Campfire

by Shawn Sarles

  Somewhere in the forest a twig snapped. In the still air it might as well have been a gunshot. The deer tensed, perking up their ears, lifting their heads, spotting Maddie’s unusual presence.

  They spooked and leaped back into the forest. Maddie watched them go, disappointed but also thrilled to have seen them at all, a reminder that the world still had good things to offer, even if it could be a shitty place some of the time.

  As the deer disappeared from sight, Maddie spun around to tell Chelsea about it, but her eyes caught on something—something not right. She swung her gaze back and squinted into the shadows, trying to pick it out again. But she came up empty.

  She could have sworn she’d seen something there in the woods, though. A shadow maybe. Or a figure. Someone or something watching them. Her eyes strained to see more, to develop X-ray vision on the spot.

  “Did you see something just now?” Maddie asked.

  “See what?”

  “I thought there was someone over there.” Maddie pointed and Chelsea followed her finger.

  “I wasn’t paying attention.” Chelsea didn’t seem bothered by it at all. “Maybe it was Abigail trying to scare us?”

  “Maybe.” Maddie humored Chelsea, but she knew it wasn’t Abigail. She’d been forced to have play dates with the girl since she was little. She knew her face almost better than her own.

  “I’m sure it was nothing. Your eyes playing tricks on you or something.”

  “Yeah. Probably.”

  Maddie thought Chelsea was right, but she couldn’t shake the bad feeling. She continued staring at the spot out in the woods, expecting a shadow to peel off and reveal itself any second now.

  “How about we fill these up,” Chelsea suggested, changing subjects.

  Maddie nodded, taking one last hard look into the forest before turning and helping Chelsea drag the big water cooler to the river.

  “Should we send out a search party?” Maddie asked five minutes later. She wiped her hands dry on her shorts and gave the pile of canteens a dubious eye.

  “Abigail’s a big girl,” Chelsea said. She bent over the large cooler and lifted it, but then plunked it right back down on the ground. “But maybe we should make sure she hasn’t fallen in a hole.”

  Maddie nodded, but before the girls could split up, a commotion of snapping twigs broke out behind them and Abigail stumbled through the underbrush toward them.

  “What were you doing out there?” Chelsea asked, annoyed. “You didn’t even help with the canteens.”

  Abigail breezed past, ignoring Chelsea completely. Maddie turned to defend her best friend, but a pungent odor slapped her across the face. She sniffed again, recognizing the funky smell trailing Abigail.

  “Were you smoking pot?”

  “Maybe.” Abigail spun around and grinned, her eyes narrowing to a dazed squint. “Why do you care?”

  “I don’t,” Maddie replied indifferently. “But your mom probably will.”

  “Please,” Abigail shrugged. “She’s oblivious. And I’ll be good and aired out by the time we get back.”

  “Well, you better not forget these.”

  Chelsea chucked four of the canteens into Abigail’s arms. To her merit, the girl hung on to them all. Maddie and Chelsea split the remaining canteens and then bent as one and hefted the big water cooler between them. It weighed a ton, and trickles of water ran down its sides, making the girls’ hands even slicker than before. The walk back was going to take a lot longer.

  “This way,” Chelsea snapped, and Abigail fell in line behind them, walking slowly, her gaze floating left and right and up and down as she slid further into her high, the reverse of earlier in the day.

  They walked for a while without anyone speaking, Abigail lost in her own world as Maddie and Chelsea labored with the full water cooler. Maddie’s arm grew sore, but she didn’t want to stop. Not in front of Abigail. She gritted her teeth and carried on, but she could see Chelsea’s face out of the corner of her eye, the way she huffed, her red-cheeked look of strain. Chelsea might have had the bigger bark, but Maddie had the muscles.

  After another minute Maddie took pity on her best friend and let her half of the cooler drop. Chelsea happily let go of her side as well, and the girls bent over, taking deep breaths. Maddie wiped her forehead with her shirt and unstoppered one of the canteens to take a long drink before offering it to Chelsea.

  “I wish Caleb was here to carry this,” Maddie said as Chelsea took the canteen and gulped down a mouthful of water. She swallowed and wiped her lips.

