My cigarette pack had fallen on the floor. I stared at it. I should’ve done the smart thing and gone straight to sleep. Weakness won, and my resolve was broken.
I went to the closet and pulled Teddy’s lighter from the pocket of my rain slicker. There was no smoking allowed at camp and specifically not in the wood buildings, but at that moment, I didn’t care. I turned off the light, pulled the blinds, and closed the curtains. I lit a cigarette, took a long drag, and proceeded to cough uncontrollably through my tears as I watched the tip turn to ash.
I opened the window to flick the ashes outside. A gust of wind blew in, ruffling the frilly curtains, and my cigarette touched the hem, which immediately started to burn. I had to douse the fire and do it fast. I jumped on my bed, unhooked the curtain rod, and pushed it out the window. I felt resistance. I gave it a hard shove, and the screen fell out, followed by the rod and the smoldering curtain. Thank goodness for the rain beating on the roof, hiding the commotion I was making. The fire quickly fizzled, but it smelled like a burning tire had run over rotten eggs.
I sprayed Febreze Meadows of Rain, not missing the irony. That was a close call—I could’ve burned the entire cottage down. I felt sick to my stomach thinking what might’ve happened if the fire had spread. I was ready to climb into bed when it struck me that the screen, burnt curtain, and the rod were sitting on the ground outside of my room. I needed to remove the evidence; otherwise, I’d have to make up a lie about why all the debris was on the wet ground outside my window. I rushed out the door trying not to make a sound and picked up the screen and rod and what remained of my singed drapes. While the hardware seemed undamaged, the drapes that were once sheer, white, and frilly, were now wet, muddied, and charred. I took the tattered,bedraggled mess inside to hide it until I could figure out what to do. I wrapped it in a beach towel and shoved it under my bed.
I turned on the lamp, sat on the bed, and waited for my heart to stop racing. This was exactly the way I’d felt in high school, trying to sneak stuff past my parents, but they always found out. It occurred to me that smoking had gotten me in trouble both at the beginning and end of this nightmare of a day. I threw myself back on my bed with my hands covering my face in shame and disgust.
In the morning, I saw that my tiny room was in shambles. Wet leaves and mud were caked on the carpet, my clothes were covered in crud, and my hands and face were dirty. I threw the clothes I’d slept in on the floor to cover the mess; I’d deal with that later. I needed to shower before I walked the bunks to wake the campers.
Feeling lucky I hadn’t caused too much damage, I made a promise that I’d never again smoke in my room. But I still had to figure out how to dispose of the evidence.
The day was clear and sunny with no humidity—a relief after yesterday’s rain. I was walking with my group to the tennis courts when I saw Lars, the laundry guy, driving by in his pickup truck.
“Hi, Lars,” I called, waving him down. “Sorry to bother you, but I have some personal laundry that needs to be done. Would it be possible for you to squeeze my stuff in before the end of the day?”
Lars was from Poland and somehow managed to take time off from his civilian job to work at Woodlands every summer, always accompanied by gorgeous, svelte, leggy women eager for an adventure in America. Along for the ride, they spent the summer cleaning up after the privileged scions of the middle class sothey could then spend another three months traveling across the country. Lars, an affable guy, was popular with the senior staff ladies. For a modest tip, he serviced our personal needs.
“For you, Lori, anything. Hop in and I’ll drive you to your cabin.”
As he drove, Jack’s voice interrupted our conversation. “Lars, come in for Jack.”
“Lars here.” His smile disappeared.
“You are needed immediately at boys’ field hockey. Did you hear me? ASAP!”
Lars looked annoyed. “Got it, on my way.”
“It’s reassuring to know that he treats all of us equally,” I said.
“My English is not perfect but is reassuring the correct word?”
We both snickered.
I quickly threw my laundry together not wanting Lars to get yelled at for tardiness. I ran out, tossing the bag into the back of the pickup truck, and waved him off.
Crossing the road and heading to the tennis courts, I was relieved that I’d taken care of one mess.
17Whistle Blower
The Cubs had arts & crafts. One of the projects was tiling trivets. Last night, I could’ve used one of the tiled ashtrays I made when I was a camper.
After walking the rooms, making sure the Cubs were engaged, I sat with Maggie and was soon elbow-deep in beads, rummaging for the perfect color to add to the necklace I was stringing.
“You know what the Swans call those bracelets they all wear?” Maggie asked.
“No, what?”
“Camp bling.”
“I love that.”
“As the Aussies say, it’s brilliant,” Maggie said.
Anya joined us. “Lori, you’re just the person I’m looking for. Can you come outside with me?”
I looked into Anya’s big light-blue eyes. “What’s up?”
