“No, honey,” Tall Girl explained. She had kind eyes, but I knew she was mistaken—my parents were just late. That happenedsometimes, right? “They put you in my group because your parents aren’t coming. See?” She pointed to my name on a piece of paper mounted to a clipboard. “You’re on my list. Tell you what. If they do show up, you can go with them. But for now, let’s stick together.”
My shoulders sagged, but the day went on, like all days do. I didn’t want to go to the beach, so Tall Girl put me with a big, important man named Mr. Pat who cooked hot dogs on an oversized charcoal grill. The hot dogs were being sold to parents for a dollar, and Mr. Pat let me help by distributing ketchup and mustard packets. It was boring, and I gazed longingly down the road to see if maybe my mom was looking for me. But nobody else came that day. I had the same sinking feeling from that time a few months earlier when my mom was supposed to pick me up from school but never came. I’d stayed with the principal until eventually Mom called the school from a pay phone in the emergency room, where she was awaiting treatment for broken wrist.It was an accident, she told me later.My own fault.
Mr. Pat talked a lot at the grill, filling the air with camp tales. He was always smiling, his long, curly hair held back in a ponytail. I didn’t want to be rude, but I wasn’t in the mood to talk. I listened mostly, trying to disappear as he went on about fishing trips and horses and all sorts of other things. Smiling at his stories was hard work since my belly was thick with worry, but I tried.
“Mr. Pat,” I eventually asked, when there were no more families waiting to be served, “is my mommy in the hospital?”
“What’s that?” he answered, caught off guard. “No, kiddo. She’s okay. She just couldn’t make it today is all.”
I stared up at him, curiously looking for answers, willing him to say more.
“She called this morning. Said your dad wasn’t feeling up to the drive. But everyone’s fine, so don’t you worry about that.”
“He’s sick?” I asked.
“Pretty sure she just said he was tired is all,” Mr. Pat assured me. “Well, kiddo, looks like our work here is done,” he announced, removing his green apron and wiping the grease from his hands on it. “You hungry?”
I nodded. He handed me a hot dog. I set it on a napkin and put ketchup on it.
“May I please bring this to my cabin?”
“Sure. Just let your counselors know where you’re at. Oh, and by the way,” he said, crouching to look me in the eyes, “you did a good job today. Thanks for helping me out.” Mr. Pat handed me a funny looking coin. “That’s for you. A little gift from me. It’s a real Navajo gold coin, you know that?”
I shook my head.
“Well, it’s very special, so make sure you take care of it.”
I looked at the coin in my hand. It was a little heavier than a quarter and looked sort of like the Hanukkah gelt my mom hid inside my Christmas stocking every December to remind me I was half-Jewish. I stuffed it in the pocket of my shorts. “Thank you,” I replied.
“My pleasure! You go on and enjoy yourself. I’ll see you at dinnertime.”
I carried the hot dog back to my cabin. The area was empty, except for a group of people gathered by the flagpole who were on a visitors’ tour. It was eerily quiet for a Sunday afternoon. Everyone was out enjoying family time with their parents, minus the other unclaimed campers who were probably still at the beach for the afternoon. The tall pines swayed gently in the breeze, empty. Even the birds had somewhere else to be.
I sat down on the stoop of Cabin One, unsure of how the day went so awry. I took a bite of the hot dog. A glob of ketchup slid out ofthe bun onto my shirt. I wiped at the ketchup with my napkin, but knew it would leave a stain because I got ketchup stains on the living room carpet sometimes when I ate dinner on the floor in front of the television. The pretty shirt with the sunflower—Mom’s favorite—was ruined.
Angry at myself, I chucked the rest of the hot dog in the garbage beside the cabin, not caring that raccoons would probably come and ransack the can later and might even wake me up in the middle of the night. I hung my head, feeling my stomach turn and my eyes fill with tears. I covered my face with my hands and began to sob quietly.
“Psst,” I heard. I raised my head and looked around. A small boy with brown hair wearing very white sneakers poked his head out from the side of my cabin.
I sniffled and looked at him curiously.
“Shh!” the boy implored in a hushed voice. “I don’t want them to find me!”
I looked around. “Who?” I asked.
He jutted his chin out in the direction of the tour group. “You go here?” he asked.
I nodded.
“It’s terrible, right? That’s why you’re crying?”
I shook my head. “My parents didn’t come.”
His eyes widened. “Theyleftyou here? Like, forever?”
“No,” I replied. “They didn’t come for visiting day.” Saying it aloud made the pain feel new, like how blood flows after a scab is picked.
He looked at me then. Really looked. “Oh.” He paused. “I’m sorry.”
