TWO
Rayne
Is it me or was that the hottest thing ever?
I’m strongly considering letting my parents fend for themselves at the campground and staying here to Lady and the Tramp the rest of that Springy Dog. I’m about as good at reading guys as I am Klingon, but dare I say, I think he likes me.
Oh what do I know? I hang out with second graders all day. It’d be much easier to decipher if he’d pulled my hair on the monkey bars or gave Jasmin a note to give to me asking if he likes me. If he circles yes, I’d know for sure.
Maybe if I turn back to wave goodbye and he’s still looking at me, that’d be the adult equivalent of circling yes. I really need to hang out with people who don’t view recess as the highlight of their day.
He’s looking!
That has to be the equivalent of throwing a ball of paper at me, right?
I wave goodbye, flashing him a smile, which is somewhat redundant because it turns out I’m already smiling. He’s even cuter than I remember.
Sandy brown hair that rests on a set of broad shoulders I would love to build a sandcastle on.
Maybe two, they’re that broad. I can see his muscles begging to rip through that t-shirt he might have purchased in the children’s department.
Except if he did, it’d be a belly shirt.
He has to be over six feet tall but I wasn’t really paying attention, not with those hazel eyes that give the crystal lake a run for its money.
Or that smile that makes me want to spend the whole day laughing with him.
Okay, eyes in front before I-
Gosh darn it! I knew that would happen. Please tell me I didn’t say gosh darn it out loud after tripping over my own feet. It’s fine, I didn’t fall, maybe he hasn’t even noticed. If I transition into skipping down the dock, he’ll never have to know.
Skipping will get me back to the campground quicker anyway. How do my parents make it through the first month of every season without my help? Judging by the numbers I’ve been going over, they really don’t.
It’s impossible to skip down the crowded end of the pier but I don’t think Cade can see me anymore so it’s all good. I swear it gets busier every summer. I always said I’d never live in a vacation town again but call me crazy with a capital Z, and R too, I kind of miss it here.
After college I taught in a rural school in Connecticut, so I could get my student loans forgiven.
The quiet was nice at first, except that week I was convinced the old farmhouse on the hill was inhabited by vampires, the quiet creeped me out then, but I started missing the hustle and bustle of vacation life on the lake.
Oh, don’t worry, the old farmhouse wasn’t full of vampires, just a pack of escaped emus who squatted there until their owners found them.
And surprise surprise, my student loans still haven’t been forgiven.
I miss this.
Tell any Cedar Spring-ian I said that and I’ll tickle you to death.
The crowded sidewalk, families laughing, kids eating ice cream cones that make me want to take a lick just to see what flavor it is (I don’t because that’d be rude), this is all home to me.
I even like the sound of bells ringing when people walk into stores, like a happy little song that got played to death but when you hear it years later, it’s a warm hug from the past.
I wave to Natasha on my way by her boat tour. We’ll have to catch up soon, I heard she got engaged to the cutie she met on one of her tours last year, Warner. Why’s she motioning to her cheek and rubbing it?
Oh flippin’ fiddlesticks, how long has that bbq sauce been there?
I lick it off, giving her a thumbs up before she pulls away from the dock. Mmm, just as tasty the second time around. People always called the two of us weirdos but I don’t know, I don’t see it.
Holy crap, are those the mermaids talking to Kenzie outside her art boutique? I must be seeing things. Do they still vacation on Cushing Island? I was beginning to think they really were a myth, I swear that place has been vacant for years.
Kenzie waves when she spots me speedwalking through the crowd, my naturally red hair always gives me away. I couldn’t hide in a field if the Easter Bunny tucked me behind a flower.
She smiles and nods knowingly when I hold my hand to my face, motioning for her to call me, eyes arched into question marks.
Yep, those are definitely the mermaids. Not actual mermaids with fins and seashell bras, though I bet they could pull those off like nobody’s business, that’s just what the boys around here called them when we were younger.
They were local folklore and nearly as popular as everyone’s favorite lake-dwelling monster.
I didn’t get this in rural northeastern Connecticut, where my neighbor on one side had so many ‘no trespassing’ signs he couldn’t see me smiling at him when I’d take my evening walk.
