All My Tomorrows

by Rochelle Alers

  Two of the older campers, one male and one female, stepped onto the stage. Evangeline smiled at her counterpart. “Antonio and I represent all of the campers, and we’ve come up with our own awards. Of course there was a lot of dialogue, a little arguing, and the slightest bit of coercion, but in the end we were all in agreement.

  “The first award is the hot dog, and it goes to Mr. Neil, for grilling the best dogs on the planet.” Neil pumped his fist and went up to pick up a ceramic frank in a bun.

  Antonio took the microphone. “The next award goes to Miss Jill, who had not only an inexhaustible supply of bandages, but ones with the animated characters.” He held up a ceramic bandage, eliciting guffaws from everyone. Chatty, flirty Jill wiped away tears as she got up to retrieve her award.

  Evangeline and Antonio alternated, distributing awards to all of the counselors and staff members. Roger and Grace were each given a plate inscribed with We’re cool, do not disturb.

  Smiling, Antonio crooned into the microphone, “Will Mr. Ken please take the stage?” All of the kids cheered as Kennedy returned to the stage.

  “This award is the only one we all agreed on. Thanks to you, this city boy can swim, canoe, kayak, and build a fire without matches. You’ve taught us not only how to survive in the woods, but to depend on one another for the survival of the entire camp.” Reaching into a large canvas bag, he withdrew a large platter inscribed with all the names of all of the campers. “We call this the Father Award, because each of us would be proud to have you as our dad twenty-four-seven.” He and Kennedy exchanged handshakes and a hug.

  Kennedy held the beautifully decorated platter above his head, his gaze fixed on Mustafa before it shifted to Lydia. He knew he was expected to say something, but the words lodged in his throat would not come out. Nodding his thanks, he walked off and retook his seat.

  Antonio handed the microphone to Evangeline. “We have one more award. This one goes to Miss Lydia.” Everyone shifted in their seats and stared at her seated in the back of the room. “Miss Lydia, will you please come up?”

  She stood up and made her way to the front of the expansive building with near-perfect acoustics. All eyes were on her.

  Antonio reached into the bag and took out another platter, this one with the names of the campers inscribed around a crest bearing a toque flanked with a knife and fork.

  “This is the Mama Award, because all of us wish our mamas could cook like you,” Evangeline continued. “I thought I’d never be able to go a week without my Big Mac and fries, but you showed me not only did I not have to eat them, but eating healthy is also delicious. Thank you, Miss Lydia, and we all hope you’ll come back next summer.” The campers rose as one, cheering and applauding.

  Lydia took her platter, holding it above her head as if she’d won a sports trophy. Evangeline positioned the microphone near her mouth. “I’d like to thank everyone for this award. I will treasure it forever. I usually don’t make promises, because I’m not certain whether I’ll be able to keep them. But I promise this—I’ll be back,” she said in her best Arnold Schwarzenegger imitation.

  Clapping and whistles accompanied her retreat to the rear of the playhouse. She and Neil had sat in the back because once the final production number began they would leave to start serving the dishes they’d prepared for the luau. Jeff, wearing his mask with the twin faces of comedy and tragedy, walked up onstage and slipped behind the curtain.

  Megan dissolved into a fit of giggles after she’d opened the Handbook of American Slang, Including Rap and Hip-Hop the campers had compiled and printed, using a desktop publishing program.

  The counselors, counselors-in-training, and administrative staff, impressed with the creativity coming from their charges, were effusive with their affection and praise. Within the span of eight weeks it had truly become one camp, one family.

  The lights dimmed, the curtain opened, and Jeff stood onstage, sans mask, in front of a set decoration depicting the skyline of a large cosmopolitan city. An overhead spotlight shimmered on his pale light hair with flecks of diamond dust.

  “I’d like to welcome everyone to Camp Six Nations’ rendition of a A Modern Walk Along Broadway. Our camp’s theater group will sing and perform a medley of songs from classic musicals, but with a modern spin. We’ll begin with Leonard Bernstein and Stephen Sondheim’s West Side Story, and move through the decades to Andrew Lloyd Weber musical masterpieces and conclude with Elton John’s Aida.”