  “You and me both.”

  Maddie opened her mouth, but Abigail’s voice cut her off. She’d caught up to them.

  “Are you two talking about Caleb again?” Abigail cocked a discerning eyebrow Maddie’s way. Her initial high seemed to have burned off, leaving behind an even meaner Abigail. “Don’t you think he’s a bit out of your league? I mean, not that you’re completely inexperienced—but older guys like Caleb expect a bit more than holding hands.”

  “And how exactly would you know?” Chelsea came to Maddie’s defense. “Blowing through the entire baseball team hardly makes you an expert.”

  Abigail flushed a deep red. She opened her mouth and shut it again, pressing her lips together in a fine line of fury. She stared down Chelsea, but the girl didn’t even flutter an eyelash. And then Abigail was gone, storming past Maddie and Chelsea without another word.

  “Is that true?” Maddie’s relief showed all over her face. That was her best friend, shutting down anyone and everyone who came for them.

  “Well, maybe it wasn’t the entire baseball team.…”

  SIX

  THE FIRE CRACKLED AND POPPED IN the center of camp. It shot sparks into the night as a gooey marshmallow slipped from a stick and kamikazied into the flames. A caramel aroma filled the air, smoky and sweet.

  “Shit! What—what did you say happened?” The curse came from Mark Towson—Kris’s husband—though Maddie couldn’t tell if he was yelling at his suicidal marshmallow or her dad’s story.

  “It was really scary,” Maddie’s dad went on, able to talk about that morning’s events calmly now that Maddie had gotten through them unhurt. Mark didn’t seem so blasé about it, though. He frowned into the fire, watching as the white confection turned brown and then black. He hadn’t ridden up with them. He’d missed the morning’s excitement—the roar, the gunshot, and Maddie’s bucking horse.

  “And the horse went berserk? Just like that?” Mark looked worried now. His knuckles glowed white around the stick that had held a marshmallow only a second before. “And there was a bear.…”

  Maddie heard the man gulp.

  “Well, we didn’t actually see a bear,” Charlie jumped in to clarify.

  “But that’s what it sounded like,” Dylan added.

  This didn’t help Dylan’s father one bit. His head swiveled to one side. And then to the other, like a cheap bobble-head doll they handed out at baseball games. Maddie felt sorry for Abigail and Dylan. They had to have the most embarrassing dad on the planet. As if his overwhelming anxiety wasn’t bad enough, he also had on the most ridiculous camping vest. It surprised Maddie that he hadn’t already pulled a can of bear mace from one of its numerous pockets.

  “These mountains aren’t safe,” Mark’s voice rose an unflattering octave. “I told you, Kris. But you didn’t believe my research. There are bears and mountain lions. Hundreds of attacks every year.”

  Kris only sighed, placing her fingers against her forehead as she let her husband wind himself up.

  Mark’s search for an impending attack turned more frantic. His head whipped around, but he couldn’t see anything past their campfire’s circle of light. Instead, he dropped his marshmallow stick and rushed over to his tent, reaching in and pulling out his overstuffed pack, filled with triple rations and a mini-pharmacy’s worth of ointments and pill bottles. His hand grazed a long, cylindrical package and he seemed suddenly calmer. Maddie couldn’t tell what it was. It
was wrapped in harmless brown paper and looked kind of like a bat. But why would he have brought that with him? He wasn’t planning on hitting fly balls with Charlie, was he?

  “Everyone can relax,” Caleb spoke up, and Mark’s fingers darted back from the package like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

  “But there was a bear,” Mark sputtered, rushing back to the campfire.

  “That roar came from miles away,” Caleb reassured them all.

  “And the gunshot?”

  “It probably was a firecracker. Kids like to set them off this time of year—getting antsy for the Fourth of July. Trust me. You have nothing to worry about. You’d know if something was about to attack you.”

  “But—but—”

  “Honey, trust the guide. If he says it’s safe, it’s safe.” Kris’s stern voice ended the debate. Mark looked around, searching for someone to share in his hysteria, but came up empty.

