“Oh no! Not rotten.” says Pepper. “I’m spoiled just right. He gives me everything I want—except for one thing.” This little girl is so precocious and dramatic. She reminds me of young Annie.
“Not this again,” Brandon groans, putting his head in his hands.
“What’s that?” Annie asks with a mischievous grin. She’s certainly on team Pepper—who wouldn’t be?
“Look at my hair.” Her fine light brown hair is a bit messy with a small rat’s nest in back. “Would it look like this if I had a mom?”
“For the record, I can do hair,” Brandon says, soundingchagrined. “You begged me to let you do it yourself today.”
“And you did a great job.” Annie bends down to Pepper. “But as long as you’re here, I’d be happy to braid your hair.”
“Really?” Pepper looks up at Annie beaming.
“I can braid,” Brandon grumbles. But Annie’s not listening. She’s busy answering a question from another attendee.
“We’d better take our seats,” says Brandon. “It was great seeing you Freshie.”
“Yeah, it’s been awesome catching up.” Edward says.
Brandon gives him a big hug. “You can stay with us the next time you come to the park. Our cottage has a spare room.”
“I’ll do that,” says Edward.
We leave, going back up the steep steps.
“When Annie suggested she offer poetry classes I was skeptical.”
“Aren’t you always?”
“Excuse me?” I ask.
“Just an observation,” he says with a sly smile. “Your first response to most things seems to be a healthy dose of skepticism.”
He’s right. But I don’t know how I feel about this relative stranger seeing me so clearly. It’s flattering that he’s been paying such close attention, but also a little disarming.
“As long as my mom and sister go through life stubbornly wearing rose-colored glasses, someone in the family needs to be clear-eyed, so I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“As it was intended. What were you saying... you were skeptical about the poetry class?”
“Yes, I may have doubted the merit of the project, but Annie was onto something. The class is a hit. Last year a guest recorded her short lecture and shared it on social media, and now we have quite a few visitors who come just for the poetry course.”
“Really?”
“Nowwho sounds skeptical?” I quip.
“Touché,” Edward laughs good naturedly.
It takes no effort to like Edward, to joke with him, to exchange knowing looks. The real struggle is trying to be stiff, formal, and professional with him. I’m trying to keep my barriers up, but I feel like I’m fighting gravity. I check my watch. Just two more hours with Edward—I mean Mr. Frechette. I’ve got this.
I wish as well as everybody else to be perfectly happy; but like everybody else it must be in my own way. —Sense and Sensibility
12
Edward
Entering the campground feels a little like walking into a fairytale. The tall old growth trees filter the bright July sun so the light is soft and dreamy. The campsites are spaced far enough apart to give campers privacy. Each one has a picnic table, a fire pit, and three parking spots. It’s a camper’s paradise—and, from a business standpoint, a surprisingly inefficient use of space.
As if anticipating my thoughts, Elinor says, “As you can see, each campsite has plenty of room. That’s what sets us apart from other resorts. It’s car camping, but you still have privacy.”
