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I call out, “There goes the wave!”
Sulli lifts up Winona’s white shirt and blows a raspberry on her belly.
Winona laughs, “Sulli!”
Sulli tickles her sister’s sides. “Gotcha, squirt.”
I uncap a pen with my teeth and sign the top paper, rocking on my feet. Winona’s laughter fades, and I hear Sulli tell her that she’ll be right back. So I look up.
My daughter unzips her turquoise duffel, a matching sleeping bag rolled up nearby. Sulli wears this deep contemplative look. One that surfaces nearly every day. She re-zips her duffel and then scratches at her head, then near her hairline. That right there—the head-scratch—tells me that she’s nervous. She scratches just below her swim cap during “the most important” meets.
I haven’t signed another paper yet. However I feel about leaving Sulli here for a whole month might not even compare to how she feels.
I spit my pen cap out. “Guess what, Sulli?”
Sulli faces me and then walks closer. “What?”
“I have your cabin assignment.” I sift through the papers for her camp welcome letter. I meant to give it to her when we exit the office, but maybe this’ll take her mind off potential homesickness. Bam! I find the letter. I wave it at her and she snatches the envelope.
She unfurls the letter and reads quickly.
Winona is busy rolling on every beanbag.
Sulli’s shoulders sag, just slightly. “I thought I was going to be in the Yellow Daisy cabin?”
“Yellow Daisy is for ten-year-olds. You’ll be there in a couple years. Right now, you’re starting out in the Red Poppy cabin.”
Sullivan refolds the letter.
I scoot around the desk and then nudge her elbow with mine. “What’s up?”
“I don’t know…” She glances out the window and tugs at her loose-fitted tank top. Campers move into their wooden cabins and hug their parents goodbye. Some are weepy first-timers. Others are jubilant camp veterans. The excited ones race off towards the mess hall where the Welcome Bash will begin.
I always thought that’d be Sulli, and I think she thought it’d be her too. For years, she’s talked about being old enough to finally attend Camp Calloway.
Her long brown hair hangs in tangled waves. “Are you sure you can’t stay?” she asks. “Can’t you be a counselor this year?” She hops up on the desk.
I sit beside her, our legs swinging. She knows I’m the owner, not a counselor or director. “The counselors here are totally amazing, so hey, you’ll hardly know I’m not here.”
Sulli lifts her feet to the desk, her long, long legs tucked towards her chest. She touches her colorful ankle bracelets, as though ensuring they’re still there. We made tons this year already.
Sulli sets her chin on her knee and tilts her head towards me. “I already miss you and Nona and Dad, and you’re right here.”
Tears brim in both our eyes. We brush noses, and I whisper, “I’ll be back for Spirit Days. I know it’s far away, but there’s so much about camp that you’ll love.”
“Like what?” she says just as quietly.
“Horseback riding. You’ve never been horseback riding, and you feel free, Sulli. You’ll play huge games of capture the flag that’ll have your heart racing. Zip-lining, the beautiful lake, rock climbing. And then you’ll grow close to the girls in your cabin. You’ll stay up late at night telling stories. You might even go prank the boys’ cabins, just because you can.”
She laughs softly into a smile.
“You’ll probably hate the showers, but so will the other girls. You’ll laugh and bond and realize that you’re all equally homesick but at least you’re homesick together.”
Camp Calloway is as old as Sullivan Minnie Meadows. I never attended camp when I was her age, but throughout eight years, I’ve seen enough campers and their experiences to empathize and feel everything I say.
Sullivan drops her legs and swings them, a little more cheerful. “I wish Jane was here.”
I rub her back.
Jane was sick at the last minute. She tried very hard to come anyway. According to Rose, Jane packed her bag and sat in the car, waiting to go. They would’ve brought her too, but she had a hundred-and-one degree fever.
“Moffy is here,” I remind Sulli, though I know it’s not the same in her mind. Cabins are segregated between boys and girls. Some activities are too. So she won’t see Moffy all the time.
Sullivan takes a deep, hearty breath and glances at the window again. “We’re allowed to swim in the lake, right?” This is the tenth time she’s asked, worried the answer may change.
