Summer at Meadow Wood

by Amy Rebecca Tan

  I had just finished adding the last bit of brown glitter to my Carly stationery when Ruth, the arts-and-crafts counselor sitting next to me, said, “Oh shoot! I forgot to drop these at Brenda’s.”

  She was holding a small bag of rubber stamps.

  “I’ll take them for you,” I offered quickly, reaching for the bag.

  “Tell her they’re all good to go except for the return address stamp. That one was so gooped with ink I couldn’t save it.”

  I headed toward the main office, a small bubble growing in my stomach the closer I got. I still wasn’t sure if I would be able to go through with it. I couldn’t tell if my bubbly stomach was because I was about to maybe tell a small lie, or if it was because I was maybe, possibly, going to be talking to Angel on the phone in a few minutes.

  It was probably both.

  I caught Brenda just as she was leaving the office.

  “Ruth asked me to bring these stamps to you. They’re all fixed except for one.”

  “Excellent, thank you. Can you put them on the desk for me? I have to get to the stables.”

  “Sure.” I could feel myself losing my nerve. I didn’t even know how to say it.

  Brenda’s eyes widened as she noticed the piece of stationery in my hand. “Oh, Vic—did you hear from your dad?”

  I followed her gaze to my paper. Only the back side was visible, but lines from my drawing showed through so it looked like a letter.

  “Do you need to call your mom? Go right ahead. Nobody’s in there. You’ll have total privacy.” Her walkie-talkie rumbled on her hip and static came through, followed by a voice saying, “You coming? Over.”

  “I’ve gotta go. Just make sure you pull the door shut on your way out.” And she left.

  It was that easy. I didn’t even have to say anything. Brenda had said it all for me.

  Inside the office, I sat in the chair behind the desk and looked at the telephone. It was an ancient, clunky-looking thing with a receiver and a twisty cord and a bunch of buttons, but it was about to connect me with Angel. Whoever invented this sucker was my new hero. After I finished learning about Eleanor, maybe I would research the phone guy. But for now, I lifted the receiver to my ear and dialed the number I had memorized. Between each ring, I could hear my heartbeat thumping in my chest. The bubble in my gut seemed to split into many smaller ones that started knocking into each other like the balls on the bocce court.

  He answered after the third ring. “Hello?”

  “Hi.”

  There was a short pause. Then he said, “Farmers’ Market Vic?”

  I could practically hear his smile.

  “Ramos Family Flowers Angel?” I said back.

  “Hi! How are you doing this? How are you calling me?”

  “With this odd contraption called a telephone. They’re really neat-o.”

  “Very funny,” he laughed. “But seriously? Where are you?”

  “I’m at camp. In the main office.”

  “I told you not to break in,” he scolded.

  “I didn’t. Brenda told me to use the phone. To call my mom because of, you know, the whole situation at home.”

  “So I’m your mom now?” Angel asked.

  “Yep,” I answered. “I’d like more allowance.”

  “Did you clean your room?” he said, using his version of a stern mom voice.

  “As far as you know,” I answered.

  “Fine. But I can only pay you in doughnuts.”

  “We should research that next,” I decided at just that moment. “Who invented the doughnut?”

  “I have my laptop right here. I can look it up.” I heard him tapping on a keyboard.

  “Just so you know, I might have to hang up suddenly if someone comes in, and I’ll have to call you ‘Mom’ when I do. So don’t think I’m hanging up on you, okay?”

  “Maybe we should say our real goodbye now, then, while we have the chance.”

  “That’s . . . a little weird,” I said.

  “The good kind of weird,” he answered.

  I smiled at that. I bet we both did.

  “So here I go,” Angel said. “I’m really glad you called. I’ll see you on Saturday, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Bye, Vic.”

  “Bye, Angel.”

  It was quiet for a second, and then I heard more tapping sounds through the phone. I looked out the window and saw campers in the distance, running on the soccer field and splashing in the lake, but no Brenda and no Earl headed my way. I relaxed back into my chair.