  Prerecorded music filled the space as a boy and girl took the stage, holding hands and staring into each other’s eyes as they sang an upbeat version of “Tonight,” then segued into “Somewhere,” scatting with an ease that would’ve made Ella Fitzgerald and Al Jarreau take notice. Break-dancers showing off the latest hip-hop steps accompanied selections from The Wiz. The production ended with the theme from Fame, and Lydia found herself on her feet, singing and dancing along with everyone.

  The curtain came down and went up again to thunderous applause as the cast took their bows. It was during the third curtain call that Lydia and Neil slipped out.

  “Hey, Mama,” he teased Lydia, winking at her.

  She wrinkled her nose at him. “Don’t hate, Neil. You know the Mama Award beats the hot dog.”

  He looked serious, giving her a sidelong glance. “Do you think they’ve forgiven me for ruining their Sunday dinner?”

  “I’m willing to bet they can’t even remember it, especially now since they like eating outdoors so much.”

  “Are you really coming back next summer?”

  Lydia was momentarily taken off guard by Neil’s query. “I plan to. Why?”

  “What about your restaurant?”

  She told him her proposal had been rejected, but not about Kennedy’s suggestion that she build her own eating establishment. “I’ll probably either work part-time or help out my sister-in-law with her catering business. I can’t commit to working full-time until I figure out what the future holds for me.”

  “You better call me when you open your place.”

  She touched his shoulder. “You’ll be the first one I’ll call.”

  * * *

  The levity continued with R&B and hip-hop blaring from the speakers as everyone, sporting colorful plastic leis, lined up to sample the cuisine of the fiftieth state. The suckling pigs, roasted to perfection and displayed without their heads, had become the main attraction. Skewered ginger-orange shrimp ran a close second to the pigs’ crispy skin and sweet, tender meat. Jeff had sampled and given his approval for the pineapple salsa, banana-macadamia nut bread, baked custard with a coffee sauce, and frosty Hawaiian nog made with buttermilk, crushed pineapples, sugar, and vanilla.

  The smell of food lingered in the air hours later as the sun sank lower behind the trees, and still the campers lingered on the grass. Some of the younger ones played a vigorous game of tag, while others sat around in groups talking quietly with one another.

  Lydia and Neil returned to the kitchen where they began the task of filling small plastic shopping bags with fruit, granola bars, juice boxes, and trail mix for the campers who were scheduled to board the buses at eight o’clock the following morning.

  She and Neil had inventoried the kitchen and had packed up all of the leftover foodstuffs, which were to be transported in a refrigerated truck to a soup kitchen in West Virginia.

  Sitting on stools, they looked at each other. “Well,” Lydia said softly, “this is it, partner.”

  Neil nodded. “It’s been good. Damn good, partner.” He ran his hand over his hair. “Rachel said she’s willing to try and make a go of our marriage, but on one condition.”

  The heavy lashes that shadowed Lydia’s eyes flew up. Rachel and her daughters hadn’t come to last week’s family reunion. “What’s that?”

  “I do all of the cooking.”

  “Of course you said yes.” She was barely able to keep the laughter from her voice.

  “Oh, hell yeah. When she said that, I thought of the wor
st-case scenario like going to the mall with her. Every time I’ve gone to the mall with Rachel I’ve ended up with a headache. The woman has to visit every shoe store in the whole frigging place, and that also includes the department stores.”

  “She sounds like someone I can hang out with. I love shoes.” She lifted a clog-shod foot. “These excluded.” Glancing at the clock on the wall, Lydia noted the time. It was almost midnight, and she had to finish packing.

  “I’m going to turn in. I don’t want my coach to turn into a pumpkin if I’m not home before the clock strikes twelve.” She slipped off the stool, smiling at Neil as he followed suit.

  He extended his arms, and he wasn’t disappointed when she went into his embrace. “Good luck with everything.”

