The Clover Girls

by Viola Shipman

  The four Clover Girls line up, the hay bales behind them their thrones.

  Billy approaches. Liz sees he is wearing seersucker shorts and a matching jacket and bow tie, like James Bond’s son come to life. Her heart spins like a top.

  He wore that for me, she instantly knows. He made an effort.

  Each girl holds her breath.

  Liz shuts her eyes. Dreams do come true, she thinks.

  When she opens them, Rachel has taken a step forward into Billy’s path, exposing one long leg, that perfect leg of hers that stops boys in their tracks, the one that instantly turns them into little, demented men.

  I can’t compete with you, Rachel, Liz thinks. I can’t. Don’t make me. I’m begging you.

  Billy stops. And reaches out his hand as Madonna’s “Crazy for You” starts to play.

  Rachel takes his hand, and the two make their way to the dance floor.

  Liz’s eyes fill with tears.

  As Rach turns in slow motion in Billy’s arms, Liz catches her eye.

  I’m sorry, Rachel says to her silently.

  I hate you, Liz says in return.

  And then, as they sway, Billy faces Liz and catches her eye.

  He smiles the sweetest, saddest smile at her.

  Liz reads it as, You will never be good enough.

  Billy is actually trying to say, I’m sorry, Liz. I was coming for you.

  Liz runs out of the barn and back toward camp, tearing apart her gown, leaving a trail of tears and little pink bows.

  “Stop! Liz! Stop!”

  Liz turns. V and Em are chasing her, their gowns dragging in the dirt, getting dirty, poufy sleeves catching on tree branches.

  They grab her.

  “You can’t run away from us!” Em says.

  “Are you joking? With what Rachel just did to me?”

  “She doesn’t know any better, Liz,” Em says, her voice calm. “She’s still hurting.”

  “So am I!”

  Liz sobs hysterically.

  “Come back,” V says. “Show them you’re stronger than they think. Show them you’re a Clover Girl.”

  “I can’t,” Liz says.

  “You can,” V says.

  There is silence.

  “Just look where we are,” Em finally says.

  Liz glances down. They are standing in a field of clover.

  They return to the barn. When they enter, everyone turns. The song stops, and the world grows quiet. Another song comes on, and V smiles. She walks into the middle of the dance floor, shoulders straight, and holds out a hand. Em rushes toward her and puts her arm around her waist. The two turn and hold out their hands. Liz runs over and joins them. And the three Clovers dance in a circle to “Open Arms” by Journey.

  “So now I come to you with broken arms,” V sings.

  Liz laughs, and the construction paper stars above once again seem to shine as brightly as the ones outside.

  And the three dance together as friends all night long.

  Summer 2021

  Veronica

  “Do you hear that?”

  I look at Rach and tilt my head, listening.

  In the distance, a bugle plays.

  “‘Reveille,’” I say with a smile. “Camp Taneycomo.”

  “I can’t believe the boys’ camp still does that,” Liz adds with a husky chuckle, joining us at the campfire, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes with the end of her hoodie.

  “Here, Sleeping Beauty,” I say, handing her a cup of campfire coffee.

  “Beauty is a stretch these days,” she says. “I’m glad we stayed a little while longer.”

  “Me, too,” I say.

  “Me, three,” Rach adds. “Thank you for yesterday. It...” She stops. “It saved me in a lot of ways.”

  I nod.

  “Speaking of the lake, I think I need a good, long, hot shower,” Liz says. “Bathing in the lake is exhilarating, but it’s not quite as fun as it was when I was seven.” Liz takes a big slug from her cup and looks at us. “I’m worried I’m going to find a minnow somewhere I shouldn’t.”

  We laugh, and then the bugle sounds once more.

  “Why haven’t we noticed that before?” Rach asks.

  “Hangovers?” I ask. “Although I’m going to stick with my original story and continue to blame the direction of the wind.”

  “The boys of Taneycomo,” Liz says with a sigh. “Remember?”

  As if on cue, we begin to chant in unison:

  Camp Caribou boys you marry,

  Golden Arrow boys you miss,

  but the boys of Taneycomo have the gnarliest bods

  and lips you want to kiss!

  The three of us toss our heads back and laugh, so long and loudly, tears fill my eyes.

  “Totally gnarly,” I finally say.

  “Bangin’,” Rach adds.

  “No duh,” Liz says.

  I take a sip of coffee and lean toward the fire, the heat warming my face. For so many years—even at a girls’ camp where there were no boys and which prided itself on making us independent—our lives were still defined by boys: Who liked us? Who might like us? Who would totally like us if they weren’t seeing that girl back home?

  Em always liked the shy, smart guys, the ones who read books behind trees instead of playing flag football, the ones whose bangs slid behind their glasses and whose faces turned beet red when you’d make her talk to them. Rach went for the bad boys, the ones she knew would never call her back or meet her after school at the Orange Julius at the mall as promised. Liz liked the all-American boys, the blond cutie-pies who your parents wouldn’t bat an eye at twice if they asked you to go to the movies.

  And me? I liked the rebels. Not the bad boys, but the guys who looked, thought and acted outside of the box.

  If I were Andie in Pretty in Pink, I would have chosen Duckie over Blane. He had his own style and personality. He was funny.

  David used to be like that, I think. But over time his work consumed him, and he put his soul into his career, leaving him a shell.

  As I sip my coffee, I look around the group. In many ways, our girlhood crushes defined us. The boys Em liked never had the guts to make a first move, so she remained alone. The boys Rach liked treated her like crap, and that has seemed to continue, especially in her professional life. Liz’s boys were so safe, so by-the-book, that you never realized they weren’t happy until they walked out the door.

  Have I—have we all—allowed ourselves to continue to be defined not just by men but by men who are actually wrong for us?

  Growing up, I could never be a skeezer—that’s what we called the girls who were always all over the popular guys—because I wasn’t in the clique. Being on the outside looking in for so long forced me to like boys who weren’t in the in-crowd, guys who also had to discover who they were at an earlier age, just like me.

  That’s not a bad thing, V, I think to myself.

  But to be defined by men our whole lives? To romanticize their every move, word and deed?

  That is a bad thing, V.

  “Boy on the premises!”

  Liz yells so loudly that I jump out of my skin and toss my coffee into the campfire. That’s the phrase all the Birchwood girls yelled when a man of any age showed up unannounced at camp. Many a visiting dad was startled into dropping his car keys in the woods, and many a horny boy ran in the other direction when Birchwood girls yelled that warning.

  “Are you insane?”

  I stand and turn to look at Liz, but she is pointing in the opposite direction, repeating “Boy! Boy!” just like a nervous girl whose crush is approaching.

  A figure, tall and lean, hidden in shadows thrown by the pines and the bunks, approaches at a fast pace.

  “V?” he calls in a deep voice. “V?”<
br />
  Oh, my God, I think, it can’t be.

  “David?” I say.

  I hand Rach my mug, and begin running at him, just like in a cheesy rom-com. I nearly knock David over.

  You passed the test! I scream to myself, thinking of our phone call the other night. You passed the test! You came all this way! For me! Because you love me! You were worried about me!

  “That’s quite the welcome,” he says. “I missed you, too, honey.”

  I kiss him, hard. Again. And again. I hold him at arm’s length and then shake him to make sure he’s real.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I was worried about you,” he said. “That call so late. You didn’t sound like yourself. I hopped on a red-eye to Detroit and a puddle jumper to Traverse City.”

  “Planes, trains and automobiles just to reach me,” I say.

  “Just no John Candy,” David says.

  “Those aren’t pillows!” we suddenly say at the same time, referencing one of our favorite holiday movie moments.

  “What about your meetings?”

  “They went well,” he said. “And I postponed a couple. Said I had a family emergency.”

  “I don’t know what to say.” I kiss him again. “Oh! Come meet the girls.” I turn, and nearly bump into Liz and Rach, who are standing mere inches from us. “I see you’ve already met,” I joke.

  “Hi! I’m Liz!”

  David extends his hand. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

  “Rachel.”

  “Oh, yes,” he says. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  Rach’s eyes narrow. “I bet,” she says.

  “Let me show you around,” I say to David, averting any conflict.

  I grab my husband by the arm and drag him toward The Lodge and then to our bunkhouse.

  “And this is Pinewood,” I say. I take him inside and begin pointing. “Where we all met. Where we all bonded. I slept here, Em slept down there, Rach and Liz slept up there.”

  My voice is high and excited. I feel like I’m sharing a part of me with David that he never knew.

  “This is who I was,” I say. “I’m starting to realize all of this made me who I am.” I stop. “These girls...these women...these friendships... I am me because of them.” I stop again. “I don’t think I realized that until Em asked us to come back here.”

  I turn to look at David, suddenly feeling vulnerable, as if I’ve just dropped my clothes and am standing naked before him.

  David looks at me, his face softening.

  You know how you look at someone you love, be it your husband, wife, child, parents—when you’re on vacation, or sending them off to their first day of school, or witnessing them winning an award—when they’re completely out of context, and it’s as though you see them fully for the first time?

  This is one of those moments.

  David is more handsome than I remembered even a few days ago. His floppy dark curls—the roots tinged in silver—his dark eyes behind his hip glasses, the five-o’clock shadow already forming on his angular face, his lithe body in a tight shirt and formfitting dark jeans.

  “I’m so glad you’ve had a chance to reconnect,” he says.

  “Me, too,” I say.

  “I have to admit this place is pretty cool,” David says, turning slowly in a circle to take in the bunkhouse. “Totally nostalgic. I feel like I’ve been dropped off on the set of Dirty Dancing. I mean, the architecture of these buildings...the old camp blankets and nostalgia and vibe...it’s very special, V.”

  I beam. “I know, right?” I say. “I’m glad you think it’s cool.”

  I fill him in on Em’s letter and her hopes for all of us to reconnect.

  “We already had a Talent Night and a swim contest, if you can believe it. It’s like I’m reliving my childhood camp days. And I’m making friends all over again.”

  “Well, from what you’ve said, at least the state will be able to keep it,” David says. “Your friend planned well. The state can maintain it the way it needs to be. It should be on the historical register.”

  I cock my head. There is a buzzing in my ears. It’s not mosquitoes.

  “We haven’t decided what to do yet,” I say. “I feel like everything’s evolving in real time. I know it sounds crazy, but I feel like there’s a reason we’re all here.”

  David smiles at me, in the way parents do at their kids who don’t understand why you can’t just lasso the moon for them, or buy them a pony. “V, you haven’t talked to these people in decades. They’re not your friends. They’re strangers. What do you know about them?”

  I suddenly feel like I’m in shock.

  David continues: “They probably Googled me. They know how successful I am. They certainly know how successful you were. Who knows what they might be after?”

  “No,” I say. “No. You don’t know them. They don’t need money. We need...each other. We need...this place.”

  “What you need is some rest.” He stops. “I think you’re emotionally exhausted. And, by the looks of all of you, it’s been a taxing—and shower-free—few days.” He laughs. I don’t. “Where’s your stuff? Let’s pack it up, and go have some fun.”

  I am having fun, I think.

  “I canceled my hotel,” I say. “We all did. So we could be together. Stay a few extra days. Figure this all out. That’s really what I wanted to tell you the other night.”

  “I booked a room at a beautiful lodge in Leland,” he says.

  “Fishtown,” I say.

  “What?”

  “That’s what they call Leland.”

  “Oh,” he says. “Anyway, I was lucky to get it. I can pack your stuff while you say your goodbyes, okay?”

  He turns.

  Did David come here for me?

  Or did he come here to control me?

  “No,” I say. “Not okay.”

  “What?”

  “I feel like I should stay.” I stop. I try to keep my emotions in check. “No, I feel like I need to stay.” I look at David and reach out my hand. “I hope you understand. This is really bringing up a lot of important stuff about our lives, who we became and why.” He looks at me. “And I love that you came,” I continue, taking his hand. “Really, I am. It means the world. But I wish you would have called to let me know. This is so unlike you. It’s just that I want to be with my friends right now. I need closure...or a new start...or something. Stay for a few days. Fall in love with this area like I did. We’ll show you around...”

  “We’ll?”

  “...but we have to stay here for a week together if we want to keep this place.”

  “Have you lost your mind, V? Do you hear yourself? Your ‘friends’? ‘Keep this place’? You’re exhausted.”

  “No, I’m not!” I protest. “I have clarity.”

  “But what about us? We never have us-time.”

  Everything shifts. The last sixteen years of my life have been lived on David-time.

  David knew when he wanted to have children and how far apart he wanted them. He uprooted our family’s lives every few years for his career. I woke every few hours to care for the babies because I knew he had to rest. I got up at dawn with him—while he worked out and readied for work—so I could press his clothes and make his breakfast. I took the kids to soccer and dance and baseball and band because he was always so busy. I ate fast food because my life was spent in the car running errands to make his life as easy as possible.

  Us-time? I made countless dinners that went cold when David said he was “on his way.” I sat by myself in restaurants because David got hung up. Vacations were canceled because work got in the way. Weekend plans were consumed by phone calls and “Don’t disturb Daddy!”

  There was never us-time.

  “That’s not my fault,” I say. “I d
idn’t ask you to come.”

  “But I did. And I came all this way, even with all I have going on, for you.”

  “For me?” I ask. “Or for you?” The tone of my voice surprises me. It is ice-cold and tinged with sarcasm. “Why?”

  “Because I love you,” he says.

  His sentiment comes out sounding like a question, and I release a staccato laugh that echoes in the bunkhouse.

  “Do you?” I ask. “Is that why you came? Were you truly worried about me? Or did you come because you didn’t like that I was showing my first streak of independence since we met? Did you come because you love to control me more than you actually love me?”

  “You sound insane right now, V. I flew across the country to surprise you. Do you know how hard it was for me to get away?”

  The world dissolves.

  “You! You! You!” I suddenly yell. “Do you know how hard it was for me to get away? To actually do this? I felt like I had to ask for your permission to come. When did that become normal? Why did I let it?” I take a breath. “I love you, David. But I don’t think you even like me anymore. My weight. My looks. You married a model, but I don’t think I’m the model of what you desire any longer.” I realize I am still holding his hand. I give it a squeeze and shake. “Do you understand how important this is for me right now? I hope that you do. If so, just give me a few days.”

  David drops my hand.

  “I don’t actually,” he says. “These people are virtual strangers. I was just being polite to your friends when I said that you talk about them because you don’t, V. You never did. And that Rachel...she makes my skin crawl just to see her in person.”

  “I never talked about them because we all had a falling out,” I say. “Did you know that? No. Because you never asked. Do you know how many times I tried to broach the subject with you, and I got a finger wag to stop me from talking? Did you ever wonder why I didn’t have any close girlfriends in my life? No. Because you never asked. Did you ever consider I may have been lonely and depressed, and so I ate because I wasn’t happy? No. Because you never asked.”

  “So now everything is my fault?” David says. “I gave you a life any woman would dream of—you have a beautiful home, beautiful children...”