  “Here we go—Hanson Gregory,” Angel reported. “An American ship captain. He’s credited with inventing the doughnut shape.”

  “When?”

  “In 1847. When Hanson Gregory was making these cakes, he kept running into the same problem. The centers of the dough stayed gooey and raw while the outside cooked, so he popped the centers out. With the hole in the middle, they cooked evenly all around. The doughnut was born.”

  “So he named his problem and fixed it,” I realized.

  “The gooey center problem? Yeah, I guess so.”

  “I’ll have to tell Vera.”

  “Who’s Vera?”

  “My camp sister.”

  “What’s a camp sister? Is it like a flat mail thing? Is she a flat camp sister?”

  “No, she’s a real 3D camp sister, and she’s seven years old, and she’s awesome.”

  “Cool. Tell me about Vera.”

  So for the next ten minutes I did, until I heard the churning sound of Earl’s cart growing closer and louder. I hopped out of the chair like it was on fire, said, “Gotta go, Mom!” and hung up the phone as fast as I could.

  But not so fast that I couldn’t hear Angel answer me as the receiver moved from my ear back to its base. I had to laugh when I heard him say, “Bye, honey.”

  Day 41—Thursday

  The sun’s heat pressed down on my back like a hot iron. I was bent over the tomato bed, tying stems to metal poles and poking little holes around the plants to fill with water. My sunglasses kept sliding down my sweaty nose until I was so frustrated I flung them off with the force of a hurricane wind. They cracked when they hit a tomato pole and landed in three pieces, one lens popped free of the frame, reflecting the sun’s rays back up to the sky.

  “That’s why farmers don’t wear sunglasses,” Earl’s voice rang out from behind me.

  “Really?” I barked, embarrassed to be caught in my mini tantrum. “I thought it was because farmers work at the butt-crack of dawn,” I said, using Angel’s word, “so they don’t have to deal with the heat and the stupid sun blasting them.”

  “That they do,” he answered. “But I’m a camp employee first, farmer second. And this is when I get to work back here.”

  I let out a frustrated sigh.

  “Unless you want to work at five a.m. with me every morning of the week instead of just on Saturdays?”

  “No thanks,” I said without needing even half a second to think about it.

  “Good. I was hoping you wouldn’t take me up on that.” He twisted his bandanna around his head so the sweatier part from the front moved to the back. “Time for a breather. I got somethin’ for you.” And he wandered off toward the back door of his cabin and disappeared inside.

  I walked over to the tiny stripe of shade by the hose rack and felt the temperature drop by ten degrees just by stepping out of the sun. I peeled my T-shirt away from my slick back and redid my ponytail, smoothing every loose strand against my head with the glue-like effect of my sweat.

  Earl came back with two cups of ice water and a package tucked under his arm. “This came for you.” He presented the bulky package, a rectangular manila envelope that was so stuffed it was busting at the seams. My name was scripted beautifully across the front, with Meadow Wood’s address in a smaller script underneath.

  “That’s my mom’s writing,” I said out loud.

  “That’s correct.”

  “But that’s not a f
lat package,” I stated the obvious.

  “You’re two for two,” Earl replied.

  “But we can only get flat packages at camp.”

  “You are currently standing on land that belongs to this cabin, which is privately owned by myself, as mentioned before, so you’re not technically ‘at camp.’”

  “All this time I’ve been working at farm I haven’t been at camp?” I asked, soundly confused.

  “That land”—he tossed his chin in the garden’s direction—“is camp. But I think you’re missing the point here. Take the package.”

  He shoved it at me.

  I took a gulp of my water, then put the cup on the ground and used both hands to tear the sticky seal open. Inside was a large bag of Swedish Fish, a box of fat pretzel rods, and three Kit Kat Big Kat bars.

  And a note.

  Dear Vic—

  I’m sorry about canteen. And I’m sorry I missed Visiting Day. And I’m just sorry.

  I love you,

  Mom

  P.S. Remember that spot on your carpet where you and Jamie spilled the chocolate syrup? I finally got the stain out!

