Camp Life

by Lucinda Maison

  “You live with two of them?” Shelley was perched on an old tree trunk that had been split in half lengthwise and sanded smooth. Sean sat between her and his mother.

  Mrs. McConnell shook her head in mock sorrow. “Sean and I have a lot to bear,” she replied, and grinned at Sean. She looked up as the Parkers arrived, along with Dara and her parents. They all arranged themselves around the fire pit, pulling up chairs, stumps, and anything else available to sit on. Other people were sitting on the low wall between the volleyball court and the firepit, and some were clustered around the refreshments table where Lauren and Noreen were serving up mugs of hot chocolate and cider.

  Patrick spotted Drew and gave a jerk of his head toward his father. Drew nodded and pulled out the notebook he had tucked under his arm. Patrick scooted over to make room, and Drew sat down between them, his notebook on his knees.

  Mr. McConnell saw the notebook and looked at Drew with interest. “Are these the drawings Patrick and Sean were telling me about? For lacrosse?”

  “Uh-huh. I don’t know if people would be interested in stuff like this, but…well, I like them, even if I did draw them myself.” Drew flipped open the notebook and handed it to Mr. McConnell.

  Mr. McConnell scanned each page carefully before slowly moving on to the next. He finally whistled softly and met Drew’s eyes. “These are good…really good. Clever. Kids are always looking for something different. I think these would be perfect for a line of shirts, caps…” he broke off, thinking. “Have you talked to your parents about this?”

  Drew nodded. He stared at the page and his fingers twitched as the flickering light from the fire gave him another idea. Clearing his throat, he brought his attention back to Patrick’s father. “Yeah, I showed them my drawings and told them what Patrick said…that you could probably tell whether we could sell them on t-shirts and things.”

  “I think there’s a very good chance of that.” He stood up and asked his wife to scoot over a bit. “I want to talk to Drew’s parents.”

  The Parkers had chairs on the far side of the log bench. Mrs. McConnell moved closer to Sean, and Mr. McConnell sat down next to her on the edge of the bench. He reached across and gave Sean a brief pat on the knee and began to talk in low tones with the Parkers, occasionally gesturing at the notebook he cradled in his hand.

  Dara took the opportunity to move next to Drew, ignoring a keen look from her father. “Hi,” she whispered softly. Deliberately, she reached down and clasped his hand in hers.

  Drew cut his eyes to Dara’s father and back to her serene face. He squeezed her fingers lightly. “Why are we whispering?”

  She shrugged, her blush invisible in the firelight.

  “How’d it go? Did you talk to them?”

  Dara stared at their entwined fingers. “Yeah, I did. I think it’s going to be OK…not easy,” she added wryly, “but OK.” She paused and took a deep breath. “My mom said she used to write stories…I never knew. She’ never said a word about it before.”

  Drew’s eyebrows rose. “Are you going to let them read your stuff?”

  “My mom wants to, so, yeah. I actually feel good about that. And she’s going to let me read hers, too. It’s going to be so weird.” She tossed a few blonde strands out of her eyes. “My dad sort of ignored the part about me writing. Definitely not interested,” which should have made her feel bad, she thought, but somehow didn’t. She might wish he could be different, but it didn’t change how she felt about her stories. She toed up a little pile of dirt, further smudging her long past white ballet flats. “He’s good with the swimming, though. And so am I!” She gave him a satisfied smile and he laughed, feeling good about her, about his lacrosse drawings, and about life in general.

  Jake, Jim, Corinne, Allison, and Rocky were lined up on a bench on the opposite side of the firepit. Rocky lay with his head on Allison’s thigh, and she couldn’t be happier about it. Their parents stood in a group a little behind them, laughing, talking about the day, gesturing with their cups, and joking about s’more-related personality traits.

  Jake had three chocolate chip cookies balanced on his knee, and was looking forward to the s’mores. An arm suddenly snaked around him and snatched one of his cookies. He made a grab for it, but missed, and when he turned, Caroline was grinning at him, half a cookie stuffed in her mouth.

  “There’s a whole table of them over there, you know!” he exclaimed, exasperated. “Why don’t you go get your own?”

  “Because it’s more fun to steal yours, of course!” She rolled her eyes as if he’d said the stupidest thing.

