woods somewhere. We were counting the canoes to make sure the three of you hadn’t taken one out without asking . . .” His voice sounds tight, like he’s trying not to cry.
“Oh,” I say. It’s a tiny little sound that just slips out of my mouth. He’s right; I didn’t think about what they would think had happened when they realized we were gone.
“You thought we were dead?” asks Tilly. She sounds weirdly amazed at the idea.
“Yeah, we did,” says Mom. I put my head on her arm. “We thought it was a possibility, anyway. We were really worried.”
“I’m sorry, Mommy and Daddy,” I say. “I’m so sorry.”
“Me, too,” says Tilly. “I’m really sorry.” I can see that she’s got her head on Mom, too, over on the other side.
There’s a problem, though, with Tilly and apologies, and I don’t think she even knows about it. The problem is that she thinks that when you say you’re sorry, it means everything’s all over. She doesn’t get that sometimes people are still mad at you afterward, or that sometimes there still has to be a punishment. So when she says it, she sounds kind of happy and relieved, like she’s glad the problem has been taken care of.
“I know you’re sorry,” says Mom. “But that doesn’t . . .”
And that’s where I can tell we’re about to get to the bad part, the part about consequences and what happens next. But Tilly cuts her off before she can finish her sentence and asks, “What if we were really dead? What would you have done?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” says Scott. He turns the car back on and pulls back onto the road.
Tilly starts laughing. I reach over Mom and poke her. When she looks at me, I mouth the word “Stop.”
But she doesn’t shut up. “What?” she asks. “Scott? Why did you say for fuck’s sake?” And then she’s giggling harder. “If we were dead, you would’ve fucked us?”
“Tilly!” says Mom. “Cut it out now!” My dad says, “Oh, my God, Tilly . . .”
“Do you see?” says Scott. I can see over the back of his seat that he’s shaking his head. “Do you see what I’m saying?”
Mom sighs. “Yeah,” she says. “I guess I do.”
“Josh?” asks Scott.
My dad nods. “Yeah. Okay.”
“What?” I ask. “What’s going on?”
“No,” says Dad. “It’s nothing big. Just that we’ve been talking about what type of consequence we’re goin
g to give you guys.”
“Are you going to kick us out of camp?” asks Tilly? “Are we going to have to go back to Washington?”
Seriously? This is so obviously not what the punishment will be, and also so obviously what Tilly would want to happen, it’s ridiculous. Maybe they’ll also buy us new iPads! I roll my eyes but stay silent.
“No,” says Scott. “We don’t give up at Camp Harmony; we just work harder. Which is exactly what you two will be doing.”
“So more AD Block?” I ask.
“No,” says Scott. “I think we can all agree that this goes beyond the scope of AD Block. You’ll be taking on extra chores—we’ll go over specifics when we get back to camp—and you’ll be doing it in a very visible way.”
“What do you mean?” asks Tilly.
“We mean that you’re going to be working where the GCs can see you,” says Scott. “And we’re going to make sure it’s very clear that you’re being punished and that you understand the severity of what you did today.”
Tilly and I both talk at the same time. I say, “How?” and she says, “Why?”
“Why?” says Scott. “Because in addition to the events of this morning being very frightening, they were also very damaging to the reputation of Camp Harmony.”
“So what?” says Tilly, which, honestly, is kind of what I’m thinking, too.
“How do you think it looks?” asks Dad, turning around in his seat again. “These people are paying money to come to our camp and learn our parenting tips, and three of our own kids disappear one morning without a trace.”
Tilly starts laughing. “Probably not good,” she says. I close my eyes.
“Do you get that this is a business?” asks Scott. “Do you understand that this is how we earn a living?”
“Yes,” says Tilly, though I’ve never actually thought about it, and I bet she hasn’t, either.
“Back to the question of how,” says Mom. I’ve still got my head on her arm, and I can feel the vibration of her voice as she talks. “You’ll be wearing something on your clothes—a tag or a sign of some kind. Saying what you did.”
“This is just like the Nazis,” says Tilly. “We’re living with Nazis now.”
“It is nothing like the Nazis,” says Mom, “and that’s not an argument we’re going to have right now.”
“We think it’s important,” says Dad, “both that you don’t forget why you’re being punished, and that the GCs can see that we’re not just sitting back and letting our kids run wild.”
“Mommy?” I ask in a small voice. I still have my eyes closed. “What about Candy?”
“What?” asks my dad.
“Candy,” says Mom.
“That’s a good question,” says Scott, “and the answer is that we don’t know. This has all happened very quickly, and we’re still trying to piece it all together. I can tell you this, though: right now, Candy’s mother, Diane, is at the Laconia police station, filing a report.”
They all keep talking, about kidnapping and custody laws and I don’t even know what, but I breathe in and I breathe out, and after a while, I manage to stop listening. Even though I know we’re almost back at camp, even though I can feel it when the car turns from smooth road onto gravel driveway, I stay pressed against my mom and let my mind take me away to sleep, for however long the grown-ups will let it last.
• • •
When we get back, the adults let us get some lunch before we start our new chores. When we’re finishing our sandwiches, Janelle walks into the dining hall.
“Hello, ladies,” she says. “I’m sure you’re not going to be happy about this, but Scott asked me to make these for you. They go around your neck.”
She holds up two rectangles of white cardboard with strings attached to the top corners. They both say the same thing: “I GOT INTO A STRANGER’S CAR AND LEFT CAMP WITHOUT PERMISSION.”