  “I hope the candy didn’t melt,” Earl said after a minute. “Your mom called first to make sure we’d let you have it. You’ll have to store it here, though, not in Yarrow, and come fetch your snacks when you want them.”

  I nodded okay and stared at all the goodies in my hands. And the note.

  “She’s trying, Vic,” Earl said quietly.

  “Uh-huh,” I agreed. “I know.”

  I pictured my mom standing in the candy aisle in our town grocery store, shopping for the treats in my package. I pictured her writing the note and addressing the envelope, then waiting in line at the post office to have it weighed and mailed to me.

  The money I was going to earn on Saturday felt like an opportunity.

  “Could you do me a favor?” I asked Earl. “Could you turn my pay from the market this Saturday, however much it is, into a check and mail it to my mom?”

  “You don’t want to give it to her yourself?”

  “No. I want to send her a surprise in the mail. Like she did for me.”

  “Okay.” He nodded once and smiled at me. “She’ll be touched, you doing this for her.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “Hopefully.”

  My mom was trying. That’s what Earl said when he gave me her very not-flat package.

  I was trying now, too.

  Earl downed his entire cup of water, chewed on an ice cube, then said, “Let me stick that inside for you before the chocolate melts. We gotta get back to work. Steven needs greens for tomorrow’s dinner. We’re growing the healthiest campers in New Hampshire here at Meadow Wood!”

  I handed him the package.

  “Thanks, Earl,” I said, “for everything.”

  He stopped with the stuffed envelope cradled in his arms and looked at me before saying slowly, “Thank you for everything, too, Vic.”

  The wood door clapped against the warped frame as it closed behind him, and a gigantic cloud drifted in front of the sun and hung there. It was like being in a room where the light was suddenly switched from full blast to dim. I stepped back to my tomato patch and knelt down, feeling gratitude wash over me like a prayer. I ran my fingers through the loose, dark soil and felt grateful for the water I was about to feed it. I felt grateful for well-placed clouds, and grateful for surprise packages, and grateful for a friend like Earl.

  And I felt grateful my mom had finally learned how to use a P.S.

  Day 42—Friday

  Chieko handed me two letters at rest hour. One was in my dad’s chicken scratch handwriting, and the other was in Angel’s. I was definitely saving the best for last, so I slid Angel’s under my pillow and opened the envelope from my dad first.

  Dear Vic,

  How’s camp? It’s hard to believe it’s August already. I miss you. Not coming up on Visiting Day was harder than I thought it would be.

  I’m still in California. There’s enough work to do out here that I volunteered to stay a while. I remember the report you did on earthquakes in third grade. According to the map you made, I’m not near a fault line.

  Anyway, it made sense for me to stay here, since work covers my hotel room, and your mom and I still need time to figure things out. I know this must be upsetting and confusing to you. I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say, because it’s upsetting and confusing to me, too.

  Give Freddy a big hug for me.

  Love you,

  Dad

  Aside from my dad admitting he thought it would be easy to not see me for the entire summer, it was an okay letter. At least I knew where he was now, and I could tell my mom if she hadn’t already found out. And knowing that he was upset and confused, and that he felt bad enough to apologize for it, automatically made me feel less mad at him.

  He included a P.S.

  P.S. Here’s a take-out menu from a pizza place by my hotel. Thought you might be able to turn it into stationery for a future Carly letter.

  I unfolded the long red menu. The front of it said ARTY PIZZERIA—Make Every Meal a Masterpiece, but my dad had penned a capital F right in front of the A in ARTY. I couldn’t not smile at that. Fart jokes were more Freddy’s department than mine, but at least he tried. It let me know that no matter what was going on between my parents, I still had a dad who cared about me.

  It also made me hungry for pizza.

  I tucked his letter and menu back into the envelope and walked it over to my cubby, then climbed back onto my bed. Jordana was in the shower, belting out a Hamilton song, and the Jaidas were visiting their camp sisters again, so I had the room to myself. When I broke open the envelope from Angel, two things came out—a white card with the Ramos Family Flowers logo stamped across the top and another sealed envelope. The second envelope said, Read the card first.

