Matthew Costello - Vacation

One lifeguard was still on duty with twilight bringing a gray and silvery look to the water, the yellow sand now turning dark as well.

The lifeguard, sixteen, maybe seventeen, bronzed by the summer, looked at his watch and jumped down to the sand.

Christie watched the next few moments with a mix of concern, fear, and fascination. Almost as if she was spying.

The lifeguard in a white polo shirt, collar up. Grabbing his backpack, he looked up and saw Kate.

Christie wanted to whisper, Move on… she’s only thirteen.

But she watched the boy grin, a nod in Kate’s direction, and then start up from the beach.

For a moment, Christie remembered what it was like to be young.

The boy walked past Christie, who hoped she wasn’t radiating an “I’m the mom” vibe.

Her motherly spying over, she continued down to the water.

Jack got out of the Explorer. The lot sat in the dark with only two tall lights at opposite corners of the sea of cars.

Guess they don’t want people going on any joyrides at night.

Standing there, he looked at those two lights, the small milky pools each made.

Near the light to the right, he saw the narrow roadway leading up.

The service road.

Jack wondered what the rest of this operation, this camp, was like.

He looked up.

Any security cameras here?

None that he could see, but it would make sense. Didn’t every public space have security cameras?

Whatever cameras they had here—if they had any at all—were well hidden.

He slammed the door and went to the back of the SUV.

The electronic key popped open the back.

Now empty, save for blankets, a map book. A New York State Atlas. The Mid-Atlantic Region.

He pushed them aside and lifted up the covering over the storage area.

So dark here.

There was a flashlight in the glove compartment.

But then if they had security cameras here, they might also see.

A chance he’d have to take.

He went and got the light.

Christie walked over to Kate, and smiled.

“You okay?”

“Sure, Mom. Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

Conversation with a thirteen-year-old could be tricky. Questions invited questions back. Questions in general—never welcome.

“Good. Nice here, hm?”

“S’okay. I like the lake.”

Kate turned back to the water.

“Me, too. We’ll get a full day down here tomorrow. Swim, use the boats. I think you’ll have fun.”

Kate nodded, neither confirming nor denying the possibility.

Christie stood there. She thought of all those years ago, before the Can Heads, when she and Jack first thought about having kids.

When she decided that she wouldn’t be a working mom, like her own mother. That she’d leave her teaching job.

She’d raise her kids.

Jack liked the idea as well.

Though there would never be a lot of money, there’d be enough.

And when the great famine started, the worldwide drought—whatever the hell it was that changed things forever—the decision made even more sense. Christie taught the kids—and life closed in.

In a world with Can Heads, being home seemed like the only sensible thing.

Kate turned to her, as if sensing that Christie had drifted.

“Where’s Simon? Dad?”

“Guess Simon’s still playing with those kids. He’ll be here soon. Your dad’s parking the car.”

Kate nodded.

Together they waited.

“Stop right there, kid.”

Simon didn’t move. The man’s voice sounded mean, the way he barked at him.

Had he done something wrong, was he in trouble?

The man came between Simon and the fence.

Simon couldn’t see much, but the man held a gun. He could see that. And he was tall… big.

Bigger than Dad, Simon thought.

“I’m sorry,” Simon said, not really knowing what he was apologizing for.

The man took another step.

“You’re not supposed to be over here. There are no trails over here. You’re supposed to stay on the trails, kid.”

Simon nodded, then realizing that his head movement wouldn’t be seen, he said, “Yes. I—”

Simon wanted to explain about the other kids, the bigger kids who got him to play here, to play hide-and-seek. That brought him here, to this man, to the fence.

He didn’t mean to go somewhere he shouldn’t.

For a moment, the man didn’t say anything.

“Now you just turn around, son. And walk back. That way.”

Simon made a pointing gesture somewhere over his shoulder.

“Over that way? There?”

“Yeah. Nice and straight. You’ll come to one of the paths. Make a left on it. Keep walking.”

“Okay. I’ll do that.”

Simon wanted to ask, Will you tell my parents?

But instead he started to turn, feeling the man with the gun, this guard, looking at him.

He walked as straight as he could.

Step after step.

Nice and straight.

Almost all the light faded here.

And the other kids? Had they run away when they saw the guard? Or had Simon gotten so lost that they had never been around here at all?

He blinked.

Hoping he could tell when he reached the path.

He made promises to himself. Going to stay only on the paths. And maybe he wouldn’t play with those bigger kids. He’d stay close to his family, their cabin.

The crunchy covering of the forest changed. A path. Barely able to be seen, but he could feel the smooth flat dirt of a trail.

Simon turned left.

“Hey, where’s Jack?”

Tom and Sharon had walked close to Christie, near the warm glow of the bonfire.

“Oh, he’s coming, Tom.” Then: “Think the kids are okay? It’s getting dark…”

Tom nodded. “Sure. But I’ll go find the hide-and-seekers and bring ’em back alive!”

He walked away.

Christie stood alone with Sharon.

“So, where do you guys live?” Christie asked.

“Yonkers. Know it? Quieter than the city. If you know what I mean. You?”

“Staten Island. Same thing. Quiet. Isolated.”

Quiet. A new code word.

Meaning no break-ins. No attacks. With the flames flickering, reflected on the water—that world seemed so far away.

“Good for the kids there. I know that’s what’s important to Tom.”

“Got to think about your kids.”

Sharon turned to her. “Well, yes. But they’re not my kids.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Tom—his wife died a few years back. She died when the drought came. Some illness. They didn’t understand.”

“Did it have anything to do with what happened? To the crops, the farms?”

“The doctors didn’t know. I was her friend. And I, well, I helped him through things. Just a friend. At first. But then… we got married.” The woman, now seen in an entirely different light by Christie, took a breath. “Seemed to make sense. Now, they’re mine . They know that. Tom knows that. That’s how I feel. They’re my kids now.”

“Good for you.”

Silence. Then: “The boys, your boys—they seem happy.”

“I hope so. It’s hard. But I try my best.”

Tom’s voice rang out: “Got them. Safe and sound.”

Christie turned to see the two Blair kids walking side by side, and then off on his own, yards away, Simon.

Christie’s instincts told her something had happened.

But that could wait for later.

Back at the open trunk, Jack aimed the light at the storage compartment key hole.

He saw something—stray marks around the hole. Small scratches.

All the marks of someone trying to break in.

I would have seen those marks before.