“I’m not wearing that,” says Tilly.
“I’m afraid you are,” says Janelle. “And I’ve already heard your Nazi argument, so don’t think that’s going to sway me.” She sounds like she’s almost smiling, though.
• • •
So we have to spend the afternoon of the Fourth of July wearing these signs while we weed the garden and clean out the chicken cages. And every time anyone walks by, either GC or CF (and even if it’s somebody we’ve seen three times already), we have to stop what we’re doing, stand up, and read our signs out loud. But for something that’s supposed to be such a terrible punishment, it’s not really that bad. Tilly and I practice saying the words in unison, and then if anybody laughs, we say (together), “Stop it! This is serious!” By the end of the day, we barely even mind it anymore. Candy’s entire family is gone by dinnertime.
I can hardly believe that it was only this morning that I was at Weirs Beach with her. And I don’t mean that just as an expression. I literally don’t understand how it’s possible that this is still the same day, and it’s still the Fourth of July, and that this morning I woke up in our regular old family cabin with my parents in the next room, and I had no idea that any of this crazy stuff was about to happen.
After everyone’s eaten, Scott sends the Guest Campers back to their cottages for some “quiet time” and tells the rest of us to stay where we are. Of course “the rest of us” is a smaller group than ever before: just our family, and Scott, and Tom, Janelle, and Hayden.
After all the visitors are gone, Scott stands up and clangs a glass to get everyone’s attention. “So,” he says. “Happy Independence Day.” It’s almost funny, because he looks so serious and grim. But nobody laughs.
“I think, by now, everybody’s heard the news. You’re all aware that Candy’s biological father came to Camp Harmony today and kidnapped her.”
That still doesn’t really sound right to me. I don’t understand how someone can be kidnapped by her own father, and anyway, it wasn’t some violent hostage situation ransom scene, like in a movie.
“According to our witnesses,” Scott says, sending a look in the direction of our table, “it’s possible that she left willingly. But it’s important for us all to remember that Candy is a child, that she was with an adult she thought she could trust, and that she almost certainly did not understand the repercussions that would follow from this act. I want to be the first to say this: Candy’s loyalty is not in question here.”
I’ve only sort of been half-listening, but this makes me sit up and look around. I don’t get why he’s talking about loyalty. It just seems like a weird thing to say.
“I’m afraid I can’t say the same for the rest of the Gough family. Diane came to me this afternoon and told me that the police are investigating the case, but that they’ve made it clear that parental abduction cases are tricky. And Diane believes that it’s in the family’s best interests to leave the camp, if they’re serious about getting Candy back.”
“I don’t understand,” says Tom. “Why?”
Scott sighs. “For a number of reasons. One is that the New Hampshire police don’t have jurisdiction, because the Goughs haven’t lived here long enough to establish residency. And the other is that . . .” He pauses. His face is tight. “Apparently, Candy’s father is saying that Camp Harmony isn’t a healthy environment for her. And that Rick and Diane brought her here without his permission.”
“How is it not a healthy environment?” asks Janelle. “That’s . . . like our whole thing, to provide a healthy environment.”
“I think I know,” says Tilly, half-raising her hand as she speaks. “On the way to the beach, Candy’s dad called Scott a nutcase.”
“Yes, Tilly,” says Scott. “Thank you for clarifying.” He smiles, without it really looking like a smile. “Now since the Goughs’ departure has left us especially shorthanded, I’d appreciate it if you could all pitch in and help with the after-dinner cleanup.”
And
because he heard us laughing about our signs earlier, Tilly and I are the ones who have to stay the longest and do the most work.
When we get back to the cabin, we both go to our bedroom. I flop down on my bed. It’s still light out on the Fourth of July, and I have to spend the rest of the night in a tiny, hot room. What I’d like is just to have some quiet, so I can sit and not think, but that’s not going to happen with Tilly in the room. She’s pacing around and talking to me and to herself and sometimes singing. After a while, I notice that she’s eating something.
“What’s in your mouth?” I ask her.
She grins. “Check it out,” she says, and pulls a bunch of stuff out of the pocket of her shorts: little Halloween-sized packs of Smarties and Laffy Taffy, a purple plastic ring, a mini green Slinky. Stuff from the arcade. Somewhere between the fried dough and the parental arrival, she must have turned in a bunch of Skee-ball tickets.
“Cool,” I say. “Can I have one of those?” I point to the roll of Smarties. I don’t say the name out loud, in case anyone can hear us.
“Of course!” she says. “You can have the whole thing.”
“Thanks,” I say. Sometimes I really love my sister.
We hang out on my bed and eat the rest of the candy, and play with the Slinky, which is too small to really do anything interesting.
When I go to the bathroom a little later, I blow my nose in a piece of toilet paper and then smush up the candy wrappers inside it. When I throw it in the trash can, it looks pretty normal. I don’t really think any of the adults are going to be looking through every single snotty tissue.
Tilly’s asleep by the time I get back to the room, but it takes me a while to get comfortable. And then, just as I’m about to fall asleep, I hear something that sounds soft and far away, a little string of pops, one after the other. Fireworks, maybe at Weirs Beach. I listen to the familiar rhythm of it, the waiting quiet in between each burst and crack, and I wonder about the colors, whether it might be possible to tell from the sounds which ones are blue and which ones are red or white.
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