Things I Can't Forget (13 page)

At midnight I sit on my porch and open my sketchbook to start writing her a letter, trying to explain what I feel. She hung up on me. She kicked me out. Why can’t she understand I only want her to pray with me? I wipe a tear away with the heel of my hand.

When I had surgery, Emily sat in the waiting room the entire time. