by Rossi, Carla
The petite college sophomore with the flaming red hair morphed from drill sergeant to compassionate new friend. “You OK? Did you get hurt?”
“I’m fine.” She pulled the screen door closed and wrestled the hook into its corresponding eye. “I was helping Rocky.”
“Rocky... Which one is that?”
“He’s not a camper. He was our speaker. He took a spill from his wheelchair and banged up his arm.”
Rebekah pushed her visor further into her mass of tight curls. “That can’t be good. Did you have to help him back into his chair and all that?”
“Oh, no. He didn’t want my help. I had to forcibly administer first aid.”
They fell in step behind the ten girls of Mighty Oak Cabin 2A for which they were responsible. “Take a few minutes in the bathrooms,” Gia called ahead. “Then to your bunks for quiet time and devotional.”
Rebekah swatted a mosquito away from her face and scrunched her nose into a freckle-splattered look of curiosity. “How do you forcibly administer first aid to someone who doesn’t want your help? He’s a grown man. You can’t just tackle him and make him accept a bandage.”
“But I did. And yes I know, in hindsight, I should’ve left it alone like he asked, but his chair had bounced from the end of the ramp all the way down to that nasty bug-infested clump of brush between the Pin Oak and Cottonwood Trails. Color me nosy, but I had to make sure he got out of there OK.”
“Of course. But at what point did you go all savage Florence Nightingale on him?”
“I ambushed him after he crawled back to the top.”
The rookie’s big throaty laugh burst unexpectedly from her tiny body. “You must tell me more, but I need to see why these girls are slowing down.”
“Probably because it’s ninety-five degrees, and the humidity is off the charts. We need to...” But Rebekah trotted off before Gia could finish her sentence about hydration safety. If that over-zealous newbie didn’t calm down it was going to be one long, irritating summer.
“Ooooooooo-wee!”
Rebekah’s shrill celebration from the front of the pack could only mean one thing: she’d reached the air conditioned comfort of the cabin. Bless her perky little heart.
Gia stepped inside, hung the clipboard on its designated hook by the door, and dropped onto her bunk. Cool air caressed her damp skin and chased the heat from her cheeks. She drained her nearby jug of water and wiped away the sweat with a fresh towel from the plastic tote under her wood-framed bed.
The rustic scent of stale campfire and wet clothes hit her nose four seconds after first time camper, Sophia, opened her duffle nearby. It caused a weird, fast-moving spell of nausea. She pressed her finger under her nose. “Sophia, don’t put your dirty wet clothes in your bag like that, OK? Either hang them and let them air dry or, when it’s closer time to go home, you can put them in an airtight bag.”
“Sorry, Gia. I thought they were dry. Must’ve still been damp.”
“No problem. I’m trying to save your clothes and keep your mom from passing out when she finds your laundry.”
She leaned forward to rest her head in her hands. The worst moldy clothes in the world had never caused a reaction like that. After eight years, maybe it was time to retire from summer camp. It’s what her parents expected now that she’d earned her college degree. Last she spoke with them, they made it clear they weren’t paying for grad school, but rather insisted she join the workforce as a contributing member of society—preferably somewhere far from Dallas. She couldn’t blame them really. It did take her a while to pull it together. It was a long treacherous road from the depths of academic probation to a degree with honors. There had been semesters of more partying than studying, a string of incomplete classes at two different schools, and an outright failure of several courses. Still, her parents paid tuition and encouraged her to work each summer at Towering Pines. Why? Because it was easier to report to their friends and massive congregation that ‘Gia’s away at college studying to be a child psychologist,’ or ‘Gia’s working at a Christian summer camp as a counselor,’ than to say ‘Gia was kicked out of her dorm, and we have no idea where she is,’ or ‘Gia failed to meet the requirements to be classified as a sophomore, junior, senior, whatever...’
And the kicker was that a few semesters back she had grown up, renewed her relationship with Christ, and started to understand how much she really wanted to help hurting children. Outside of a brief romantic mistake at the close of her senior year, she’d stayed on the straight and narrow and continually sought God in all things. She was a new creature in Christ and all that. Too bad her parents didn’t have a clue.
