Mr. Landry had explained most of it when we first got in the car. He said this was a private hunting camp and the island was owned by the members.
“Twenty-two including us.”
Mr. Landry called the caretaker who looks after the place and arranged for him to deliver some food. He lives in the town we passed about thirty minutes ago. He also verified we’d be the only ones here since hunting season ended a few weeks back.
We pull into a campground area and there are about fifteen cabins all clustered together. A few are bigger and nicer than our house back in Natchitoches while others are nothing more than a house trailer with an attached porch.
Ethan points to a modest-looking camp, not big, but cute. The exterior walls are covered in old-looking bluish gray boards that are varied in width, making an unorganized but nice pattern. A porch stretches across the front, and black shutters frame the windows. Matching rockers stand guard by the door. “It’s that one.”
We can’t get out of the car fast enough. Ethan starts unloading bags and only struggles physically with mine.
“Why is your duffel so big?” Emma squeals. “He told me a small bag for a few days. Mom!”
I grab my bag and haul it inside before she can say anything else. The inside is what I think a camp would look like: an old black stove thing with a chimney and mismatched furniture that looks really worn in and cozy. A small staircase anchored against the back wall.
Teeny runs upstairs and back down again before I can figure out where to set my bag.
“There are bunk beds upstairs! I call top bunk!”
Mrs. Landry walks through the place then assigns rooms. “Anna, Elena, and Emma can have the room with bunk beds at the top of the stairs to the left. Richard, you can take the one on the right. We’ll stay in the room down here. Ethan you get the couch.”
Emma is not happy when she discovers there is no cell phone reception on this island. Mr. Landry must have known and mentioned this to Agent Williams before we left, since he was given a satellite phone to be used for an emergency. Other than that we are cut off.
It’s going to be a long couple of days.
Teeny must be thinking the same thing when she asks, “How long do you think we’re going to be here?”
I watch her for signs of that sad little girl that defined her for the better part of the year. She seems to be handling this fairly well, so I don’t lie.
“I don’t know. Agent Williams seems to think this will all be wrapped up in a few days. We could survive a month if we had to with the stash of groceries down there, though.”
Teeny climbs up to the top bunk. “I don’t want to be around when Emma figures that out.”
It’s midmorning by the time I make it downstairs. Teeny puts on a strong front while she’s awake but she woke up screaming last night. It took a while to get her back to sleep and then I was wired. Emma evicted Ethan from the couch and he ended up on the floor in a sleeping bag.
“Did you catch up on some sleep?” Ethan asks me.
We’re in the main living area where Ethan and his dad are checking to make sure the guns they brought are loaded before putting them into a cabinet. Emma picks up a rifle and starts opening and closing parts and lots of other things I don’t understand. I’ve heard she’s as good of a shot as Ethan.
I nod and rub my eyes. Teeny’s in the kitchen eating a bowl of cereal, looking fresh and alert and completely normal, like last night didn’t happen.
While the guys go outside to chop some firewood, Mrs. Landry decides to teach Teeny and me how to bake, since there isn’t much else to do.
I should be peeved over the obvious gender stereotypes in play here, but chopping wood looks hard so I’m going to leave them to it.
It was actually fun at first. Mrs. Landry is like my old kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Wilcox—she has the same sugary sweet voice and explains everything like we’re five years old—so it’s not surprising when she starts in with the corny cupcake jokes.
“Why did the cupcake crash his car?” she asks.
I glance at Emma who rolls her eyes, but not in her normal bitchy way. She’s giggly and answers her mother with an exaggerated“Why?”
Mrs. Landry waits a moment for dramatic effect and answers, “Because he was baked.”
Emma, Teeny, and I laugh, and that is the only push Mrs. Landry needs to keep the jokes rolling.
“Why did the cupcake major in restaurant management?”
We all groan in anticipation of the answer.
