“Swimming’s hard,” Mackenzie agreed.
“I know. I learned at the beach here, but it took some time. Anyway, I wanted to let you know that I got you something. A gift.”
“You did?” Her tiny nose wrinkled in confusion.
“I did. I got you a special life jacket. It has pink hearts on it. I hope that’s okay. I chose it just for you. It’ll be at the beach for when you have swim class. I want you to wear it when you go in the water, okay?”
Mackenzie nodded.
“The life jacket will help you float until you learn all the strokes and can swim on your own.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem. I’ll check in with you to see if you like it, okay?”
“Cool.”
Thus began our friendship. Every day, Mackenzie would look for me at meals and regale me with stories about how swim class went or what she learned with the horses. She made me a friendship bracelet during a craft circle and tried to sit close by me on the nights where I led the group in singing "Bless this Camp" and Taps before bedtime. On Beach Sunday, Mackenzie went off in search of beach glass to present me with, and on Movie Night, she asked if she could work the popcorn machine with me. Before long, she became my little shadow.
Some people might have found this mildly uncomfortable at best, or annoying at worst. But I honestly didn’t mind. From our interludes, I learned that Mackenzie lived in a sprawling home with revolving au pairs who took care of her. Her father ran a bank in the city and her mother hosted charity functions at their “other house” in the Hamptons. She had every toy a child could want but few people to play with, and she went to a strict school where she had to wear a uniform and keep quiet most of the time.
She was a good kid, and although she was shy, she opened up to me. She told me she didn’t like going to school, was scared of horses, and wanted to be a chef or a fashion designer when she grew up. She loved to sing, but she only sang when she was alone because she didn’t want to bother anyone. She loved kittens, but she wasn’t allowed to have any pets in her house.
August 9th started out like any other day. The routine I followed unfolded like usual, but after breakfast when I called for cabin attendance, I learned that Mackenzie was at the nurse’s office.
“What’s she got?” I asked.
“Don’t know,” her counselor replied. “Just said she wasn’t feeling well.”
I had a busy morning planned with the CITs, so I didn’t have a chance to check the horse stables to see if Mackenzie went to class that morning. At lunch, though, I scanned the Lodge and couldn’t find her anywhere. I told Pat I was going to take a quick stroll down to the Health Office to check on her, and he promised to cover songs after lunch if I didn’t make it back in time.
When I got there, Marilyn was seated at her desk, having a sandwich and a fruit cup. “Everything okay?” she asked, looking up from her meal.
“Yeah. I was just wondering if you’ve got Mackenzie Brooks here with you today.”
Marilyn nodded, swallowing. “She’s sleeping in the back.”
“Sleeping? It’s the middle of the day.”
“I know. She complained of a headache and general body aches. I gave her some Motrin and told her she could lie down for as long as she needed. A little while ago, she fell asleep. I think she may have been crying for a bit. I heard some noise back there when I was on the phone with a parent earlier. But when I went to check, she was out like a light.”
“Can I see her health form?” I asked.
“Sure,” Marilyn agreed. She went over to the file cabinet and pulled out the child’s folder.
I scanned the form, looking for any health history or red flags, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. Then, just as I was about to close the folder, I noticed something.
“Marilyn, what’s today?”
“Tuesday.”
“Right, but what’s the date?”
“August 9th.”
“Look,” I pointed. “It’s her birthday.”
“Poor girl,” Marilyn shook her head. “That stinks to feel sick on your birthday.”