  Jake’s eyes flashed and he jumped up from the bench, knocking the remaining cookies into the dirt. Caroline let out a squeak and ran for it, Jake not far behind.

  Corinne looked knowingly at Jim. “So, what will he do when he catches her? Kill her or ?”

  “Oh, I think she’ll be fine,” he said slyly.

  “You’re thinking they’ve finally realized the brother-sister act is overrated?”

  “I’d say she’s known it for a long time, and he’s just about to find out.”

  They laughed, and he handed her a clean cookie before reaching down to throw the dirty ones into the fire.

  Ron edged by their bench with an armful of hangers that had been straightened for toasting. He set them on a row of bricks lined up near the fire, and grinned at Rocky, whose eyes were half closed in pleasure at Allison’s touch. “Now, there’s a happy dog.”

  Allison looked up at him and smiled shyly. The motion of her hand stopped. Rocky opened his eyes and gave her a sharp nudge with his nose. She resumed petting, and he heaved a sigh, as if to comment on the inadequacy of help these days, before resettling his head on her leg and closing his eyes.

  “Spoiled rotten,” Corinne commented without heat.

  “What’s he been doing?” Cal came up to stand next to Ron, eyes on his dog, his bright yellow madras shirt clashing magnificently with red sweats and sockless green Van’s.

  Rocky opened his eyes at the sound of Cal’s voice and stared back at him with an innocent expression that clearly said “Who, me?”

  Corinne eyed Cal’s outfit. “Maybe he’s color blind,” she said to Jim in a stage whisper.

  “Well, look who’s calling the kettle black!” Cal gasped in mock outrage.

  Corinne preened exaggeratedly. “I am colorful, but perfectly matched and beautifully put together.” She gave Cal a smile of patently false sweetness.

  “She’s got you, there,” Jim said, smiling appreciatively at her. Her purple cami, pink hoodie, and plaid teal capris were indeed very colorful, yet somehow just right on her.

  Cal bopped her lightly on the head with a box of graham crackers, and Rocky barked at him. “Guess I better be nice to you. You’ve got a protector…Traitor,” he added to Rocky.

  “Thanks, Rock,” Corinne crooned.

  Jake and Caroline returned shortly, which was a good thing because both his mom and her parents had witnessed them leaving and were watching to make sure they came back. Caroline appeared flushed, but pleased, and Jake looked like he didn’t know what hit him. Jim almost laughed out loud when he saw their faces.

  Caroline sat down on the bench and moved over to give Jake room. Jim caught his eye and Jake lifted his chin, daring him to comment. Jim just shook his head, smiling at him, and Jake’s face relaxed into an answering grin.

  Ron clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention. “It s’mores time, for those that want any. We’ve got marshmallows and chocolate and everything on the table back there. Grab a skewer whenever you’re ready.”

  A line of kids quickly formed in front of the pile of hangers and Ron got out of the way, moving to stand by Jake’s mom. In a remarkably short time, there were a dozen or so marshmallows toasting over the fire.

  “Flameout!” someone cried, as a marshmallow burst into blue flame.

  “Oh, not again!” Corinne groaned, bringing her now-blackened marshmallow closer
for inspection.

  “No, not tonight. I’m not rescuing your sorry burned marshmallows again. I barely recovered from the last time,” Ron told her, holding his stomach. “Try this…decide where you think is the perfect spot, then hold it 3 inches short of that or above it or both. No matter how tempted you are to get closer, don’t.”

  Jim had scrapped the gooey mass off the end of her hanger and into the fire, where it sizzled briefly and imploded into a small lump of charcoal. He threaded another marshmallow onto the hanger and she took it from him with a word of thanks and a determined tilt to her chin.

  Several minutes later, she was sure her marshmallow was just as white and just as untoasted as when she stuck it over the fire. She pulled it out of the fire and peered at it closely. “Oh, my god! Look, Jim, look at this!” Her marshmallow was lightly crusted with a warm, golden hue. She gently squeezed it with two fingers and it crackled a little, the soft center squishy beneath her fingers.

  “Yes! I did it!”

  “Would you make one for me, Rinny?” Allison asked her.

