25. 7 Years Ago
Chapter twenty-five
As is always the way at Sound Hollow, the next six weeks passed by in a blurry, blissful whirlwind, and before I knew it, it was August. Every day, I woke up in the early hours of morning, kissed Matt goodbye, and enjoyed a sunrise stroll from the Gate House down the long road to my cabin, breathing in the morning dew of the old girls’ rec field, the scent of evergreen pine and burned-out campfires, the warmth of summer teasing forever, wrapping me in a cloak of false promises.
Those early morning hours served to center me, gave me a chance to thank God for each perfect moment of the summer of my dreams. Even when it rained, the fragrance of the trees came to life as the clouds sent kisses from my mother in heaven.
The daily routine was dictated by the bugles.
As soon as the first reveille blasted through the old speakers, I retreated for a shower.
By the third reveille, I was in my car with my hair in a messy bun on top of my head, a T-shirt and cutoff shorts covering my sun-kissed skin, smoking my first cigarette of the day and being sure to put it out in a half-empty bottle of water before getting over to boys’ side.
I was always in the Lodge to help out whichever cabin had been assigned to table setters, unstacking dishes from the high shelves for the little ones who couldn’t reach.
Dottie always had the coffee ready when I got there, citing me as the “first customer of the day.” After breakfast, I led the camp through the flag ceremony, singing both "God Bless America" and the Sound Hollow anthem, then taking attendance and assigning cabins to their daily chores.
Our respective roles suited us perfectly, as we each took great pride in our work.
Taking Pat’s advice to heart, I tried hard to be the best role model possible, setting firm rules and expectations, being a fair judge of behavioral issues, and keeping an open mind—and an open heart—so campers and staff could come to me with their problems. I tried to learn the names of every camper but definitely paid special attention to the eight-weekers.
That was how I came to know a little girl named Mackenzie Brooks.
At only seven years old, Mackenzie was a first-time camper who’d been sent to live at Sound Hollow for the entire summer.
This wasn’t completely unheard of, but it was certainly rare.
I didn’t know much about Mackenzie’s parents, other than their socioeconomic status, which I gleaned from the child’s Gold Coast address.
Mackenzie was an only child enrolled in the in-depth equitation program who was shy and typically forlorn, a tough combination in a sleepaway camp setting.
I kept an eye on her from day one, when I first met her during routine lice checks at the Health Office.
For a child who likely grew up with a swimming pool on her estate, Mackenzie was an awful swimmer. When Phoenix conducted swim placement tests at the beach that first day, Mackenzie made the top of the list of the “red light” kids—kids who posed a drowning threat.
“It’s bad, Taylor,” Phoenix shared at the staff meeting that night. “The second she takes her feet off the ground, she sinks like a ton of bricks.”
“Make sure she always has a buddy. I’ll get her a life jacket and we’ll keep it at the beach for her swim classes,” I instructed. Phoenix made a note on her clipboard.
The next morning, at breakfast, I found Mackenzie at the end of a long bench of kids in the Lodge. She was quietly munching on French toast when I knelt beside her.
“Mackenzie?”
The little girl looked at me with wide eyes.
“I’m Taylor. I just wanted to come say hi.”
“Am I in trouble?” the little girl asked.
“No,” I reassured her. “I just thought we should meet. I heard you’re going to be with us for the whole summer.”
She nodded, looking intently at the puddle of syrup on her dish.
“That’s pretty cool. I’ll be here the whole summer, too. Do you know that a long time ago, I was the youngest kid at this camp?”
This piqued her interest. “Really?” she asked.
I nodded. “It’s true. There’s a picture of me up on the wall over there, in with the old cabin pictures. Cabin One, 2001. Anyway, back then, I didn’t know how to swim at all.”
“Swimming’s hard,” Mackenzie agreed.
“I know. I learned at the beach here, but it took some time. Anyway, I wanted to let you know that I got you something. A gift.”
“You did?” Her tiny nose wrinkled in confusion.
“I did. I got you a special life jacket. It has pink hearts on it. I hope that’s okay. I chose it just for you. It’ll be at the beach for when you have swim class. I want you to wear it when you go in the water, okay?”
Mackenzie nodded.
“The life jacket will help you float until you learn all the strokes and can swim on your own.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem. I’ll check in with you to see if you like it, okay?”
