24. Greece Lightning
Sunday morning, Visiting Day, I was stationed between the parking area and the football field, delivering parents to their children.
I kept an eye out for Ronnie. As the stream of cars lessened, I walked up and down the rows of cars looking for him, wondering how I’d feel when I saw him after five weeks apart.
I felt my cheeks blush, thinking about kissing Teddy.
I found him sitting in the car glued to his cell phone. I tapped on the window, and he held up one finger.
Even though it was the one day out of eight weeks that he could see his children, he was, of course, on a business call. Not to mention it was Sunday. I shrugged, making a face at him that I was sure showed my disappointment, and walked off.
“Lori, Lori, wait up.”
I stopped and turned around, my hands on my hips.
“Sorry about that. It’s so frustrating. I have no reception here. I don’t know how you handle it.”
I wanted to say I like that we can’t easily speak, but instead I said, “I find it liberating.”
He slipped his phone into one of the many pockets of his cargo shorts, gave me a perfunctory kiss on the cheek, and said, “You’re looking well.”
I could tell by the purple circles under his eyes how many billable hours he must have been logging. Usually when we were apart, it was because Ronnie was on a business trip. This was the first time that we’d been separated because I was away. We stood awkwardly staring at each other.
Ronnie looked over my shoulder, breaking our silence. “Where are Zelda and Hazel?”
Out of five hundred campers, there were only five kids still waiting, and two of them were ours.
My heart sank—I wondered if they had thought their dad wouldn’t show.
Zelda’s arms were crossed, resembling her impatient dad; Hazel appeared dejected.
But as soon as they saw him, they flew across the field and jumped into his arms. They were hugging and talking over each other, vying for his attention.
All activities were open to the families.
I couldn’t spend the morning with mine because I had to be available to chat with the parents.
For the past week, the Bergers had pounded into us that the most important job of the day was leading the parents to the office so they could re-up for next summer.
“I’ll see you at lunch,” I said.
“You’re not coming with us?” Ronnie seemed surprised.
“I can’t. I’m working.”
“Can’t you take the day off?”
I tried not to sound sarcastic when I said, “You, of all people, should know how difficult it can be to change a schedule.”
He gave me a feeble smile and turned to the kids. “So, what should we do first?”
Abby and I met up to search out parents to schmooze.
“How’s Barry doing?” I asked.
“Honestly, I’m shocked he’s not complaining. I think he misses us so much that he’s on his best behavior,” Abby said.
“Ronnie’s thrilled to be with the girls. It’s also good for our husbands to see what we do and where we do it.”
“You’re right, I’m pretty sure Barry thinks I play mah-jongg all day.”
The campers were spread throughout the grounds with their parents in tow, so we decided to start at the gymnastics shed and work our way back up the hill.
We walked down together, smiling, in our matching uniforms with our name tags prominently displayed.
We were told to boast about how wonderful camp was, how happy their children were, and how lucky they were to be a part of the Woodlands family.
Issues that we couldn’t handle would go to Bethany.
“I’d be surprised if there were problems we couldn’t solve. I mean, no one knows them better than we do,” Abby said.
“I’m relieved. I don’t want to be the reason a family decides not to send their child back next summer.”
“Yeah, I see your point.”
There were sneakers, sandals, and a pair of stilettos piled up outside the gym. Why anyone would wear heels to walk around a camp was beyond my comprehension.
I saw the mother of the twins Rachel and Rebecca.
She stood out from the rest of the parents in her long floral skirt and gauzy top.
Her hair was dark with wiry gray strands running through.
Her husband, who was mostly bald with a silver fringe that wrapped around the back of his head, wore trousers hiked up to his portly waist.
“I can’t help but notice that my twins are no longer identical,” she said.
“What do you mean? I sometimes have trouble telling them apart,” I said.
“Can’t you see how much bigger Rachel is than her sister?”
I knew exactly what she was talking about—yesterday at the lake when they were standing together in their matching bikinis, I noticed how much thicker Rachel was around the middle.
She gripped my arm, pulled me away from everyone else, and shrilly whispered in my ear, “Can’t you see that Rachel has gotten fat?”
“I’m sure when you have them home, you’ll get them back on track.”
