“I’m just saying I’m not surprised that he didn’t react the way you wanted him to. Listen, I know your feelings are genuine—I mean, my God, Taylor, nobody has a bigger heart than you do. But I think it’s hard for someone to even conceive of pulling a stunt like the one you just pulled on him. I’m sure he doesn’t want his business out there on the internet to begin with—so maybe if he’s saying he was humiliated, it was more that he didn’t want the whole world to know he was anything other than perfectly healthy. Does that make any sense?”
“I guess?”
“And then his ex shows up at his house with ten grand and zero notice?”
I grunt. “Okay, I see your point.”
“Cut him some slack,” Jess suggests. “You’ve always had more going on in your life than Matt has, and he could never really understand what you were going through because he hadn’t been through it himself. Right?”
“Yeah.”
“So, the tables are turned now, and he’s going through something that you have no experience with.”
I let the thought sink in. “So, what should I do?”
Jess clears her throat. “Give him time. Let him think about it. It’s like that old saying—how does it go? If you love something, set it free?”
“You sound like a fortune cookie,” I reply.
“We’ve been friends for twenty-five years, Taylor. I know how much you hate uncertainty. But Matt’s been through a lot, and not for nothing, that’s a hell of a rabbit hole for you to start falling down so suddenly. I love you, but I don’t a hundred percent know if you realize how hard being there for him might actually be.”
“Too late to worry about that, don’t you think?”
“Maybe. I mean, what’s done is done. But give this some room to breathe. See what happens.”
I sigh. “What if he doesn’t call me?”
“Then you might just have to leave him alone,” Jess says.
I shake my head and begin to gnaw on a cuticle on my thumbnail.
“Hey, if it’s any consolation,” she adds, “you and Matt have been circling each other in an orbit since we were kids. You have some kind of gravitational thing going on with him. He’ll call. Mark my words.”
Chapter six
22 Years Ago
By the time I was nine, Matt and I were friends. Summer friends, but good friends nonetheless. I only realized exactly how good of a friend he was one Sunday when he got a glimpse of how things were for me back home.
Sunday mornings were important at Sound Hollow because of religious services. After breakfast, the Jewish kids went to the Lodge on the girls’ side for services, the Protestant kids went to the Lodge on the boys’ side, and the Catholic kids got on a yellow school bus bound for some nearby church. Kids who believed in any other God (or none at all) gathered on the rec field to play soccer or have relay races. Campers and staff of all faiths would congregate together again at lunchtime before heading down to the beach for the rest of the afternoon—unless it was Visitors Sunday, which (to my great relief) only happened twice a summer.
The practices of Sound Hollow on Sunday mornings would’ve gotten the whole place canceled today but weren’t given a second thought back then, even though they caused some confusion for kids like me who came from families of mixed faith. My mom was Jewish and my dad was Catholic, one of many attributes about them that were at odds. I didn’t attend Hebrew school in preparation for abat-mitzvah like the other Jewish girls I knew, and my family traded eight nights of Hanukkah for a fake Christmas tree in the living room of our apartment every December. Still, my mother always said that in the Jewish faith children take on the religion of their mother. It was with this idea in mind that my mom went ahead and signed me up for Jewish services at camp.
I didn’t mind, though. Jewish services were fun. Sound Hollow brought in Rabbi Avraham, who told us to call him the “Rockin’ Rabbi.” He played his acoustic guitar and clapped and whistled for the ever-expanding group of would-be Jews who knew that hanging out with the Rockin’ Rabbi was way cooler than going off camp to a stuffy church. Songs like “Jeremiah was a Bullfrog” and “Moishe Mouse” (a knock-off of the Mickey Mouse theme song that touted the benefits of being Kosher) created such a jovial environment that I genuinely looked forward to Sunday services. Also, the Rockin’ Rabbi talked about Hashem, which meant God. Even though I didn’t understand all of what he was saying, the essence was generally that God was watching me and God loved me.
Which was kind of nice.
Also, because the activity was co-ed, it offered an opportunity for me to hang out with Matt, who shared a similarly awkward religious upbringing with a Jewish mother and Lutheran dad. One Sunday morning during Matt’s second summer at camp, we were sitting together singing “Sh’ma Yisrael, adonai eloheinu, adonai echad,” when our jovial camp director, Mr. Pat, popped in through the side door of the Lodge.
“Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Rabbi, sir,” said Mr. Pat, his round, Irish cheeks blushing, “but I’m looking for Taylor Roberts.”
Matt looked at me quizzically. I shrugged, hoping I hadn’t done anything to get in trouble, and followed Mr. Pat out into the warmth of the late morning sun.
“Sorry to pull you out of there, kiddo,” Mr. Pat began. “But you have a phone call.” I walked alongside him toward the camp office.
“Is that allowed?” I wondered.
“Well, typically no. But your mom’s on the phone, and it seemed pretty important that she speak to you.” He winked at me. “So we’re making a special exception.”