“Cool.”
Thus began our friendship. Every day, Mackenzie would look for me at meals and regale me with stories about how swim class went or what she learned with the horses.
She made me a friendship bracelet during a craft circle and tried to sit close by me on the nights where I led the group in singing "Bless this Camp" and Taps before bedtime.
On Beach Sunday, Mackenzie went off in search of beach glass to present me with, and on Movie Night, she asked if she could work the popcorn machine with me.
Before long, she became my little shadow.
Some people might have found this mildly uncomfortable at best, or annoying at worst. But I honestly didn’t mind.
From our interludes, I learned that Mackenzie lived in a sprawling home with revolving au pairs who took care of her.
Her father ran a bank in the city and her mother hosted charity functions at their “other house” in the Hamptons.
She had every toy a child could want but few people to play with, and she went to a strict school where she had to wear a uniform and keep quiet most of the time.
She was a good kid, and although she was shy, she opened up to me.
She told me she didn’t like going to school, was scared of horses, and wanted to be a chef or a fashion designer when she grew up.
She loved to sing, but she only sang when she was alone because she didn’t want to bother anyone.
She loved kittens, but she wasn’t allowed to have any pets in her house.
August 9th started out like any other day. The routine I followed unfolded like usual, but after breakfast when I called for cabin attendance, I learned that Mackenzie was at the nurse’s office.
“What’s she got?” I asked.
“Don’t know,” her counselor replied. “Just said she wasn’t feeling well.”
I had a busy morning planned with the CITs, so I didn’t have a chance to check the horse stables to see if Mackenzie went to class that morning.
At lunch, though, I scanned the Lodge and couldn’t find her anywhere.
I told Pat I was going to take a quick stroll down to the Health Office to check on her, and he promised to cover songs after lunch if I didn’t make it back in time.
When I got there, Marilyn was seated at her desk, having a sandwich and a fruit cup. “Everything okay?” she asked, looking up from her meal.
“Yeah. I was just wondering if you’ve got Mackenzie Brooks here with you today.”
Marilyn nodded, swallowing. “She’s sleeping in the back.”
“Sleeping? It’s the middle of the day.”
“I know. She complained of a headache and general body aches. I gave her some Motrin and told her she could lie down for as long as she needed. A little while ago, she fell asleep. I think she may have been crying for a bit. I heard some noise back there when I was on the phone with a parent earlier. But when I went to check, she was out like a light.”
“Can I see her health form?” I asked.
“Sure,” Marilyn agreed. She went over to the file cabinet and pulled out the child’s folder.
I scanned the form, looking for any health history or red flags, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. Then, just as I was about to close the folder, I noticed something.
“Marilyn, what’s today?”
“Tuesday.”
“Right, but what’s the date?”
“August 9th.”
“Look,” I pointed. “It’s her birthday.”
“Poor girl,” Marilyn shook her head. “That stinks to feel sick on your birthday.”
But I knew it was more than that. Mackenzie wasn’t sick; she was sad. Her parents weren’t there to celebrate with her. For all I knew, they might have forgotten entirely.
“I have to run. But walkie me if there’s any change, okay?”
“Sure; will do.”
I ran to the office first, grabbing the mail for Cabin Five and checking if anything had come addressed to Mackenzie Brooks.
Nothing. I checked the shelf where they kept the care packages, but it was empty.
I hustled back to the Lodge, and although the post-meal singing had begun, I went straight into the kitchen to see Dottie.
“Everything okay?” Dottie asked. “You look kind of flushed.”
“Where’s the birthday list?” I asked.
“Right over here,” she replied, pointing to a list of names thumbtacked to a corkboard above the sink.
I scanned it. There it was, plain as day: Mackenzie Brooks, August 9th.
“So, you’re good for tonight?”
“Of course. Got my cake supplies all set for this afternoon.”
“Great. Just checking. Thanks, Dottie.”
My mind raced. Birthdays were hard for kids at camp, but usually, parents made arrangements to take their children out for the day, which was why the birthday cake and celebration was always done at dinnertime.
Suddenly, I thought of a plan. In the absence of parents, I would have to create something special enough to make things okay. And quickly. I didn’t want the poor girl to spend the whole day with the nurse.
