by Susan Wiggs
That was code for keeping the kid out of her hair, and out of the way of Mel’s fists.
Connor had only ever known his brother as a baby, and then their mom had given Julian away like an unwanted puppy. It had taken Connor years to get over that, and maybe it made Julian a little odd, too. At eight years of age, he was a bundle of energy, simmering with seldom-denied impulses. According to his school records, private diagnostic testing would be required to determine Julian’s specific needs, but that had never been done. His level of intelligence had never been measured; it was that far off the charts.
The other thing that came through on school records was a multipage litany of conduct infractions. These were not your garden-variety episodes of schoolyard horseplay or sassing the teachers. They were, for the most part, bizarre and dangerous acts that affected only one person—Julian himself.
Connor’s mother claimed the boy would turn her into a nervous wreck. The solution had come from an unlikely source—his father, who still worked at Camp Kioga. The Bellamys offered Connor a job for the summer, and invited Julian to camp. He wondered if they’d told Lolly that there was yet another scholarship camper, courtesy of Terry Davis. He suspected they hadn’t. Charles and Jane Bellamy were discreet when it came to such matters.
“So what’ve you been up to?” Lolly asked. “Why didn’t you come back until now?”
“My stepfather told me I was old enough to bring in some money.” Connor did his working-class Mel imitation. “‘You get a job, son. I don’t want to see you sitting around all day, eating us out of house and home.’”
So many levels of irony to choose from. In the first place, he was not Mel’s son. Like it or not, Connor had a father. “And the thing about house and home?” he snorted. “It assumes we have them—a house and a home. The truth is, we live in a trailer park and it’s nobody’s home. Just a place to stay for a while.”
He tried to figure out the expression on her face. Was it disgust? Superiority? What did someone like her think when she heard how someone like him lived?
“It sounds kind of amazing,” she concluded.
“It does?”
“Well, heck. Think about it. You can walk away anytime you want. Just…walk away. Believe me, if my parents had been able to do that when they split up, their divorce would not have turned so ugly and painful.”
“It was ugly and painful?”
“Ha. They wrote the book on ugly and painful. And the thing was, all their fights—the Cold War Years, I call it—were about things. Stuff. Like a painting or a lamp or an antique. You know?”
“They didn’t fight over custody of you?”
“As if. There was no way my mother would have considered giving me up. I was the one thing they didn’t fight over. It was just a given that my mother would keep me, same as she would keep her ovaries.”
More irony, he thought. Lolly couldn’t escape her parents’ expectations. He couldn’t imagine parents who expected anything of him.
“So what about you?” he asked her. “What’ve you been up to?”
“The last two summers, I did some traveling.”
“Where to?”
“Overseas.”
“You could be more specific. I think I remember some of my geography.”
She offered a joyless smile. “Let’s see. Summer after sophomore year, I spent with my mother and her mother—my grandmother Gwen—in London, Paris and Prague. In the summer after my junior year, not to be outdone, my father took me to Alexandria, then Athens and Istanbul.”
“Sounds awesome,” he said. “Man—Istanbul. And Egypt. Did you see the pyramids?”
“I did. And it was just like I imagined. No, better. Those summers, the places I went, the things I saw, were…like a dream.”
“You’re lucky, Lolly. Lucky Lolly. Sounds like the name of a racehorse up at Saratoga.”
“Yeah, that’s me. Lucky.”
“You mean you had a bad time?”
“No. Trust me, you can’t go to Paris and have a bad time. But…it was just lonely and strained. I felt the way I’ve felt ever since the divorce, as if I’m supposed to be or act a certain way. God, I sound like a baby, whining about this stuff.”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I don’t feel too sorry for you.”
“Good, because I don’t feel sorry for you, either.”
“I know. You never have.” Another thing he liked about her.
“What are your plans?” Lolly asked.
“I wish I had a nickel for every time someone’s asked me that.” What he really wished was that he had an answer he actually liked, travel or college or a kick-ass job he couldn’t wait to go to every day. Reality was much less appealing. He was going to have to get a job, live on the cheap and go to community college part-time. “I haven’t made up my mind yet. What about you? I bet you’ve had a plan since you were in grade school.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You’re a planner. That’s how it always seemed to me.”
“Well, now that I’ve survived high school, I’m going to shock the world with a bold move,” she said with exaggerated drama.
“How’s that?”
“Wait for it. College.”
“You’re right. I’m shocked.” College was, of course, the next logical step for people like the Bellamys, and most of the people at this camp. Rich kids learning how to be rich grown-ups, so they could perpetuate the species.
“I think I’d like to be a high-school teacher,” she said. “An art teacher.” In the shadows, he could see her smile turn kind of shy, flickering at him through the darkness. “You’re the first person I’ve told that.”
“Is it some big secret?”
“Not really, but it’s not the kind of thing that would thrill my mother. She’d rather see me in the foreign service, something exciting like that.”
“It’s your life. Your decision.”
“Kind of. I hate disappointing my mother. I haven’t even told my therapist.”
He chuckled. “You still have a therapist.”
“Always. And as you can probably tell, I like talking. Dr. Schneider’s like a friend who charges by the hour.”
