“I’m drowning. It pains me to even say this, but I need help, and I just don’t have the budget to add another set of hands,” she whispers to someone on the phone. She’s standing in the dark, only the light of her monitor illuminating her face. She nods and hums as she types her little heart away.
“I know, but who’s going to do it? I’m interviewing new counselors to replace the ones who aren’t returning. A million things need to be fixed and done before then. Schedules? Don’t know her. Ordering supplies? I have no clue when that’s gonna happen. The social media is also dead because I haven’t had the time to work on it, which means enrollment is down, and if it doesn’t pick up,” she sighs, “I don’t think we can operate like this for longer. I know the camp was Mom’s dream, but I don’t know how much more I can try and make it work without it collapsing the entire operation instead.”
Oh no.
I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but damn, that sounds terrible. It’s definitely worse than she’s let on, and who is she even talking to?
“I don’t know. If I sleep four hours tonight, I might be able to get done with more on the list. And maybe we’ll have the schedule by Friday. I’m thinking if I post them online, people will be excited about the new activities, and we’ll get another boost.”
Schedules?
That’s not that hard, right? I can do that! And what if I do it, and she doesn’t know until it’s done? Then she won’t be worrying about it.
Oh my gosh, you genius. Of course I can do that.
And order supplies? I can do that too. For what, though?
“No, no, you already do enough. I’m thankful for your listening ear. Sometimes, that’s all I need.”
She gasps as our eyes lock. Oops.
“Riley, you scared me!” she shouts, her hand on her chest. “I gotta go.” She hangs up, setting her phone back on top of her desk. If she thinks I overheard her, she doesn’t show it. She just looks at me the way she always does, disapproval and disappointment behind her eyes as she braces for whatever it is I’m going to say.
“I have cash and checks from today.” I hand her the envelope, which she takes without uttering a word. “Sorry I’m so late. I had some complications, but I made it back in one piece. More importantly, everyone was so happy.”
She nods. “Thanks, Riley. This was helpful.”
She’s thanking me? I might need to play the lottery this week or something.
“Don’t sweat it. Is there anything else I can do to help?” I ask.
Please ask me to do something.
Please give me some tasks.
Please believe in me.
“Not at the moment.”
I look at my feet, defeated, ready to turn around and leave when she adds, “Actually.” I perk up like a sunflower chasing the sun. “Did you take inventory of the shed by any chance?”
Fuck, no.
I shake my head.
“That’s alright. I didn’t think about it until today. Do you think you can do that tomorrow? I need to order art supplies, but I want to make sure I only order what’s needed. Things are tight right now.”
“Yup. Can do. Do you want me to place the order too?”
She narrows her eyes.
“Lilly, I know how to order things online.”
She doesn’t answer, just writes something down, completely ignoring my pleas. I think Lilly grew accustomed to me getting my way, and she just ignores me now when I can’t. My dad had a sweet spot for me, mostly because they thought I was going to be aboy for the longest time—ultrasound error—and then little boy Riley turned out to be a little girl. One who gave my parents a run for their money, and Dad just felt guilty all the time because, according to him, for a second, he was disappointed I wasn’t a boy.
I don’t blame him one bit. It must have been shocking, but Mom always said it wasn’t even a minute long. She said he blinked twice, and then tears were running down his cheeks when he held his third daughter in his hands.
She hands me the paper. “This is my vendor. Just count how much we have and order enough supplies for…let’s say fifty kids?”