  “You can have this one and I’ll do another one for me.” She held the hanger toward her sister, who gingerly pulled it off and popped it in her mouth.

  “I’m going to go get more, and the chocolate and stuff.” She jumped up from the bench and was gone before Jim could say anything.

  Jim gave Ron a thumbs-up, and Ron pretended to wipe imaginary sweat from his forehead, having won a close call.

  One and a half boxes of graham crackers, 2 bags of marshmallows, and a dozen bars of chocolate later, everyone had had their fill of s’mores. The only truly surprising variation, which was dubbed the “still waters run deep” personality, came from Dara’s mother. She pressed a sliver of dark chocolate into the middle of a marshmallow, then used two hangers like tongs to toast it. More dark chocolate lined both sides of her graham crackers. People who tried to copy her technique had a hard time with the hangers-as-tongs concept, and she seemed to have a lot of fun helping people get the hang of it.

  “Unless anybody wants s’more…,” groans interrupted Noreen. “Hey, I didn’t even mean it that way,” she laughed. “We thought we’d play a little “Two Truths and a Lie”; does everyone know that game?”

  Some did and some didn’t. “Ill go first and you’ll see right away how it works. The object is to guess which one is the lie.” Noreen thought for a minute. “I have a son with eyes just like mine.”

  Teddy, who had been sitting on Shelley’s lap, giggled and waved at everyone. People looked from him to Noreen. One truth, for sure.

  Noreen smiled at him and Shelley ruffled his hair. “I grew up in Greenland. I love a good steak,” she finished.

  It seemed pretty obvious to most people. “Growing up in Greenland,” someone called out.

  Noreen shook her head.

  “You grew up in Greenland?” Sean said in disbelief.

  Noreen nodded. “My father is Danish and we lived in Greenland while he worked for a fish exporting business. We moved to the United States when I was 12.”

  “Wow! But you don’t have any accent. Can you speak Greenland, er, Greenlandian, I mean…”

  “Actually, it’s Greenlandic. I speak Danish, too. Juullimi ukiortaasamilu pilluaritsi,” she said, then laughed at Sean’s expression. “It means Merry Christmas and Happy New Year,” she explained.

  “Glad I only have to learn Spanish in school,” he responded. “So, no steak for you?”

  “Not for this vegetarian,” Noreen laughed. “Do you want to go next?” she offered.

  “OK. Hmmm. “My brother and I are identical twins…I’m better at lacrosse than Patrick.”

  “That’s your opinion!” Patrick called out indignantly. His brother held his gaze, saying nothing. “Oh, alright,” Patrick relented. “That one’s true…but not by much!”

  “Someday, I want to sail all around the world,” Sean finished.

  People had their heads together, looking from Sean to Patrick, trying to decide just how alike they were. Mr. and Mrs. McConnell were staring keenly at Sean for a different reason.

  Toby finally guessed, “You want to sail around the world.”

  Sean’s eyes gleamed. “No, that’s true.”

  “We never knew that, Sean,” his dad said in wonder. “When…you grew up in Utah, so…”

  “I’ll show you my treasure map tomorrow. Both of you.” Sean was quite pleased with himself for surprising his parents.

  His dad nodded, looking very interested.

  “You’re not identical?!” Toby demanded in disbelief.

  “Are you kidding? I’m much better looking than Sean,” Patrick claimed. Everyone laughed knowing that if the twins cut their hair in the same style, not many would be able to tell who was who. Still, officially they were fraternal, not identical, twins.

  “Toby, what about you?” Noreen asked.

  “Oh. OK. Well…I have a rottweiler named “Fluffy”,” he began.

  Dara laughed delightedly. “Does he have three heads?”

  Those who caught the Harry Potter reference laughed, others looked puzzled.

  “Ah, no,” Toby replied sheepishly. After a pause, he finished his last two sentences. “I want to go to Steve Irwin’s zoo in Australia. I have six toes on my right foot.”

  Almost all of the kids knew Toby wanted to go to Australia. Those who had been swimming with him tried to remember if they had ever seen an extra toe. Since it would have been something that stuck out in their memories, so to speak, they decided that the toe must be the lie.

  Toby acknowledged it, whipping off his shoe and sock, and wiggling all five toes.

  Jake looked at him with a pained expression. “You named your dog Fluffy?”