  Tilting her chin, Lydia nodded. “You too.” She pressed a light kiss to his cheek, pulled back, and walked out of the kitchen for the last time.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Kennedy sat on a large boulder with Mustafa, his left hand resting on the boy’s shoulder. “Your counselor said you wanted to see me.”

  Mustafa nodded, his gaze fixed on the ground, fighting back tears. “I’m going to miss you, Mr. K.”

  “You think I’m not going to miss you, too?” Mustafa’s head came up. Kennedy smiled at the boy who remarkably looked like him when he was his age.

  “You are?”

  “Of course, Mustafa. You’re going back to Baltimore tomorrow morning, and I’ll be leaving for Alabama on Tuesday. I don’t know how long I’m going to be there, but the minute I come back I’m coming to see you.”

  “Really?”

  Kennedy nodded. “Really. I’m going to talk to the social worker at your home to see if we can spend some time together.”

  “At your house?”

  “Yes. At my house.”

  “It must be a big house, because you’re big.”

  Kennedy chuckled, shaking his head. “Yes, it is.” He wanted to tell Mustafa a six-thousand-square-foot house was much too large for one person. “Whenever you sleep over you’ll have your room.”

  “I haven’t had my own room in a long time. When did you say you were coming back?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He couldn’t tell Mustafa that he’d planned to adopt him, because if it never materialized, then he would be devastated. “I want you to promise me something.”

  Large, dark, trusting eyes stared up at him. “What?”

  “I want you to be a good boy. No fighting, talking back, and most importantly, you have got to do well in school.”

  His jaw set in a stubborn line, Mustafa said, “I promise.”

  Resisting the urge to hug and kiss the child, Kennedy patted his shoulder. “Good. Now go inside and get ready for tomorrow.”

  “Can I write you, Mr. K?”

  “Write the letters, but don’t mail them. I want you to give them to me when I come for you.”

  Mustafa’s solemn expression brightened. “Later, Mr. K.” He raised his hand, and wasn’t disappointed when Kennedy gave him a high-five handshake.

  “Later, Mustafa.”

  Kennedy sat on the boulder long after the screen door slammed behind the boy. He was frightened—no, scared out of his wits! The fact that he contemplated adopting a child frightened him more than marriage. He loved Lydia, loved her enough to sacrifice everything he had for her, but he didn’t love Mustafa—at least not yet.

  He finally left the boulder and made his way across the open meadow to his cabin. He passed the cabin and walked another fifty feet to the neighboring one. As he opened the door to the porch he went completely still. The wind chime, votive candles, and porch furniture were missing.

  He knocked on the cabin door, then tried the knob. It turned easily. A slight smile curved the corners of his mouth. Lydia had left the door unlocked. Light from the bathroom provided enough illumination for him to see the bags on the floor near the door.

  Kennedy crossed the room and stood next to the bed. Lydia lay on her back, staring up at him. With the flick of her wrist, she swept back the sheet.

  “Get in.”

  The husky command galvanized him into action. He held her gaze as he stripped off his clothes, slipped into the bed beside her, and cradled her spoon-fashion. Lydia reached up and turned off the lamp, plunging the space into darkness.

  Pressing his mouth to the nape of her neck, Kennedy whispered, “I’ll call you every night.”

  She laughed softly. “That won’t be necessary. Call me on Sundays after nine and talk dirty to me.”

  It was Kennedy’s turn to laugh. “I can’t talk dirty to you on the Sabbath.”

  “Every day is the Sabbath, darling.”

  “You’re right about that. I had a talk with Mustafa tonight.”

  “Did you tell him that you wanted to adopt him?”

  “No. I don’t want to get his hopes up when there is a possibility that it may not happen.”

  “The only thing that will stop it is if a distant relative contests it.”

  Kennedy let out an audible sigh. “This may sound awful, but I pray there are no relatives.”

  Closing her eyes, Lydia said, “Me too.”

  They lay together in the darkness, feeding on each other for emotional strength. Kennedy had told Lydia he had to go to Alabama to take care of some business. She’d waited for him to tell her the nature of his business, but when he wasn’t forthcoming, she decided not to pry. Once they married, she prayed, there would no secrets between them.

