“This is Di. She lives in room three of your cabin.”
We made our introductions and Abby asked, “Are you a division leader also?”
“No, I’m the head of sail,” Di said with an Australian accent.
“What do you sell?” Abby asked.
“She saidsailas in boats, right?” I asked.
Di had a cute giggle. “Yes, like boats. I take it you two aren’t sailors.”
“I’m a city girl. I get queasy watching a rubber duck in a bathtub,” I said.
“So, I guess I won’t see you on water skis?”
“You know, I’ve always wanted to try it.”
“Well, you won’t see me sailing, skiing, or whatever you do on a lake. I’m not a bathing-suit person,” Abby said.
“What does that even mean?” I asked.
“Exactly what I said. I’m much happier swimming in this humongous shirt than in the water.”
“It’s a good thing you don’t have my job because I have to wear bathers all day, every day,” Di said.
Marilyn called for everyone’s attention.
“I’m going to sit with my mates,” Di said. “See you later.”
“I would’ve thought they’d put someone more our age into the cabin with us,” Abby said.
“Look around, how many people our age are in this room?” I asked.
The last person to speak was Dr. Jenny. She taught us how to identify tick bites and the inherent dangers if not properly and quickly diagnosed. Then she talked about the importance of sunscreen not only for ourselves but for the campers. She urged us to make sure each camper was sufficiently and repeatedly slathered.
Dr. Jenny stepped away from the microphone and leaned toward the audience. In a conspiratorial whisper she added, “I am available to talk privately if any personal matters, shall we say, pop up during the summer.”
4Dirty-Water Coffee
Abby and I had some time to kill before our next meeting. She invited me to join her at the arts & crafts studio to meet her best friend, Maggie, who had been hired to run that program, and Maggie’s husband Roger. In theircivilianjobs, they all taught together at the same elementary school.
“Wait, your friend came here with her husband?” I asked.
“Yeah, they’re one of those couples who does everything together.” Abby gave the slightest eye roll.
“I guess that’s nice and all, but there’s no scenario where I could imagine my husband working here with me. Could you?” I asked.
“Barry? Are you kidding?” Abby said. “No way. It’ll be a wonder if my house is still standing when I get home.”
“Ronnie, my husband, would have no patience for other people’s children.”
“Trust me, I completely understand.”
“Is Roger working with Maggie in arts & crafts?” I asked.
“Oh no, no, he’s running the radio station.”
Abby pushed the screen door open, and it slammed behind us. We had entered a vast wooden building with three ceiling fans whirring on ancient beams. The place smelled like turpentine, clay, and soapy water. But there was also a familiar comforting aroma—freshly brewed coffee.