  “It’s from Harry Potter!” Toby defended himself.

  “The dog’s gonna have a major complex.”

  “We don’t actually call him Fluffy,” Mr. Curran put in. “Part of his registered name is Elrond, so we usually just call him Ronny.

  “Well, that’s better then Fluffy,” Jake allowed.

  “And better than Squidward for a horse,” added Ron darkly.

  “It suits him!” countered Shelley.

  “He doesn’t look like an octopus to me,” Ron shook his head.

  “Here we go again,” Noreen broke in. “Ron, what was the name of your first dog?”

  “OK, OK I give,” he said, without answering her question.

  Toby zeroed in on Ron. “What was the name of your dog?”

  Ron looked at Toby, then Shelley, who was openly laughing, then Noreen, and back to Toby. He threw up his hands in defeat.

  “Hefty Smurf,” he admitted resignedly.

  “Smurf? You named your dog after one of those little blue guys?” Jake said incredulously, then threw back his head and burst out laughing.

  Lacy stared at her son through eyes blurred with tears. How long had it been since she had heard that free and easy laugh?

  “It wasn’t just any Smurf, it was Hefty Smurf, the strongest dude in the village,” Ron explained, meeting Lacy’s eyes over Jake’s head. He gave her an almost imperceptible nod and said to Jake, “He was a tough little guy, too. Lived up to his name.”

  Jake shook his head, still smiling.

  “Who wants to go next?” Noreen asked.

  Various people took turns, their truths sometimes surprising, sometimes funny, and always interesting.

  Toby’s dad held up a hand. “I’ll go next.” He shared a look with his wife, one of those silent, husband-wife communications. She nodded, and he began. “I like peanut butter, jelly, and bacon sandwiches.”

  He was interrupted by a chorus of “Eeewww!” and “Gross!” while a few people looked thoughtful. Toby knew this one was true…gross, but true. One truth and one lie to go.

  “When I was 13, I made it to the finals of the National Spelling Bee.”

  That one was true, too, Toby thought. His dad had told him he’d been in the Natio
nal Spelling Bee. So this next one was the lie.

  “Our family is moving to Australia for a year.”

  The others debated which might be the lie, while Toby fumed. His dad knew he wanted to go to Australia so bad…he’d never known his dad to be cruel, and he couldn’t believe he’d taunt him this way! He probably meant it as a joke, but it wasn’t funny, not at all. Toby stared at his shoes, too hurt and angry to even look at his parents.

  “It’s gotta be the sandwich,” Corinne’s dad commented.

  Mr. Curran shook his head. “Nope. And they’re really good!”

  There were a few more “eeewwws”.

  “Australia, then,” someone else guessed.

  Mr. Curran looked at Toby. “No, that’s true, too.”

  Toby didn’t understand. Had his dad said it was true? “Dad, you…you did go to the National Spelling Bee. I remember you telling me…mom said so, too.”

  “Yes, I did. But I was 12 years old, not 13,” he explained grinning.

  “Then…” Toby stopped and swallowed hard. “You mean, we’re really going to Australia? For a whole year?”

  “I’ve been put in charge of a project that should keep me busy there for right around a year. But it means we won’t be able to take the vacation we planned this year. I won’t be able to take time off to…”

  But the rest of his sentence was drowned out by Toby’s whoop of joy. He leaped off his seat and thrust both arms straight up in the air. Dara got to him first, running over and wrapping her arms around him. He hugged her back, but couldn’t stand still for long.

  “It worked, it worked, it worked!” he yelled, jumping up and down. He ran over to his parents and nearly knocked them off their seats as he grabbed them both. When he let go, he was swarmed by his friends; Caroline and Corinne hugged him, Jake slapped him on the back, and Jim, Drew, Sean, and Patrick circled around him, laughing, hooting, and high-fiving.

  “Where will you be living, Mr. Curran?” Jim asked.

  “Brisbane?” Toby said hopefully.

  “No, Sydney. I’m sure we’ll have time to visit Jim in Brisbane, if you both like, and, of course, go to Australia Zoo, too.”

  Toby was so happy he couldn’t stop grinning. He looked across the flames and saw Dara smiling at him, and his smile got even wider.