Chapter Nine #2
While Evan was back in Ternbay grabbing his things, Colton did take me up on the offer to swing by and chat.
We sat at my dining room table, and we talked for hours, actually.
I would never breach patient-provider confidentiality, even though technically I’m working with Colton pro bono, but I can see already that Colton’s vandalism isn’t based on malice—it’s truly based on what I had suspected before: he’s crying out for attention.
And, he’s got a big secret.
I can tell he’s a good kid, with a good heart; he just has an awfully artistic way of showing it.
Once I can convince him that maybe spraying paint on other people’s property isn’t the answer, Evan can see that too.
Though, at the moment, Evan seems too taken aback to admit that perhaps he was wrong about the mattress in the lake.
Evan is indeed a prideful man. Noted. I was right about something when it comes to the enigmatic Evan Waters, I guess.
“No one else’s things in the cabin were touched?” I ask.
“No, just mine.”
“My couch makes out into a bed. You’re more than welcome to sleep in here until I get a replacement. That mattress is probably a lost cause now,” I tell him. “Let me go get you some sheets.”
Some of the new counselors are leading the kids in a notably off-key rendition of Down By The Bay at the fire, when I trudge down the hill to check in on everyone.
Other counselors are taking turns making bathroom runs with the campers.
I decide to hang around until everyone—campers and counselors alike—are here, so I can make some housekeeping announcements, before turning them loose to their s’mores making and wind-downs.
“Hey, mister!” one of the campers—Jack, I believe—calls out to me.
“Did’ya know that there’s another raccoon that likes hangin’ out by our cabin?
He’s wicked chubby!” he explains, eyes gleaming with excitement.
“I named him Noodles, ‘cuz he had some on his head the other night when he came to visit!”
“Has he been in your cabin?” I ask him.
“Nuh-uh.” He shakes his head. “Riley says we shouldn’t go near it,” he says in an accusatory way.
“Well, ‘cuz it’s wild. You don’t wanna go near wild animals and try’ta make them pets,” Riley rebuts.
“You gotta hold out your thumb like this”—he sticks out his thumb, arm fully outstretched—“when you can’t see the animal undah yuh thumb, that’s how far back you gotta be.
My daddy’s a game warden; that’s how I know that,” he explains proudly.
“Riley’s right,” I explain to Jack, “and if you see him around again, you let one of your counselors know, so that we can try to rehome him. And please, don’t keep any candy or snacks in your bunks.”
“Oh, man!” Jack gripes. “You mean I gotta give you my Jolly Ranchers?!”
I grin. The youngest campers—the six-year-olds, like Jack and Riley—are forever hiding their bounty in their bunks. It’s never my intention to send these kids back home full of cavities, so I usually remind the staff to make them forfeit the goods, but now I’ve got wildlife to contend with as well.
Slipped my mind this year, whoops.
“I mean, you can give them to me if you want to; I’m not going to complain. I love Jolly Ranchers. But if you want to keep them somewhere safe, just make sure they go in the mess hall, please.”
“Oookay,” he drawls. But just as quickly as he grew forlorn, his eyes light back up when he spies Aspyn, Morgan, Nikolas, and Colton coming, arms loaded with s’mores supplies.
“Alright, I’m not going to rain on your parade anymore, you all look like you’re about to have some campfire treats, but I want to address something while I’ve got everyone here,” I begin. “Does anyone know how Mr. Waters’ mattress may have found its way out into the lake?”
I watch as a sea of confused eyes flit back and forth between everyone. A few shrugs and a series of head shakes follow.
“Right, okay. Well then, I just want to point out that, while we like to have a lot of fun here, let’s try not to take that fun too far, okay? Please be mindful to respect camp property, that way it can be enjoyed for many years.”
Nods all around; I like that. “Now can we roast some marshmallows, please?” a little girl—Camille, I think—politely inquires.
“Have at ‘em, and have a good night!” I tell them. “Don’t stay up partying all night; I’m told there’s a sunrise swim tomorrow morning!”
As I walk up the hill, I pull Nikolas and Colton aside. Both of them still have wet hair from their swim out to retrieve the mattress.
“I didn’t do it, I promise,” Colton starts, looking at me with frantic eyes.