More odors crept to her nose as the rest of the girls entered the cabin in tired but chattering bunches. They settled in for quiet time, but not before spritzing and squirting an array of fruity and floral scents into the woodsy air they all had to share. Could they just once refrain from making the place smell like the bath shop at the mall?
Rebekah headed her way, wrestled their lone metal folding chair into submission, and tentatively placed her bottom on the seat as if waiting to see if it would collapse. “You look green.”
“Thanks.”
“No, really. And you’ve faded to pale. You OK?”
“I’m fine.”
Rebekah tapped the empty water jug with the end of her dusty cross-trainer. “I know it’s not dehydration. You drink more water in one day than most people get in three.”
“Years of camp experience. You’ll get in the habit, too.”
“Now you’re green again. Should I radio the nurse?”
Irritation pricked at her last patient nerve and sent a rush of heat through her neck and face. Blood pulsed in her ears. “Do you want a water jug upside the head?”
Rebekah planted her tiny hands on her hips. “Oh, now see? That’s better. The pink is back in your cheeks. And don’t you think it’s a little ironic? I threaten you with the nurse; you threaten me with bodily harm. Were we not recently talking about the use of force when it comes to first aid and you were on the pro side of the argument? Then you resort to violence when the running shoe is on the other foot?” Rebekah paused to take a breath and cross her legs. She leaned forward and propped her chin in her hand as she gazed at the ceiling. “Wait a minute. Is that even true irony anymore?”
Gia sighed. She didn’t know about true irony, but it would be nothing short of a true miracle is she didn’t shave off Rebekah’s auburn eyebrows as she slept.
“I’m fine,” she said with an air of calm that didn’t match her roiling insides. “My camp physical was eight weeks ago. I probably need to eat. I missed dinner, remember? Other than that, there’s nothing wrong that a good night’s sleep won’t cure. Can’t seem to get enough Z’s these days.”
Rebekah stood and pushed aside the folding chair. “What’s say we rest first today? I’ll go get you a plate and we’ll do the devotion after. I’ll prepare something if you need me to.”
Gia let her head drop to the downy pillow, too tired to resist. “No. I’ve got it. We’ll be discussing Psalm 139 and how we are fearfully and wonderfully made.”
“One of my favorites. Be back in a sec.”
Wooden slats creaked and mumbles faded to restful breathing. “Feel free to take a snooze,” Gia called from her bunk. “We’ll do devotion later.”
Rebekah’s footsteps paused on the small deck and the tell-tale squeak of the metal mail box lid followed. She returned and dropped a stack of letters on the floor near Gia’s bed. “You’ve got mail,” she whispered, then dashed back out the door.
Gia hung over the side and pushed the envelopes around until the one with her name surfaced. She’d know that masculine scrawl anywhere, and any correspondence from the writer was about as welcome as the fresh wave of nausea that slammed into her. She quickly tucked the card into the Bible under her pillow until she could destroy it in the campfire later. She had no interest in the evil professor who’d broken her heart and mental
ly abused her during their short and disastrous acquaintance. That he would send her a card at her summer job was completely inappropriate and downright creepy.
She rolled onto her back and pressed her fingers into her temples. Don’t go there, she commanded herself. Don’t think about it. It’s in the past... But it was so hard to forget him when most nights seemed filled with ugly dreams and images surrounding the last time she saw him.
Her eyes fluttered as she prayed silently and drifted into twilight rest. Professor Evil’s memory faded.
Rocky and his wheelchair rolled across her mind among the jumble of everything else that had happened in her day so far. Did he really crawl down that hill? Did she really tackle him when he got back to the top?
She smiled. He was ruggedly handsome, offbeat funny, and entirely too cocky to be taken seriously.
She liked him.
2
Rebekah-with-a-K seemed to gag a little when she slid a half-eaten sloppy Joe into the trash. It didn’t help that someone, who apparently had deep-seated contempt for ground meat on a bun, had added strawberry milk and mustard to the mix and then garnished the whole structure with peas, carrots, and chewed-on bits of a plastic straw.