I told Pat I had to run a quick errand. An hour later, I was back at the Health Office. “Any change?” I asked Marilyn.
“She’s awake, and I gave her some Jell-O. She didn’t want to go to third period, so I just let her be. She’s reading in the back.”
“Perfect. Thanks, Marilyn.”
I headed back behind the curtain to find Mackenzie curled up under a thin, pink blanket. She was thumbing through an old Archie comic book. When she saw me, her face showed a small sign of hope.
“Hiya, kiddo,” I said. “May I sit?” I gestured at the foot of the bed.
Mackenzie nodded.
“I’ve been looking for you everywhere! You weren’t at breakfast or at lunch.”
“Yeah. I’m not feeling good today.”
“That’s a bummer. Hey, can you walk?”
Mackenzie looked confused. “Uh huh. I can walk. Why?”
“Then come with me a sec.”
She followed me out of the Health Office. I instructed her to sit on the stoop while I went to my car to get something.
“Close your eyes,” I told her. Mackenzie listened.
A moment passed, and I returned. “Okay, now open.”
Mackenzie Brooks opened her eyes to find a kitten on a purple harness leash in my arms. The kitten was brown with gray stripes and was wrapped in a towel. On the floor sat an empty pet carrier.
Her whole face lit up. “Oh! So cute!”
“Happy birthday,” I offered.
“This is for me?” Mackenzie asked.
“Well, technically, she’ll live at the farm. But I know you said you love kittens and could never have one. So, for the rest of camp, she’s yours. You get to name her, and you can help take care of her. And then, if you come back next year, she’ll be here waiting for you.”
I carefully placed the kitten in Mackenzie’s lap. “Be careful of her tiny claws,” I warned. “They’re sharp.”
Mackenzie rocked the little kitten and began to cry quietly. “My parents didn’t come,” she whimpered.
“I know, honey. But I’m sure they’ll make it up to you.”
“All the other birthday kids’ parents came.”
“That’s true,” I replied. “But I promise you this. I didn’t get a single one of them a baby kitten.”
Mackenzie laughed, wiping the tears from her cheeks.
“And later, we’ll have a cake, and if you want, you can sit with me at dinner.”
“Really? At the staff table?”
“Sure.”
“I think I’m going to name her Taylor. After you.”
My heart broke at the sincerity of the gesture. “That’s sweet. It’s a good name too. We look alike, I think.” I laughed.
We spent some time that afternoon at the farm, getting the kitten acquainted with her new surroundings.
That evening, as promised, Mackenzie was the envy of all her cabinmates as she ate dinner with the grown-ups at the staff table.
Dottie brought out the giant sheet cake, and Mackenzie made a wish and ran around the perimeter of the Lodge, in Sound Hollow tradition.
Matt wore a proud smile as Mackenzie filled the whole table in on how she was treated to a special birthday gift.
“You did good,” Pat told me. Matt couldn’t stop grinning. I felt like a hero.
After dinner, Mackenzie went back to her cabin to get ready for evening activity. Thankfully, it was Cabin Night, so I had the rest of the evening off. It had been a long day, so Matt and I planned to head back to his place to sit on the couch and watch a movie.
I decided to leave my car at the Lodge for the night and ride back with Matt. In the truck, I was beaming.
“That was such a great idea,” Matt said.
“Thank you. I wanted to find a way to make her feel special without giving her special treatment, you know?”
“Totally. You nailed it. To think, what kind of parents forget their kid’s birthday?”
I shook my head.
We made a left turn through the gate on girls’ side and were surprised to see a car parked in front of Matt’s house.
A woman sat on his stoop. She looked our age, maybe a year or two younger.
She had teal fingernails and long, black hair.
Her knees were pulled into her chest, making her look like a child, even though she wore a full face of makeup and was unquestionably gorgeous. Her demeanor struck me.
“Oh, shit,” Matt said, pulling the truck up slowly behind the car intruding in his parking spot.
“What? Who is that?”
He shook his head in disbelief.
“Matt? Who is she?” I asked again. Envy rose in my throat like bile.
His eyes didn’t leave the stoop. Even though he was seated right next to me, all of a sudden, he seemed a million miles away. My mind raced, my stomach turned, and I instantly feared the worst. But Matt could only offer a single word in response.
“Leyla.”