I reaffirm that there’s definitely swimming, and then I say, “So I have this theory.”
Sulli immediately smiles. “Can I guess?”
Theatrical, I wave her on. “My peanut butter cupcake.”
“Your theory is that I’ll make at least one lasting friend. If not this year, then next year, and if not next year, then the year after, and if not then, well…maybe I already have that kind of friend.”
She came up with this all on her own. It’s a theory with a positive outcome no matter what happens. We’re both smiling, and we’re both in tears again.
“That’s a brilliant theory if I ever heard one,” I say.
She laughs.
I laugh.
We hop off the desk together, and I hug my daughter.
“I love you so much, Mom.”
“I love you just as much.” We nuzzle noses again, and then when we break apart, she’s lighter on her feet. She picks up her bag.
“I can help. Do you need me to carry your duffel? I can walk you to the cabin?”
“No. I think I want to do this on my own.” She slings the duffel and tucks her sleeping bag beneath her arm. “Will you come say goodbye?”
I gasp. “You think I wouldn’t?”
She smiles. “No, I know you would.” I want to make sure she’s settled with her bunk and take some photos before we leave.
Sullivan clasps the door and waves to her little sister. “See you, squirt.”
Winona rolls off her beanbag. “Bye!” She has no clue Sulli won’t be around for a whole month, or else she’d be crying and grabbing onto Sulli’s legs. Ryke already prepared for a tantrum on the ride home. He bought two chocolate bars for me. Because chocolate is the cure to most things.
Cake is the cure to everything.
“Sulli,” I say before she goes. “You may see your dad out there.” I think he most likely went to test the rock wall, confirming that all the anchors are secure. He usually does this every summer, and some years, he’ll fill in as the climbing instructor for a week or during Spirit Days. “Just to warn you, he’ll want a hug before you leave and he may cry.”
Sulli smiles again.
“Oh and he may not want to leave you, so you’ll have to t
ry and convince him to come home with me.”
She laughs. “It won’t be hard. Dad loves you like…so much.”
I love him like so much too.
And then she’s out the door. I watch her through the door’s window, walking to the Red Poppy cabin alone and brave. So brave. Because every camper probably knows who she is before she even introduces herself. In the same breath, she has no idea who they are.
It’s unequal footing, but if there’s anyone who has the endurance and will to pull themselves higher—it’s Sullivan Minnie Meadows.
Just like her dad.
* * *
Outside, I sit on the wooden steps of the director’s office, Winona between my legs. She picks at my ankle bracelets and tries to unknot one. I wait for Ryke so we can say goodbye to Sulli.
Loren Hale leans against an oak tree only about fifteen feet away, his attention cast towards the White Rose cabins. Pretty far from here. I catch sight of Moffy’s shirt: a Vic Whistler logo from The Fourth Degree comics on the back. He talks with two other boys by those cabins.
I say aloud, “Accurate depiction of saying goodbye: hey, Daisy, this is going to suck as bad as you suck—”
“Whoa,” Lo cuts in, his gaze cemented on me. He points towards his black crew neck shirt. “Not your husband.”
I mock gasp. “You’re not? You look a lot like him.”
Lo flashes a dry smile and then says to Winona, “Your mom thinks she’s really funny.”
“Because she is!” Winona shouts.
I smile, and Lo feigns hurt. “Winona, you just pierced my heart.”
Winona tugs at my ankle bracelet and mumbles, “That’s because I’m a crab.”
Lo gives me a look like this child is one-hundred percent mine. “I thought I had a monkey for a niece?”
“Oh no, she’s a crab now.”
“Goddamn.”
Winona hears curse words too often to even flinch at that one.
Lo straightens off the tree, and he must remember the heart of what I said before. “The first time is the worst because you’re not sure if they like it or not, but Moffy couldn’t wait to come back. For a kid that isn’t very trusting of anyone, he was excited to go to a place populated by his peers. That’s something, Daisy. What you created, it’s good. It’s really goddamn good.”
