Elaine Wolf - Camp

“Well, it’s my pleasure, girls. So make yourselves comfortable. Mi casa es su casa , as they say in… ummm… Spain. Isn’t that right? So let’s see.…” Aunt Helen cupped her chin and looked around, as if noticing for the first time this room devoid of furniture. “Why don’t you girls get settled on the bear rug.”

“Why, thank you, Mrs. Becker,” Patsy said. “It’s right nice of you to have us over this evening.”

“No problem at all. So sit down, girls. Ed should be back in a jiff.”

Rory pulled Jessica to the bear. They sat by its head, facing the door, Rory’s legs spread-eagled around the bear’s skull. She stroked it as if petting a dog. The rest of us scrunched like a litter of pups toward the back of the rug. Once we were seated, cross-legged, Patsy settled herself behind Rory. I noticed my counselor tuck her legs to the side, like a girl in a meadow, waiting for someone to bring her a picnic basket.

Aunt Helen moved to the table. She fiddled with plastic spoons, rearranged paper napkins. “Now where in the dickens is that man?” she muttered. “One little errand—ice cream and sodas—and he’s gone for over an hour. Probably chatting with every counselor who’s out for the evening. Why it’s a wonder that man ever gets anything done with all the gabbing he does.”

“I think she means flirting,” Rory said, twisting to face Patsy, who addressed Aunt Helen. “Don’t you fret now, Mrs.

Becker. I’m sure Mr. Becker’ll be arrivin’ right shortly.”

“Thank you, dear. And please, call me Helen.”

“Yes, Helen. I’m sure he’ll be along soon.”

“I’m just sorry to keep you girls waiting.” Aunt Helen stacked and restacked bowls, picked up plastic spoons, and fanned them in a paper cup.

“No problem, ma’am,” Rory said. “We don’t mind waiting for your husband to get back. No siree. Not one bit.”

Someone must have suggested we sing. As if a leader raised a baton, we started in the same breath:

We didn’t hear Uncle Ed’s car pull up behind the house. We didn’t hear him walk around front. “Ah, the voices of angels,” he said, toeing open the door. “I could listen all night.”

“What in the world took you so long?” Aunt Helen called from the corner by the party table. “I swear, I’ve got a good mind to do all the errands myself from now on. Leave you here next time to entertain our guests.”

“Why, that would be a pleasure, my dear.” Uncle Ed hugged grocery bags as he crossed the room toward Aunt Helen. “An absolute pleasure,” he said with a wink as he passed our huddle. “Keep singing, girls.” He unloaded treats onto the table behind which Aunt Helen stationed herself. “The voices of angels. No sweeter sound in the world.”

We worked our way through “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot” and “Joshua Fit The Battle Of Jericho.” After the last walls came tumblin’ down , Aunt Helen invited us to step up for ice cream.

Uncle Ed dashed from the table. “You too,” he said to Patsy, offering his hands to guide her from the rug. A familiar gesture, followed by a flicker of memory: a picnic. A long time ago. Before Charlie. Robin and I sit on the grass. My parents on a blanket with Aunt Helen and Uncle Ed. My uncle gets up and holds his hands out to my mother, helps her to her feet.

Now I watched him help Patsy. “Why thank you, Mr. Becker,” she said, her drawl suddenly making my stomach flip.

“Such formality. My goodness, Patsy. Call me Ed.”

“And the show begins,” Rory said.

We lined up for our second dessert of the day—two too many, my mother would have pointed out.

“Ed, come on back here and help me scoop this,” Aunt Helen said. “It’s hard as a rock. If you were going to take your time at the store, least you could’ve done is pick up the ice cream first, let it soften a bit while you talked yourself out. Now how in the world do you expect me to serve this?”

“Allow me,” Uncle Ed offered.

Aunt Helen moved from behind the table.

“Why not let me help, Mr. Becker? Ed.” Patsy pushed in next to him.

Aunt Helen stalked over to the bear rug as if on a mission.

“What?” Jessica asked when Rory punched her arm.

“Nothing. Forget it,” Rory answered. “What flavors you got there, Mr. B.?”

I turned to watch my aunt fluff the rug as if it were a quilt. She straightened the bear’s head. It drooped to the side. She righted it. It fell again.

Aunt Helen seemed to work hard at ignoring her husband and Patsy at the party table, where we made sundaes. Chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry ice cream. Marshmallow topping. Chocolate syrup. Whipped cream in a can. Nuts. Colored sprinkles. Maraschino cherries.

Girls giggled as they sprayed Redi-Whip like shaving cream. They built their concoctions—the bigger, the better— crowning mountains of ice cream with syrup and nuts. Pure joy. I wanted that: joy without what if . What if my mother saw me eating this? What if I poured on extra syrup, took more nuts?

“Hey, Patsy,” Rory said, sucking whipped cream off her fingers. “Mmmm. Yummy. Want some?”

“Go sit down, Rory. I’m not fooling with you now.”

“Who’s fooling?”

“I think you’ve got enough there in your dish, young lady,” Uncle Ed said. “Sit down and eat.”

“But I just thought Patsy might like this, Mr. B. And a cherry too. A nice big juicy one.” Rory ogled Uncle Ed as she pulled a cherry from its stem with her teeth.

“See, that’s what I mean, Ed,” Patsy said. “That’s the behavior.”

“Wait a minute. You’ve been talking about me?”

“What Patsy and I talk about is none of your business, young lady. But I’ll tell you this: You clean up your act, or no camp store for a week.”

“Come on now, Mr. B. You wouldn’t take that away from me,” Rory said, drawing out each word. A smile played at her mouth. “Not a nice man like you.”

“I sure would. And you keep this up, I’ll take away rest hour privileges too.”

“Ah, come on, Mr. B. Just because I’m on to you, you wouldn’t deny me privileges. Just ’cause I see what’s going on here. Such a nice, handsome man like you, you wouldn’t want me to be sad now, would you?”

“Keep going, Rory, and you won’t have to worry about privileges. You keep up this inappropriate behavior, and I’ll send you home.”

Yes! Keep it up! Send her home! I wanted to shout.

Rory’s smile grew in defiance. “You just try and kick me out of camp, Mr. B., and you’ll see how fast other parents get wind of what you did—sending me home for no reason at all, no reason except maybe… maybe I turn you on. That’s it, isn’t it? That’s what this is about. Scary thought, though. A girl your daughter’s age. Your daughter’s friend, in fact. Maybe you want to do pretty Patsy and me at the same time. How does that sound, Mr. B.?”

We clustered in silence around the table, Rory’s words more seductive than ice cream. “What’s she saying about Patsy?” Aunt Helen called, giving up on the bear.

“Nothing, dear,” Uncle Ed said, his voice as sugared as sundaes. “Nothing for you to concern yourself with, Helen. Just Rory talking nonsense, that’s all.”

Rory slammed down her bowl. I watched whipped cream topple to the table as if in slow motion. “You call that nonsense?” she said. “Well, I gotta differ with you there, Mr. B. Ask anyone. Go ahead. Anyone with eyes can see you’re a ladies’ man. And just wait till I tell my parents. Why, you won’t even know what hit you when the word gets out and you start losing campers. Yes indeedy. Great first season, huh, Mr. B.?”