  Wrapped in her fiancé’s arms and in a cocoon of love, she fell into a dreamless slumber.

  When she awoke hours later, the space beside her was empty and the bags she’d left near the door were gone. The keys to her SUV rested on the pillow that bore the imprint of Kennedy’s head.

  A knowing smile softened her mouth. The first time she came face-to-face with Kennedy Fletcher he’d offered to carry her bags. This time he hadn’t asked. He just did it.

  * * *

  Kennedy climbed the steps to the wraparound porch, leaned over, and kissed his mother’s cheek. He lowered his tall frame down to the glider beside Diane Anderson and stretched out his legs.

  Her questioning gaze met his seconds before she pressed her lips together until they narrowed into a hard, tight line. “You’re going to do it.”

  Kennedy nodded. “Yes.”

  Tears welled in Diane’s eyes, and she turned her head so Kennedy couldn’t see them. “When?” she asked, once her troubled spirits quieted.

  “Two weeks.”

  This disclosure stunned Diane. She stared at her son’s strained profile. “Why the delay?”

  “Marvin’s come down with a cold.”

  Pushing off the glider, Diane walked several feet and leaned a shoulder against a massive column supporting the porch. “I know I sound like a selfish old woman, but I don’t want you to go through with it.”

  Kennedy went completely still, shock and surprise rendering him temporarily mute and motionless. He stared at his mother’s petite figure, unable to believe what he’d just heard.

  “You’re not old, Mama.”

  Diane turned and glared at her son, unable to hide the pain and anguish in her tear-filled eyes. Her curly hair, cut to frame her tiny, smooth oval face that was the color of golden oak, and her large hazel eyes, full lush mouth, and slim figure belied her age. She could easily have passed for thirty-six, not fifty-six. There were a few occasions when people thought she was Kennedy’s sister, and not his mother.

  “I’m old enough to stop living in a world of fantasy, to know what I always wanted I will never have. And I’m much too old to continue to love a man whom I know is so undeserving of the most precious gift in the world.” Her hands fisted. “It’s taken me almost forty years to come to my senses to see Marvin Kennedy for what he is: a self-centered, manipulative bastard who doesn’t care who he uses as long as he gets his way. What pains me is that I’m no different than he is.”

  Kennedy shot
to his feet. “Yes, you are.”

  Tilting her head, Diane looked up at him towering above her. “No, I’m not.” Her voice was soft, but held a thread of hardness. “I fell in love with your father—”

  “He’s not my father,” Kennedy said angrily, cutting her off.

  She nodded. “I fell in love with Marvin the year I turned sixteen, fantasizing that we would marry and live happily ever after. It didn’t matter that every girl in Smoky Junction felt the same way. I threw myself at him, but he was kind enough to tell me to look him up once I turned eighteen. He didn’t want to be charged with statutory rape.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because I want you to know who the man is whose life you’re going to save. I called you to tell you about Marvin’s condition because he’d asked me to. I could never deny him anything—and that included giving him myself when I didn’t want to.”

  Wide-eyed, Kennedy stared at his mother. “You slept with him after you’d married Philip?”

  A slight smile crinkled her luminous eyes. “No, son. I’ve never been an unfaithful wife.”

  “Then what do you mean about giving him yourself?”

  Diane ignored Kennedy’s sharp tone. “Whenever he called me for something I either listened to him or helped him out. He said I was the only one he could count on or trust. I knew he was using me, but I didn’t care.

  “I didn’t love Philip when I first married him, but grew to love him because I was afraid to be alone and I needed a father for my young son. Philip gave me everything I needed for emotional and financial stability, knowing I would never give him his own child.” She saw Kennedy’s eyes widen with this disclosure. “A year after I had you I slept with Marvin and got pregnant again. I knew something was wrong from the beginning, but ignored the cramping and spotting. I was about three months when I began hemorrhaging. I woke up in a hospital bed knowing instinctively that I would never have another child. In order to save my life, the doctors removed my uterus.”

  A muscle flicked in Kennedy’s lean jaw. “Why are you telling me this?”