“I’d be your friend for free,” he told her.
That smile again. It flashed at him through the shadows, kind of shy, kind of pretty. “Thanks,” she said. “That, um, it means a lot to me, Connor. I’ve never had a lot of friends.”
Even though a few years had passed, Connor still felt as if he could talk to her. When they were younger, he found her bossy and annoying, but he quickly learned that her bossiness was a front. Underneath, she had a good heart and a great sense of humor, and he knew for a fact that you couldn’t have too much of that.
He liked their silences, too. He never felt as if he had to fill the lulls in their conversations with small talk. With Lolly, he could be quiet, and she didn’t make him feel as if he should be kissing her or trying to get into her pants. Not that he had anything against kissing and getting laid, hell no. He had plenty of luck in that department. For whatever reason, scoring with girls had never been a challenge.
Having it mean something. That was the challenge.
Or maybe it wasn’t supposed to mean anything. Maybe that was all bullshit for books and movies.
He liked the fact that Lolly was honest with him, and the fact that he could be just as honest with her. There weren’t many people in his life he could tell things to, but she was one of them. “I’ve got another reason to be back this summer,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“My little brother.”
He heard her gasp in the darkness. “I never knew you had a brother.”
“Julian is eight. He’s in the Fledglings. Julian Gastineaux.”
The expression on her face was comical. “I did see that kid today—jumped out of a tree into the lake.”
“That’s the one.” Connor nodded. Julian was always climbing to high places where he didn’t
belong. No wonder he drove their mom nuts. Connor supposed the tactic made just about as much sense as Connor’s method of trying to be a good son, keep his nose clean, get good grades. Neither approach was going to win her love. He’d come to terms with that quite a while ago, but he still remembered how much it had hurt, back when he’d believed it was possible to get her to love him. Julian was probably still at that stage, and clearly it was making him squirrelly.
“I never would have taken the two of you for brothers,” Lolly said.
He grinned. “We get that a lot.”
“You don’t look much alike,” Lolly said, clearly trying to be diplomatic. “You must be…half brothers?”
“That’s right. His dad’s African-American. Mine is…” A drunk. “Mine isn’t.”
She gave him a light slug in the arm. “I can’t believe you never said anything.”
“I was eleven years old when Julian was born,” he told her. “To me, there was nothing unusual about him. He was just a baby, you know? Then Julian’s biological father showed up and I was, like, damn. The kid’s half African-American.”
“What happened?” Lolly asked. “Why didn’t your mom raise you together?”
“Nobody explained it to me at the time. When Julian was about six months old, my mother started dating Mel. He convinced her that she couldn’t afford a baby, and that Julian would be better off being raised by his father.”
Connor discovered that the memory still had the power to hurt. By the time Gastineaux came for Julian, the baby was old enough to squirm and coo and laugh at Connor, who had loved him with a fierce, intense joy. When Julian was taken away, Connor had felt his heart being ripped out. He’d raged at his mother for weeks afterward. “How could you?” he asked her over and over again. “He’s my brother. How could you?”
“It doesn’t do to get attached,” his mother had told him, her eyes red rimmed with tears. “Julian is better off with Louis, anyway.”
She might have been right about that. Gastineaux was not a man of great means, but he had a town house and a serious job, which was more than most kids’ fathers had.
“So now Julian lives in New Orleans with his father,” Connor told Lolly. “He’s some kind of college professor, a rocket scientist, and this summer he’s on sabbatical overseas, so Julian came to stay with my mom and me. She was going to let him sit around all summer and watch TV, probably get into trouble. So she called my dad and told him we were both coming. I can only imagine what my old man thought of that—having his grown kid and his ex’s other kid coming up for the summer.” Connor’s relationship with his dad was complicated by the fact that Terry Davis was a man completely without judgment or pretense, and he’d do anything to have Connor with him. When Connor’s dad was sober, he was the best guy on earth. Things would be simpler, Connor thought, if his dad was an asshole. That way, drunk or sober, Connor could simply hate him.
“So your dad’s okay about…?” Lolly’s voice trailed off, as if she sensed herself heading into unknown territory.
“He and my mother never talk anymore, but he’d never make Julian feel weird about being here.”
“He must be a tolerant guy,” she said.
Very diplomatic, thought Connor. In fact, Connor’s dad and Julian had hit it off. Connor figured that, although completely unrelated by blood, Terry Davis and Julian Gastineaux had something elemental in common. They were both destroying themselves, Terry with his drinking and Julian by jumping from high places.
“I have your grandparents to thank for this summer. They gave me a job and invited Julian to camp. That’s cool of them.” He wondered if Julian would appreciate the chance he’d been given. He wondered if spending the summer at Willow Lake would change Julian’s perspective on life the way it had Connor’s.