Gia rushed to the rookie’s side to demonstrate. “Don’t look or sniff. Push it all into the trash barrel. Get a pair of latex gloves from the box by the hand-washing sink. That helps.”
Rebekah’s auburn curls bounced from side to side as she hopped around and shook from head to toe as if flinging off the horror of it all. “These kids are disgusting. You’d think they’d be starving, but half this food is wasted. And they can’t push the plate aside. Nooooo. They have to play in it.”
Gia held back her own hint of queasiness. “Calm down. They’re only kids.”
“That straw had been chewed on and spit out in little pieces, Gia. There was slobber on that plate.”
“No one told you to look that close. Clear the table. You don’t have to analyze it.” Gia hoisted one bag out of the can and tied it off at record speed. “If this makes you crazy you’re going to have an epic freak-out when we have to go check and spray the showers.”
“We’re gonna do what now?”
“C’mon, newbie, shake it off. I know you were at orientation. None of this should come as any surprise.”
Rebekah slapped her cheeks a few times and punched the air with tiny but powerful jabs until her game face returned. “All right. I can do this.”
“Sure you can. Grab those bags and let’s head for the dumpster.”
“Yeah...let me get those gloves.”
Gia pushed open the door and waited. She hung between the food-scented air of the cooled cafeteria and the stagnant, humid air of the hottest summer on record. The combination hovered at her nostrils until she had to take a breath—and that breath nearly sent her to the nearest tree to vomit. She buried her nose in her sleeve and willed the nausea to pass.
Rebekah dragged her trash through the open door. The mushy sound of everyone’s discarded food and the sight of chocolate milk and apple juice running down the sides of heavy-duty black trash bags once again nearly sent Gia to the nearest clump of bushes.
“That’s it,” Rebekah said and dropped her garbage. “I’m taking you to the nurse.”
“I’m fine. Whatever that weird summer virus was, it’s over. I’ve been well for days. It’s a tiny relapse.”
“I don’t know, Gia. It might be time for professional help. Whatever that mutant bacteria is, you’ve not been completely well since last week. If it’s some strange intestinal thing, that can be dangerous. You’re too healthy and hydrated to be looking so green, pale, and tired all the time.”
Gia snatched her own bags and hit the dusty trail to the side of the kitchen. “Let it go, rookie.”
Rebekah followed close behind, her cargo bouncing on the rocks and exposed roots across the path.
Gia smirked. “If those burst open, you’re going to be the one cleaning it up.”
Everything got quieter.
It didn’t last.
“Are you sure you haven’t been to any foreign country or eaten anything out of the ordinary over the last few weeks? Because there are a lot of parasites that could be causing your sympt—”
“Seriously?” Gia stopped short and spun around. “Do you really think I’m not sure if I’ve been out of the country or eaten anything really bizarre? And do you really think I wouldn’t have admitted it the first three dozen times you asked me?”
“Sorry, but I’m worried about you. You tossed and turned again all night. I know you’re exhausted, but you don’t seem to sleep much.”
If Rebekah only knew. Of course she didn’t sleep much. She didn’t remember the last time she didn’t either have a bad dream or lie awake worried she would. While they seemed to get better as each day took her further away from that last night with her ex, he still managed to slink in and terrify her when she least expected it.
Gia started forward again with a huff. “Stop worrying. Let’s talk about something else.”
“How ‘bout grad school? Did you decide what to do?”
“Who knows? My parents won’t pay any more tuition despite my being accepted into two of the best programs in Texas. I told them I would apply for grants and find a job, but I don’t think they’ll budge.”
“If it’s money, can’t you go to the school closest to them in Dallas and live at home?”
Gia stopped at the dumpster and let out a heavy, exaggerated sigh. “Oh, silly, silly, rookie. Home is the absolute last place my parents want me to be. And believe me. I don’t want to be there either.”
