Chapter 3 #3
“They’re in character,” she whispers. “We should leave them to it.” She closes the door behind us. “I refuse to be the reason somebody gets scorched by a dragon horde. I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“I don’t understand. I thought camp was supposed to be toasting marshmallows and learning how to pitch a tent.”
“I told you this camp is special.”
“And you get enough campers who enjoy this sort of thing?”
“I hit max capacity every year.”
“But not this year or I wouldn’t be here.”
She shrugs. “Like I said, I had a no-show and gave you his cabin.”
“Lucky me.”
“I bet you say that a lot.”
I review the sheet. “What’s a fan fiction meetup?”
“There’s a group that gets together to co-write a story during the two weeks they’re here. If you’re interested, you should let them know. They’ve already chosen this year’s concept.”
“Which is?”
“Sherlock meets Supernatural .”
“A spooky mystery, like Scooby-Doo ?” I’m embarrassed that my frame of reference is a children’s cartoon, but it’s all I’ve got.
“ Supernatural as in the TV show.”
“I’m not familiar with it.”
“That’s okay. There’s something here for everyone, even you, Charles M. Schulz the Third. I promise.” She counts on her fingers. “Lego club, book club, chess, amigurumi, painting—but only for tabletop figurines.”
“What’s amigurumi?”
“You should show up and find out. It’s on the schedule.” Her smile reminds me of my sister Elizabeth’s, like she’s hiding a mischievous secret that she can’t wait for me to discover.
“I’ll add it to my calendar.” I make a show of tapping my phone screen and typing.
“You might want to write it down with an old-fashioned pen and paper. Phone service here can be as unreliable as the Internet.”
“How do you live?” I ask. It comes out more judgmental than I intend, but seriously. I couldn’t function without basic infrastructure.
“It’s easy when everything I want is right here.” She beams at the campground. “Especially these next couple weeks.”
We saunter past the residential cabins to the lake’s edge. “This is nice.”
She breathes in the fresh air. “It sure is. Lake Willa is the jewel in the camp crown.”
“Is the water safe to swim in?”
“Absolutely. We have canoes and kayaks too. There was a pontoon boat, but it broke down two years ago.”
“Couldn’t be fixed?”
Hesitation flickers across her features. “No,” she says flatly.
“My file said this is a family business.”
“It is. I happen to be the only family member left.”
She says it so casually, like I asked for directions to the nearest store.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her.
“That’s life, right? You gain people, you lose people.”
In a twisted way, I envy her. I’m not saying I wish I was the last family member standing; I’m not a monster.
There is, however, a certain freedom that comes without their circulation in your orbit.
No pigeonhole. No expectations. I’m thirty-five, yet my parents still have a way of making me feel five years old.
It seems like I’ve spent my entire life trying to jam my square shape into their round hole. It’s exhausting at times.
Okay, all the time.
“I take it your nuclear family is alive and kicking,” she says.
Definitely alive and most definitely kicking. “What makes you assume I come from a nuclear family?”
She gives me A Look. “Your name is Charles Manson Laughton the Third. Your people stay married come hell or high water.”
“I guess that’s true. My parents are celebrating their fortieth anniversary in August.”
“See? And your siblings? Let me guess—a brother and a sister, right?”
I blanch. “Did you look me up online?”
She laughs. “With the wonky Internet service here? No, sir. You give off a strong upper-middle-class suburban vibe.”
There’s no point in being offended when she’s right. “I have a brother and a sister. You may have heard of her. Elizabeth Thorpe.” I wait for the usual light of recognition, but it doesn’t come. “She’s a professional golfer.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t know. I don’t follow any sports.”
“None at all?”
“I mean, I know who the Eagles are, and that the correct response to any fan is, ‘Go Birds,’ but I haven’t seen a game, and I couldn’t name a single player if my life depended on it.”
I gape at her. “I haven’t met anyone this side of Harrisburg who hasn’t watched at least one Eagles game.”
“Sorry. Not my thing. Now if you ask me to name all the songs from the musical episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer , that I can do.”
“Huh,” I say, because I’m too dumbfounded to come up with anything else. I knew she was different from the people I usually mix with, but this is next level. “Is that where the sugar glider got her name?”
She nods. “Gloria is a big fan. She rewatches her favorite episodes whenever she’s in a funk. What’s your comfort TV show?”
Her questions stump me. “I don’t watch much television.”
“Not even a legal drama?”
“The last thing I’d watch would be a legal drama.
” I already bring my work home with me every night, no need to treat it as entertainment too.
“I’ve seen a few seasons of Survivor .” My father liked to watch it, presumably to guess the winner in advance and win the family pool, although I’ve always had a strong suspicion he was making mental notes in the event of a shipwreck or a nuclear war.
If there’s one thing my father is dead set on, it’s winning, whether it’s at poker or life itself.
“Good,” she says. “Now I know who to come to when we run out of food.”
“That happens?”
She laughs. It’s low and throaty, like she’s been a chain-smoker since birth, and it doesn’t match the rest of her. “Don’t worry, Chucky. You’ll have more hotdogs than your system can handle these next two weeks. I recommend experimenting with different condiments.”
I hear a collection of shouts from the adjacent area. “What’s happening over there?”
She checks her phone. “Robo races. Want to see?”
“Sure.” I’m not sure the excitement involved warrants the level of noise I’m hearing.
“No betting allowed, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
I straighten. “Do I strike you as a gambler?”
“Not with a collar as starched as yours. Good point.”
As we crest a hill, I see the source of the excitement. As promised, small robot toys have been placed in a straight line. Their owners stand behind them holding remote controls.
“Pick your favorite,” Courtney says. “My metaphorical money’s on number four.”
“They all look the same.”
The older woman in front of us turns around with a harsh glare. “Then you need your eyes checked.”
“I guess she has a favorite, too,” I mumble.
Someone blows a whistle and the toys are off! Their mechanical legs move so fast they become blurred. People clap and cheer and chant their favorite robot’s name. I pick out Astro and Brutus among them.
“Is this a daily event?” I ask.
“No, twice this week and twice next. If you offer the same activity every day, campers get bored.”
“Really? I do the same thing every day.”
She gazes at me, unblinking, but says nothing.
“Is the new guy going to join in?” the older woman asks. She’s attractive, maybe sixty, showing off toned arms and a face that has seen more than its fair share of sun.
“Which one would you like to race?” Courtney asks.
I hesitate before selecting the white T-Rex, prompting a smile from my escort. “I totally called it,” she says. “I bet you were a dinosaur fanatic as a kid. You should be helping Olivia. You probably had all the species memorized once upon a time.”
“As a matter of fact, I did.” I sound as surprised as I feel.
I’d forgotten about my dinosaur phase until now.
I tore through every book in the local library, as well as the school library, until my parents cut off what they deemed an unhealthy obsession.
If I was going to have an intense interest in a subject, it had to have the potential to either make me wealthy or make them look good.
A career as a paleontologist would do neither.
“If you want to go back to the Danger Zone, I’m sure Olivia wouldn’t mind adding a fellow scientist to the team,” Courtney says.
“Not right now, thanks.” I can’t afford to get too caught up in the camp activities. There’s only one reason I’m here, and unlike this robot race, everything is riding on my ability to claim victory.