Back when Connor had been a camper here, enjoying a camper’s rights and privileges, he knew he’d been given a rare opportunity. The Bellamys had no idea what those summers had meant to him. Living with a dozen other guys in a bunkhouse that smelled like a hamster cage by the end of week one didn’t sound like much. But to Connor, it was huge. It was a chance to live a different life, even if it was only for the summer. For ten whole weeks, he got to experience the kind of summer a kid was supposed to have: a string of sunny days filled with fun and laughter, practical jokes, sports that stretched strength and endurance to the limit, incredible meals every day, goofy talent shows, ghost stories whispered in the dark, singing around a bonfire. They were the kind of summers a kid had in his mind somewhere, whether or not they were real. And for those three years, Connor’s summers had been like a dream.
It was too idyllic to last. Summer pleasures were fleeting, and so was childhood.
Calvin, the head counselor, came over to their table. “I need a volunteer for lights-out duty.” He held out a police-style nightstick. “Lolly, I volunteer you.”
“Ha-ha,” she said, though she took the Maglite and headed for the door willingly enough.
Connor watched her for a few seconds. Then he spotted Jazzy, with the big lips and the boob job, coming toward him again.
“I’ll go, too,” he said, ducking out just in time to evade Jazzy as she moved in for the kill.
Despite the loud music blaring from the stereo, he could hear someone say, “No accounting for taste.”
Idiots, he thought. When he reached Lolly, he was a little out of breath.” Hey, wait up.”
She looked surprised, her eyes illuminated by the faint starlight. “You didn’t have to leave the party early on my account.”
“There’ll be plenty more this summer. In fact, if you’d rather hang out at the party,” he said, “I can do the rounds myself.”
“No, I’m good. It was too loud in there, anyway. Too hot.”
“My thoughts exactly.” They walked along a path, picking their way through shadows. The Milky Way arched in a swath across the night sky and they stopped just to look up at it in wonder. That was when Connor started—finally—to feel the old connection with Lolly, the friendship that used to mean so much to him.
“Really?” she said. “You weren’t having any fun, getting hit on by a different girl every five minutes?”
“I wasn’t—”
She chuckled. “It was hard to miss.”
He was glad for the darkness to hide his red face. “Lots of people were hitting on each other.”
“Not me.”
“Yeah, well, you’re smart,” he said. “I don’t know why everybody rushes into things.”
“Because they don’t want all the hotties to get away,” she said. “Ever think of that?”
“No,” he said.
“I know of at least three girls who called dibs on you. Nobody wants to get stuck with a loser.”
“Are you saying you’re a loser?”
“Did you see anyone trying to hook up with me?”
No, he thought, I would have run them off.
“It sucks,” she said, “the way everything’s based on looks. Don’t you think?”
“People say my mom looks like Sharon Stone, and it’s never brought her anything but assholes who treat her like shit.”
“Jeez, Connor,” Lolly said.
She made him smile in spite of himself, simple as that. He liked being with her, and if the other counselors had to wonder why, it was because they were idiots. He felt perfectly content, walking with her along gravel paths that had been there for generations of campers. It was an hour past lights-out, and through the screen windows of the bunkhouses, they could hear the expectant whispers from the Fledgling group. Lolly lingered under the window of Saratoga Cabin, and Connor went to check on the boys, in Ticonderoga. They didn’t go in because that got the kids all excited. They were only supposed to go in if something seemed wrong. When he came back for her, she held a finger to her lips.
The sound that reached them was the titter and hiss of little girls who thought they were getting away with something. Which, of course, they weren’t. Lolly
hesitated for a few more moments. Then she motioned for Connor to move on.
“There’s a little one named Ramona I’m keeping an eye on,” she said. “Homesick.”
It was a concept with which Connor was totally unfamiliar. He had no idea what it would be like to have the kind of home you actually missed when you were away. He wondered if Julian was missing his dad and New Orleans. From what little he knew of the kid’s life, it wasn’t so bad. Louis Gastineaux had never been married, and according to Julian, didn’t go out on dates. As far as Connor could tell, they lived like a couple of bachelors.
Lolly didn’t seem to be in a hurry to get back to the party, and Connor didn’t blame her. He liked it out here, where it was dark enough to make out stars you couldn’t see from the city, and quiet enough to hear the whir of an owl’s wings and the water lapping at the dock pilings and canoe hulls. From a distance, the sounds of the party were muted and pleasant, carrying across the lake.
The moon had risen and now washed the compound in an eerie pale light. The distant roar of the falls sounded like a cheering crowd at a football stadium. Through the trees, the lights of the staff cabins glimmered, and Connor thought about his father, spending another night drinking beer and listening to old songs on the radio. As he had for the past two decades, Terry Davis lived alone in one of the all-season cabins at the fringes of the camp, losing pieces of himself while life passed him by.
Pushing aside the depressing thought, Connor tracked the flight of an owl, and then something else caught his eye. A flicker of light, maybe a flashlight. He grabbed Lolly’s arm. “Look up on the footbridge over Meerskill Falls,” he said. “Do you see anything?”
“No, just shadows, but—yikes, I think you’re right. Someone’s up there.” She switched on the nightstick and headed up the trail, as fearless and focused as a cop on patrol. “Let’s go check it out.”
The trail rose steeply alongside the rocky gorge. The falls crashed down over the boulders, throwing up a needle-fine mist that cultivated a lush fringe of moss everywhere it touched.