The ones on the other side hid their faces and skedaddled every time they saw me.
To be fair, I think their trailer doubled as a drug lab so neighborhood book club was really never on the table.
It’s nice to see everybody thriving, even if I’m about to be unemployed. More shops pop up every year. It looks like Bolton’s camping store has expanded. So has the bakery, Claire even has outside seating now. Maybe leaving home wasn’t quite as glamorous as I’d imagined.
Before getting back a week ago, taking over the campground was my backup plan.
Truthfully, part of me might have been hoping for it.
Until seeing the utter disarray my parents have left it in.
Money was never their strong suit but I didn’t realize how many loans they’d taken out these last few years.
The only way out of debt now is to sell and if we sell, there goes my backup plan.
Is it still considered backup if plan A is too busy getting consolidated to be a viable option anymore?
With my student loans still unforgiven, I’m pretty much screwed.
Can’t risk my parents not checking someone in properly, like they’re known to do, at this point I’m counting on every penny.
Nickel, I suppose, since pennies aren’t really a thing anymore.
Are you kidding me?
There are only three cars in the lot, I thought they were swamped.
Unless the family of skunks I smell are each getting their own campsite, my parents should have been able to handle this.
I thought maybe the family reunion guests all arrived at once, which had me mentally flinging bills at my student loans like athletes at strip clubs.
Oh yeah, let me see that interest bounce, baby!
“Rayne, heeyyy,” Dad drawls like he accidentally hit the half speed button and can’t figure out how to get it back to normal. “Thank god you’re here. The booking sheet started spinning before it turned into a lion and ate itself.”
“You’re not swamped,” I hiss, quiet enough for the guests checking in not to hear, “you’re stoned. Those weren’t skunks I smelled, it’s you guys.”
“Sweetie, slow down, you’re not making any sense. We need to get the booking sheet back from the lion. Do you think a kitty laxative would help?”
“I think you’d need a five gallon bucket of it to have any effect on a lion.”
“I have one of those,” he exclaims proudly, finger in the sky like he’s trying to summon lightning. “I’ll go find it. You wait right there, and don’t let it out of your sight. Tell your mother I went to church, so she doesn’t get suspicious.”
“Got it.” Because him going to church wouldn’t be at all suspicious.
He hasn’t gone since Grandma used to drag us there every Christmas Eve when she came to visit.
I’ll need to tell her something more believable like maybe- wait, this doesn’t even make sense, we’re not hiding anything from Mom.
He’s looking for a pail to put lion laxative in, I should probably send her to help and handle the check-ins myself.
Being the daughter of overgrown hippies has never been easy.
I spent half my childhood being the adult, and half my adult life chastising them like children. The minute I left home they sold it, bought an RV to travel all winter, only coming back to run the campground every summer.
The cabin wasn’t built with the intention of cohabitating with your sexually active parents. We share a wall so I spend many summer nights in a tent. Mom, despite having the voice of a mouse, can get alarmingly loud. And now I need a barf bag.
“Honey, your Dad’s been calling you,” she says in a hushed whisper over her shoulder, like the guests have no clue what’s going on here. “The calculator’s acting up, I can’t figure out their total.”
“That’s because you’re punching numbers into the office phone. You know you’re not supposed to smoke when we have people checking in. You might want to hide out back, I heard Officer Hollis is driving around, looking to give out tickets for illegal substances.”
“It’s okay, I’m cool. Everything’s cool.” Her shifty, bloodshot eyes tell a different story. “Complete transparency, Raynedancer, I’m not cool. I better hide, if he comes in, I’m out… ummm, ice fishing. Be a dear and finish this up for me. Good luck with the calculator, it keeps beeping at me.”
How have we stayed afloat this long? What sucks is this is actually a lucrative business, as long as you can differentiate the phone from the calculator.
They used to love the campground, it was their pride and joy.
The plan had always been for me to take over but I could tell they didn’t want to let it go.
I got my teaching degree, then a job after graduation when they still loved it.
I don’t know what happened but I looked back and it was an albatross they dreaded coming back to every summer.
I couldn’t leave my job, I was up to my ears in loans, now they’re in the same boat.