The dumpster lid creaked as Gia pushed it up and let it drop open with a loud metal thud. Rebekah stood quietly, her forehead creased with worry and her hair shining like a new penny under the filtered sunlight. So young and innocent, Rebekah’s trips home probably involved mother-daughter-mani-pedis and leisurely lunches with sweet tea and chicken salad where they talked about boys. Her father most likely called her Princess or Kitten or some such nonsense and stayed in his pajamas on Saturday mornings until she got up at noon so he could still have coffee with her.
Gia tossed in her bags and peeled the latex gloves from her hands. “Don’t worry about me, Rebekah. The thing with my parents is weird, and I know that’s hard for you to understand because you don’t have a strained relationship with yours, but it’s my problem and I’ll work it out. God most certainly has a plan. I have to figure out what it is. C’mon, that trash isn’t going to dump itself. And please close the lid. Don’t want to make it easy for the camp scavengers.”
“What camp scaveng—”
The rest of the word was lost in the rookie’s high-pitched, ear-splitting squeal.
Rebekah pointed and hopped. “What is it?”
One of the many camp raccoons scampered from behind the dumpster and blatantly went straight for Rebekah’s trash. He sniffed and tapped at it as if he were picking out melons at the grocery store.
“Seriously, Rebekah? You don’t know what that is?”
“Well, yes, I know it’s a raccoon, but what’s it doing here?”
“This is a camp. In the forest. With small woodland creatures. They’re looking for easy food. What part don’t you understand?”
Rebekah shooed the thief away and heaved her load into the bin. “All right, all right. It caught me off guard.” The dumpster lid came down hard. “I thought they only came out at night.”
Gia paused to retrieve a fallen branch as they started back down the path. “Not these animals. They’re not afraid of people. Especially that one. I believe that was Beelze-Bubba.”
Rebekah skidded to a sudden dusty stop. “Hold on. You named a raccoon at a church camp after the prince of darkness?”
Gia kept walking. “I didn’t. They call him that because he can be a little aggressive and we think he’s the leader of the raccoon pack—or whatever groups of raccoons are called. They tacked the ‘Bubba’ on the end ‘caus
e this is east Texas and deep down he’s a good ol’ boy.”
Rebekah scrambled to catch up. “That’s funny, but, really. Beelze-Bubba? Kinda gives me the heebie-jeebies.”
“Lighten up, rook.” Gia tossed the branch into the woods. “That coon will soften and see the light before he heads to that great heavenly forest in the sky. He’s practically guaranteed to have a mountaintop experience here at church camp.”
“That is true.” Rebekah swerved to avoid a swarm of gnats. “What’s next?”
“We swing by the custodial shed and get more gloves and cans of mold and mildew spray and disinfectant. Need to make a pass through the showers before we pick up our girls from the craft area.”
“Yuck. I was hoping you’d forgotten. Not to sound like a snob, but doesn’t the professional cleaning staff do that?”
“Yes, but did you read your handbook? This is not The Real Housewives of Summer Camp, Rebekah. We all pitch in. Look on the bright side. Next week it’ll be someone else’s turn and you can watch some other rookie have an epic freak-out over a sloppy-joe-vegetable-spit tower and a raccoon.”
Rebekah snorted. “Ha! I’m a redhead with repressed anger. This doesn’t scratch the surface of an epic freak-out for me.”
Gia patted her on the back. “Good to know.”
“Speaking of freaking out on someone, Rocky’s coming tomorrow. Bet he’s looking forward to his follow-up visit. Are you going to tackle him and make sure his boo-boo is healing properly?”
Gia grabbed the combination lock on the shed. The heavy metal was hot in her hands as she spun the dial. “Yes. Yes, Rebekah, that’s exactly what I was going to do.”
When the first try didn’t work, she wiped the sweat from her forehead and tried again. What was it about that cocky guy that intrigued her? And why did Rebekah’s sudden comments fluster her to the point of failure with the simple lock? Yes, she’d thought about him, but it’s not as if she would be waiting at the front gate to see him again. Curious? Yes. Truly interested? Not really. She didn’t have the time for romance, and real, honest romance didn’t ever seem to have the time for her.