“What is this?” I asked.
“Prosecco,” Bethany said.
“It’s yummy.” It went down smooth and fast. “Can I have a refill?”
“Help yourself,” Mindy said.
It was late and I’d only had a salad for dinner—I was already tipsy from the first cup. Without warning, I let out a loud belch that stopped the conversation, and then I proceeded to giggle uncontrollably. Everyone laughed with me as tears streamed down my cheeks which, I was certain, turned bright red. “I sure know how to make an impression. I’ll understand if you don’t invite me back.”
Mindy held up her cup and said, “To Lori, one happy drunk.”
I wiped away a tear and asked, “Does anyone here smoke?” Maybe if I needed a smoke, there was someone I could commiserate with.
“Oh God, no, not since high school,” Mindy said.
“I was a social smoker for years but gave it up when we were trying for kids,” Bethany said.
“Are you asking about weed or tobacco?” Bob asked. “Cause it’s yes to one and no to the other.”
Ted said, “Never. I don’t smoke. Why are you asking?”
“At the meeting, Jack listed it as one of the things we’re not allowed to do here. He also said no alcohol and obviously no one listens to that.” I held up my cup. “So, I wondered whatother forms of contraband might be floating around.” I pictured the Winstons hiding under the driver’s manual in my Toyota.
I was buzzed when I left Mindy’s room and craved a cigarette. There was something about drinking that always made me want to smoke. I sat on the edge of my bed, still wearing my sneakers, feeling antsy. All I wanted to do was light up. I wouldn’t be able to fall asleep because all I could think about were the cigarettes stashed in the car. I rummaged through my bag for the keys, surrendering to my craving. I decided to take a walk to find a secluded place in the cool night air. I would enjoy the solitude and the endless stars I remembered from my summers in the mountains, while I clandestinely smoked.
I quietly closed the car door and took a deep breath. I knew that smell—tobacco. Had I conjured it? I turned toward the scent, and, like a cartoon character, I drifted toward the aroma. Peeking around the corner of the building, I saw a glow from the culprit down the path by the laundry shack. Without hesitation I walked directly toward it, like a moth to a flame.
“Hey, Ted, is that you? The man who said he never smoked,” I whispered.
“Bloody hell. I feel as if I’ve been caught with my knickers down.”
I laughed.
“When you brought up smoking, it felt like you read my mind because that was exactly what I was thinking. It’s difficult to hide my bad habits. You’re never alone at camp, but I thought the laundry shack at night was the one remote spot where I could find some peace and quiet. I’ve gotten away with it for decades, and now you show up and find me out before thecampers even arrive.” He held open an old-fashioned cigarette case that looked like something out of a black-and-white Bette Davis movie. “Care to join me?”
My fingers crinkled the cellophaned box in my hoodie pocket. I took it out. “I haven’t smoked in fifteen years.” I looked at the cigarettes in my hand. “On an impulse I bought these on my way to camp.”
He arched his eyebrows. “Do you need a light?”
I hesitated. If I accepted his offer, fifteen years of not smoking would literally go up in flames. I knew I shouldn’t, but at that moment I really wanted one. Ronnie’s voice crept into my head, but I blocked it—I didn’t want to hear his objections. Was it the uncertainty and long days of this job, was it the cravings, or was it because it was the wrong thing to do and I was tired of always being responsible?
I unwrapped the pack, took a deep inhale, and held up a cigarette. Ted awkwardly bent to give me a light.
I started to cough, damning myself for reigniting the addiction I had managed to control for so many years. When I caught my breath, I said, “Aren’t you fancy with your swanky cigarette case. It seems out of place at a sleepaway camp.”
He held it up as if surprised to find it in his hand. “It was a present from my grandmother to my grandfather, and it was left to my father, and now it’s mine. We all have the same initials. I was named for them, Theodore Charles Mooney. My father went by Theo. I go by Ted. Made life easier when we were together. Anyway, I always have a memento of them with me.”
“That’s lovely.” I paused for a moment. “So, the fact that you have it means they’re no longer with us?”
He frowned. “Yes, they’re both gone; Mum too.”
“Same here. Both my parents died way too young and from smoking.” I held up the cigarette, ashamed that it was glowingin my hand. “Yet here I am feeling like a teenager hiding and smoking once again.”
He gave me a sideways glance, took a couple of drags, and looked up at the heavens. “No stars out tonight. I hope that doesn’t mean rain tomorrow. I hate unloading duffel bags in the rain.”
It was a good segue out of a sad conversation.
“Ted, tell me your story—you mentioned a son. Does your wife mind being alone in the summer?”
