“Does that happen a lot? Daddy getting sick during the night?”
“Once or twice. Not usually.”
“Well, you have a very special grandma. Did you know that?” I wink at Brett. “Do you know, the very first time I met your grandma I was your age?”
“Really?” Brett’s eyes widen.
“Yup,” I continue. “It was at my sleepaway camp. Well, mine and your daddy’s. He was there with your grandma and grandpa taking a tour of the camp. I was crying and your daddy found me and asked me to play ninjas with him. But he didn’t tell your grandma where he was going, and she came and found him over by me. That was the first time I ever met her.”
“Why were you crying?”
Vivid details flood my memory. The never-ending crowd of parents who had come. All those children who would be made to feel special with trips off camp to lunch or to go shopping. The ketchup stain on my shirt from a hot dog that sat on the grill too long. The fear that my parents didn’t love me enough to come for me. Worse, the fear that they might never come back.
“I don’t remember,” I reply. “But your daddy made me laugh. He was hiding behind my cabin.”
“I didn’t know Daddy went to camp. Was it fun?”
“Fun?” I smile, thinking. “Yes, it was definitely fun.”
“Then you shouldn’t have been crying.”
“I was just having a bad day. But I loved camp. It was great. Your daddy didn’t go when he was that young. Only when he got a little older. Eight, I think. That time that I met him and your grandma was only his first visit.”
“What did you guys do?”
“At camp?”
Brett nods.
“Oh, all sorts of things. Worked at the farm, rode horses, went to the beach. I learned how to dance there. And I did lots of crafts. And learned how to bake and cook.” I can’t help grinning as my head swells with memories, too many to list. “And we slept there. In little wood cabins. For eight weeks!”
“What about your parents?”
“Nope. No parents. Just the kids.”
Brett’s eyes widen. “You weren’t scared?”
I lean forward. “At first, I was. But I got used to it. It was actually really great.”
“Hmm,” Brett considers. “MaybeIshould go to camp.”
“I think six is a little too young,” I say. “Your grandma was right to wait until your daddy was older to send him. But, I’ll tell you what. How would you like to go there and visit some time?”
“Your camp? It’s still there?”
“Of course it is! I’d be happy to take you for a visit. I bet your daddy would like that, too.”At least I hope so.“What do you think?”
Brett takes the last bite of French toast, mopping up the syrup with it before popping it into her mouth. She gives me a thumbs up and nods.
“It’s a date,” I promise. “We’ll do it in a few weeks, when the weather gets a little warmer.”
“Cool!” Brett grins.
I clear the table, piling the dishes into the sink. Mrs. Thompson reappears, her face covered in a fresh layer of makeup. “You girls ready?” she asks cheerfully.
“Yup!” Brett scrambles over to the front door and pulls her sneakers on.
“Do you want me to cover this up?” I ask, waving at the spread on the counter.