  Dear Vic,

  I took the flat mail thing as a personal challenge. I wanted to send you flowers, but I know that’s not allowed, so my best attempt is inside the smaller envelope. Hope you like it.

  See you soon,

  Angel

  I slid my finger under the flap to open it. There was no paper inside. I turned the envelope upside down and a shower of pink, white, and yellow flower petals—at least fifty of them!—rained down on my lap. The petals were different shapes and sizes, all dried and smooth and pressed flat. I scooped them up and let them fall again, watching them twist and turn as they fluttered like feathers back onto my lap.

  It was the best flat mail I’d ever seen.

  Day 44—Sunday

  Sunday night dinner was always turkey with stuffing, green beans, potato rolls, and a red sauce that looked like a can of cranberry sauce had been dumped into a mix of cherry Jell-O. I had no idea what the sauce tasted like because I hadn’t tried it in five summers and wasn’t planning to break my streak anytime soon. Sunday dinner was my least favorite meal at camp. I ate one roll, then told Chieko I had a desperate need to go to the bathroom.

  “Really? All of a sudden?” She doubted me instantly. “What are you, two?”

  “Plus eleven, yes,” I answered.

  “You just did math—voluntarily,” Chieko pointed out.

  “Was it right?” I asked.

  She stared me down, then said, “Go to the bathroom and hurry back so I don’t get in trouble.”

  “Okay, but it might not be that quick, ’cause, you know, I have to—”

  “That’s enough information!” Chieko cut me off.

  Jordana looked at me like she thought I might be up to something, which made sense—she would be the first one to recognize a sneaky plan. I just shrugged and said, “Be right back.”

  I stopped first at Vera’s table to give her a quick hug and then headed to the door.

  “Vic, wait a sec!”

  I turned to see Eliza, the girl in Aster who used to ride with Carly, rushing toward me.

  “Here,” she said, and she reached her arms out and pulled
me into a tight hug, squeezing me hard enough to lift me onto my toes. Then she let go and took a step back.

  “Umm . . . ,” I started.

  “Oh, sorry! That was from Carly. I should have said that first,” Eliza explained. “I got a letter from Carly yesterday, and she told me to give you a gigantic hug from her. So I just did. That was it.”

  I broke into a full grin. “Okay, thanks.”

  “She also said to tell you something about not letting any butt-butt counselors force you into a freezing-cold lake at morning swim.”

  “Yeah,” I laughed, “that sounds like Carly.”

  “Okay, see you later.” And Eliza hurried back to her table.

  As I closed the dining hall door behind me, I glanced at the head table where Brenda and Earl sat. They were eating dinner tonight with Holly and another horseback-riding counselor, laughing at something Holly was explaining with one hand in the air and the other hand lifting a saltshaker slowly over a basket of rolls. It was probably a riding story, and it looked like it involved jumping.

  I jogged to the office to make a phone call.

  “I only have a few minutes,” I told Angel as soon as he answered.

  “Where are you supposed to be?”

  “In the dining hall. But I don’t like this dinner and I knew I could get away,” I explained.

  “What would Eleanor Roosevelt say about you breaking rules and sneaking off? You seem to be channeling more of a D&D rogue than a former First Lady.”

  “What in the world is a D&D rogue?”

  “D&D is Dungeons & Dragons. It’s a role-playing game. Rogues are a specific class in the D&D world that are known for sneaking, stealth, and thievery.”

  “I’m not stealing anything.”

  “It’s a slippery slope, Vic,” Angel teased. “First you sneak away, then you break in, then you borrow, next comes stealing.”

  “Then I guess we just won’t talk on the phone again till camp’s over and I’m back home.” It got quiet as I realized what I’d said. We had never talked about what would happen after camp ended.

  “No, no, no,” Angel backtracked. “I’m not saying that. It might be a good skill to have—the stealth abilities—you know, for emergencies and stuff. Rogues are hard to beat in the game. I could teach you how to play.”