“You don’t understand. They’re bridesmaids in their cousin’s wedding over Labor Day weekend.
They must fit into their very expensive gowns.
” She put her fists on her hips and frowned at me, as though I personally made it my mission to shove sweets down her daughter’s throat.
“You’re going to have to put Rachel on a diet. ”
I was relieved that this was one of those situations that were above my pay grade.
“You should go to the office and speak to Marilyn . . . she’ll be able to help you.”
As I walked up the hill, I thought about Teddy and felt my cheeks blush again. His ex wasn’t coming today. Teddy thought Max would be okay with his mother being a no-show, that he understood the dynamics of his situation, but still it had to be difficult when everyone else’s mother was here.
I continued to the soccer field, up to the volleyball net, then stood in the limited shade of the tennis courts, where I met Ashley’s mom, who was petite and dressed in tennis whites complete with a sun visor and the requisite tennis bracelet.
I couldn’t help but notice the charm hanging around her tanned neck—the spherical diamond set on a gold racket sparkled in the sun.
With her slim muscular arms, she looked more like a tennis pro than the camp’s coach did.
“I’m guessing you’re a tennis fan,” I said.
She had a squeaky giggle. “I am pretty obvious.”
I was enjoying our chat when out of the blue, she asked, “Is Ashley sleeping okay? She was afraid that she wouldn’t be able to with so many other people in the room. She’s the kid that never wanted to stay at sleepover parties.”
“Really? Ashley isn’t shy, she’s always in the mix. But to answer your question, yes, she is sleeping well.”
“How can you know? I mean, you don’t sleep with her, or do you?” she asked.
“There are three counselors who sleep with her and report to me every day about what happens in the bunks.”
To my surprise, she started sobbing. “It’s just, it’s just that I miss tucking her in every night and waking her in the mornings. She’s having a wonderful time and, well, I just miss her more than she misses me.”
I put my hand on her shoulder. “Thank you for trusting me to be the person who tucks your daughter in each night and gets to see her smiling face in the morning. I promise to continue to take good care of her.”
She wiped her tears on her terry wristband. “Thank you, Lori. I’m so embarrassed I cried. But you have definitely reassured me. I’ll sleep better after having met you.”
My next stop was the arts I tried edging out.
I didn’t like to have favorites, but it was easy picking out my (I didn’t want to think “least favorite,” so instead I thought) “most challenging” camper, and that was Kacie.
She and I argued over the stupidest things: If I said orange, she would say red just to contradict me.
She seemed to get enjoyment out of being contrary, seeing how far she could push people, especially me.
I’d say, “Kacie, you need to put on your slicker, it’s raining out.”
“No, it’s not,” she’d say.
I’d drag her outside with me and we’d stand on the porch steps until we were wet, and still she’d argue.
I saw her parents with Maggie and thought, Good luck getting Kacie through her teens. I didn’t want to interrupt their conversation, so I turned to go, when Kacie yelled from across the room, “Lori, don’t leave, I want you to meet my parents!”
I made sure I had a smile on my face. “Hi, I’m Lori, Kacie’s division leader.”
Kacie looked like her dad, round face with intense dark eyes that seemed to question everything. Her mom, who had an open and warm demeanor, rushed toward me throwing her arms out for a hug. “Kacie can’t stop talking about how you’re her favorite adult at camp,” she said.
“That’s so nice to hear. Thank you, Kacie.”
Kacie didn’t look me in the eye. Maybe she hadn’t actually uttered those words. Or, it could be true because I was probably one of the few people who didn’t put up with her nonsense.
“Kacie says that you’re the only one here with half a brain,” her father added.
I laughed. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all day.” Kacie let me hug her.
I caught up with Ronnie a little before lunch.
“You seem different,” he said. “More confident.”
“Thanks.”
“So, tell me exactly what it is you do all day aside from play.”
I decided to ignore the sarcasm in his voice. “I’m glad you asked. Each day feels like an eternity and then poof, five weeks fly by in a flash. I mean, just walking around getting the campers to activities, phone calls to parents, daily paperwork, dodging Jack and Marilyn—”
Ronnie interrupted me. “Now you can appreciate what it’s like for me when I put in long days.”