  “Have another marshmallow,” Julie said as she came forward and handed Mark the stick he’d dropped. She skewered a new marshmallow on the end of it and pushed it out over the fire to toast. She reached up, as if to pat him on the head and say “good boy,” but her hand found his shoulder instead, more of a “there, there.”

  Maddie lay back against a log and watched it all as she munched on her own s’more, smiling to herself. That was just like Aunt Julie. Always the mom. She took another bite and couldn’t help but remember the ones she and her mom had made over their gas stove so many years ago. No s’more could ever compete with those, but these came pretty close—the smooth, rich chocolate coating her tongue; the marshmallow a light, gooey pillow of sweetness; and the graham cracker a salty crunch to give the s’more teeth. She took another bite and savored it, casting her eye around the rest of the fire, seeing how everyone was getting along.

  Ever since Maddie could remember, their three families—the Davenports, the Towsons, and the Witters (her mother’s family)—had gotten together for playdates, birthdays, Sunday brunches, game nights, Super Bowl parties… just about everything imaginable. Now that she was older, however, it seemed kind of strange to Maddie just how intertwined and dependent they’d become. They couldn’t even go on vacation alone—case in point, this camping trip. Though this was more of a special last hurrah before Bryan, Dylan, and Charlie went off to college in the fall. But there was Hawaii and Disney and that cruise to the Bahamas. The weekends skiing and the cross-country road trip two years ago.

  According to her dad, it went all the way back to college. Kris, Julie, and Maddie’s mom—Linda—had all met there and been nearly inseparable. In an attempt to get some alone time with Linda, Maddie’s dad had brought his roommate to dinner one night and asked Maddie’s mom to invite her brother. Neither had had the faintest idea that things would go so well that they’d be dinnering with the other two couples for the next twenty-plus years. Even after Maddie’s mother had died, the families had only gotten closer, their shared tragedy knitting them even tighter together.

  There’d been some tension as of late, though. At least, Maddie had sensed it. Just the slightest twist of the screw. Maddie could see the pressure building, the cracks beginning to show around pasted-on smiles. Pretty soon, with their eldest children gone to college, they might be seeing a lot less of one another.

  And maybe that was for the best. Maddie certainly didn’t want to spend every weekend with Abigail.

  Maddie watched as Mark finished roasting his marshmallow. Julie swooped in again, this time with chocolate and two graham crackers, which she used to pin and remove the smoking treat from Mark’s stick. She handed it to him, and he thanked her with big googly eyes. He took a bite of the s’more and its insides squished out, the marshmallow sliding down and splatting right on his shirt.

  From the other side of the fire, Maddie’s uncle Ed pointed and laughed. Mark’s face glowed red in the firelight. He looked at Julie, who looked at her husband, who was still laughing and pointing. Mark threw his stick down and slumped back to take a seat on one of the logs.

  Yeah, some time apart could do them all a lot of good.

  “So, should we get this party started?” Maddie’s dad had appeared from the shadows beyond the campfire. He walked over to one of the coolers and pulled out a bottle of beer. He cracked it open with an effortless twist.

  “Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Ed shouted. He abandoned his half-eaten s’more and joined Maddie’s dad, pulling a can of beer out of the cooler for himself. He popped it open and took a long gulp, downing it in one go. He crunched the can in his fist like some amped-up frat boy and let out an almighty burp that curdled Maddie’s ears. He grabbed another beer for himself and then began passing them out to everyone.

  “Anyone think they can chug a beer faster than me?”

  Kris rolled her eyes as she took a beer from him.

  “You do realize you’re not twenty-one anymore and the kids aren’t even old enough to drink yet.”

  “Screw age limits. We’re in the middle of nowhere. The kids can have a beer if they want. At least my kid can.”

  Ed tossed a beer to Bryan, who fumbled the slick can and then dropped it in the grass. He scrambled to retrieve it, but his dad had already rolled his eyes and moved on.

  “I bet Charlie wants one, too. That OK, Mitch?”

  Maddie’s dad nodded and Ed fired off another can, which her brother caught easily.