“Whoa, hey,” I say in a soothing manner. “I just pulled you aside to say thank you. You guys swam way out to get it, that’s all.”
“Oh,” Colton murmurs, at the same time Nikolas replies cheerfully, “You’re welcome!”
“Hey, you’re not gonna, like, tell my dad what we talked about yesterday, are you?” Colton looks to me for confirmation. “I mean, I know you and Petro both know, and I told Morgan and Aspyn too, but I just don’t want, like, everyone here knowing. Not yet, anyway.” He bites at his lip ring.
“Colton, what you and I discuss is private. You have my word on that.”
He nods, the hunch in his shoulders loosening a little. “Thanks, Mr. Gallagher.”
“Call me Brooks, I insist. I’m thirty-two, not eighty.” I chuckle.
“Look!” one of the campers gasps and points. “Noodles is back!”
“No! Don’t go near him!” Riley shouts, ushering those closest to him away from the waddling animal.
A sea of little humans scatter everywhere. Chaos erupts. S’mores ingredients go flying in all directions.
The chunk on four-stubby legs doesn’t shy away in the least. Instead, Noodles waddles his blobby self over, snags himself a graham cracker with his tiny hands, and skitters back a little on just his hind legs, looking—if this is even possible for a raccoon—smug as all get out.
At this point, anyone and everyone that is on the camp property right now is in hysterics.
Noodles, however, remains unaffected, his little jowls smacking away on a marshmallow. As much as I personally think they’re adorable, I’ve got to be the adult here and see him off–preferably unharmed. Evan, once again, comes to the rescue…
Well, he tries anyway. First, he attempts to scare it off by approaching it with what appears to be Morgan’s softball bat.
Where he found it, I have no idea, but it serves the opposite purpose, however.
Instead of running, Noodles inserts himself into the group and starts darting around, collecting whatever other s’mores ingredients lay in his path.
Kai is shrieking his fool head off, running around the property like the raccoon is chasing him specifically—which, spoiler alert, it’s not.
It basically just turned into a giant game of tag, you’re it.
I join in, trying to form a barrier with Evan, to encourage the animal to go the opposite direction.
A couple of the other kitchen staffers, who stay on the property at night, join in.
Finally, our child-wonder superhero comes to our aid—Riley sprints from his cabin back to us, his balled up Iron Man sleeping bag in his arms. He passes it to me.
I cast the sleeping bag out, like a drag-net, and it lands on the animal. Evan dives in to scoop the now-encased critter up. As he stands, he holds the sleeping bag out like a filled dog-poop sack. Without a word, he stalks off carrying the wriggling catch away from the camp.
I follow along behind him. “Where are you going to take him?” I ask.
“I don’t know. You got any place you’d recommend?”
“Let me go get a head lamp. There’s an old hiking trail out behind here that leads to a brook. Do you think if I let him go beyond that, he’ll be less inclined to come back to where there’s easy access for food?”
“Sure, I’ll just, uh, wait here with my new friend,” Evan snarks.
I return a few minutes later, armed with my headlamp, my hiking boots, and Snarf’s cat carrier.
I’m sure he won’t mind if I borrow it for a wayward raccoon.
Snarf doesn’t particularly care for it anyway.
He prefers to keep his daily adventures to a minimum: sunbathing on my bed in the mornings, eating his meals, mauling his catnip-filled mice, and sunbathing in the living room in the afternoon.
Must be nice to have that much free time to be lazy. Wish he could bottle some of that up and give it to me.
Noodles makes a few warbled noises and a couple of grunts, but otherwise allows Evan and I to barely get him contained and zipped up in the backpack carrier.
His whiskers poke out, and he sniffs the air through the mesh.
Thankfully, he doesn’t appear to be a sick animal—just one who is a little too comfortable with human interaction. I’m no expert, though.
“I don’t mind hiking him out. He doesn’t look like he’s going to give me much grief,” I tell Evan, who must be exhausted from everything today. “Noodles looks content to just go on a night hike with me.”
“I’m coming with you,” Evan tells me decidedly.
“Maybe you should stay here and thank your son,” I suggest instead. “I promise, I’ve got this.”
“I’ll tell him when I get back,” Evan rebuts, an agreement which I find myself seriously doubting. He nudges me along. “Come on, let’s go.”