“Wait. You are?”
“Of course, Taylor. You always brought him such joy. He was never as alive as he was when he was with you.”
“Oh,” I reply, confused.
“But, I do have concerns given his condition. He still loves you, sweetheart. I can tell. Matthew is very sick, though…” Her voice trails off.
“You don’t think he’s going to die, do you?” Fear becomes panic, rising in my esophagus.
“No. I don’t. Not now. But I do think his life will be altered dramatically.”
I exhale. “I want you to know, I love him too. Still. Always. And I can handle hard things. I’ve got plenty of practice.”
Diana places her hand on my knee. “I know.”
I put my hand on top of Diana’s, marveling at how small my fingers seem compared to her long, slender fingers.It’s like I’m still a little girl, even though I’m a grown woman.“And her. Brett. I know it sounds crazy. I mean, it’s only been two weeks. But that’shisgirl. Matt’s little girl. How could I not love her too?”
Tears fill Diana Thompson’s eyes. She takes a sharp breath and fishes through her purse for a pair of sunglasses. Placing them on the bridge of her nose, she says, “Then, please. I beg you. Don’t leave when things get hard.”
Despite myself, I let out a small laugh. “As if they’re not hard now?”
“Oh, Taylor. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my sixty-seven years on this Earth, it’s that things can always get worse.”
I nod.
“He’s never looked at anyone the way he looks at you. I shouldn’t say this, because it’s not my place. But I see it in her, too. She loves you already. Fiercely.” Diana squeezes my hand. “Just like her father.”
A flock of sparrows circle overhead, landing in a nearby tree, their chatter offering the hope of warmer, spring days ahead.
I roll the string off my finger, surprised at how long it’s gotten. Hastily, I shove it back into the space where the hole in the scarf has grown.
“Promise me, Taylor. Please. For my granddaughter.”
“Hey, Grandma! Taylor! Watch this!” Brett calls to us. She spins the tire round and round one way until it’s all cranked up, then kicks both of her legs out straight and leans all the way back, arms outstretched into a T, hair flying behind her as she unwinds in a big, beautiful spiral.
“I promise,” I reply. “You have my word. I’m not going anywhere.”
Chapter fourteen
16 Years Ago
Some people learn what loveisby experiencing what love isnot.
Counselors-in-Training, commonly referred to as CITs, were a very special group in camp because they didn’t quite fit in anywhere. Their schedule was different than campers, who went to four classes a day, but was also different than counselors, who taught three periods a day and then had a period off. CITs went to a special class all morning where they learned the ins and outs of becoming a counselor, and they then spent the afternoons helping out in the classes of their choosing. The CIT group was co-ed, so the boys got to see the girls every day for three hours, offering them a small taste of what real counselor-hood would be like when they got to see each other every night, after the kids went to bed.
Also, the CIT group was small. Kids had to apply for the program and be accepted, because it offered reduced camp tuition. I wasn’t looking for a future career in youth development, but the reduced tuition alone made it a palatable choice from a number of standpoints. Plus, I couldn’t imagine a life without camp, so if the next step was to become a counselor, then so be it. Luckily, I had a (nearly) spotlessbehavior record at camp, and I was polite and respectful, so when it was time, I became a CIT.
Not surprisingly, so did Matt. He would have been content staying a camper, since he much preferred driving the mowing tractor around the farm over sitting in the Lodge all morning learning about safety standards. But if I signed up, I knew he would too. The farm would still be there in the afternoon, I reminded him.
CITs had a few grunt work jobs, ranging from unloading kitchen deliveries to overseeing the campers on dish duty. This was how we found ourselves sorting mail on a Wednesday morning that July. The cabin mailboxes and master camper list were in the main office, behind Joanie, the camp secretary. Joanie was a blonde woman with the sweat glands of a sumo wrestler. With a dusty old box fan raging roughly six inches from her face, she continuously eyeballed us, two bodies too many for such a small area.
“Say,” Joanie offered. “If you guys will cover for me, I’ll run into town and get Slurpees for the three of us from 7-Eleven.”
“How long will you be gone?” I asked, looking up from the stack of letters in my hand.
“Not long. Thirty minutes, tops.”
“Sure,” Matt said. “As long as you’re back by lunch, that’s fine by me. It’s tacos today.”