  “That’s my champ.”

  Bryan could only glower as he listened to his father praise the son he’d rather have had. He took a feeble sip of his beer and then wandered off into the night. Ed didn’t even notice him leave. He was too busy passing out drinks to everyone who wanted one.

  “Well, then.” Ed had finished the rounds and his second beer. He took a third and popped it open. “I think a cheers is in order.”

  He held his beer high and everyone joined him, Maddie and Chelsea raising their cans of soda. They were the only two not drinking, even though her dad had said it was okay. She’d be damned if she got drunk for the first time in front of him, though. There were some things dads just shouldn’t see.

  “To our distinguished graduates,” Ed nodded in Dylan and Charlie’s direction, completely unaware of his son’s absence. “You’re going to learn a lot in college, then realize it doesn’t mean shit. So don’t forget to party hard. That’s about the only thing college is any good for.”

  It was an odd toast, but very much her uncle. Maddie clinked her soda can with Chelsea’s and the girls drank along with everyone else.

  “Now, let’s have some fun.”

  “I already told you, no drinking games.” Kris sounded extra annoyed with Ed, her tone terse. Ed shot her a frown, but before he could complain, Charlie jumped in with an idea.

  “What about we tell some campfire stories?” He’d drunk about half his beer already and Maddie could tell it was bubbling behind his eyes, loosening him up.

  “You know,” Caleb spoke for the first time since dinner and everyone turned to listen, “it’s bad luck to tell scary stories under a full moon.”

  Everyone’s gaze followed his finger as it pointed up into the sky, their eyes growing big as they spotted the perfectly plump moon sitting full in the cloudless sky above them.

  “They say that stories told under a full moon come true,” Caleb warned.

  “Bullshit,” Ed spat out. “Sounds like an old superstition to me.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” A gleam sparked in Caleb’s so-blue eyes and a chill ran up Maddie’s spine. The mood felt suddenly dangerous. But also alive.

  “Can I go first?” a voice squeaked. Maddie turned and was surprised to see Aunt Julie raising her hand. She’d opted for a wine cooler instead of beer, and her cheeks had already started to turn a rosy shade of pink.

  No one argued, so Julie moved closer to the fire, her voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial murmur as she began her tale.

  “Have you
ever heard the one about the dancing bear?”

  Old Man Weber’s field had sprung to life overnight, though not with crops. It hadn’t seen a harvest since the city had foreclosed on the farmer’s property more than a decade ago. Instead, the land bloomed with bright red-and-yellow tents. Rows of them had popped up, housing games of skill and chance—all rigged—while others held mouthwatering treats like fried Snicker bars, popcorn, and funnel cakes wafting their enticing aromas through the crowd. And above it all, a Ferris wheel had blossomed, unfurling its colorful swinging cars like petals on a brilliant sunflower.

  The County Fair had come to town.

  Jennifer stood outside by herself, waiting in line to buy her ticket. Her phone buzzed and she snatched at it, then a second later flared with embarrassment. She thrust the phone back into her pocket and shook her head. It was only her mother, reminding her to stay safe.

  Not Max.

  He wasn’t calling. He was never going to call. He’d dumped her two weeks ago. Why couldn’t she accept it?

  But she couldn’t think about that. The night was supposed to be fun, a distraction from her ex and all his bullshit. She shuffled forward and passed a worn ten-dollar bill to the ticket seller.

  “Excuse me.” A voice startled Jennifer out of her own thoughts. “Have you seen my friend?”

  It took Jennifer a moment to realize the girl was talking to her.

  “Sorry?”

  “Have you seen her?” the girl asked shyly.

  She held out a flyer with a black-and-white photograph printed on it. The girl in the picture looked about Jennifer’s age, unruly brown hair flying all over the place, a mouth that took up half her face opened so wide that Jennifer could see a filling peeking out from one of her molars. She had her hand up, as if trying to stop the photographer from taking her picture, and on that wrist Jennifer could just make out a tattoo—an infinity sign.

  “Her name’s Rachel. No one’s seen her for over a week.”

  Jennifer felt bad for the girl.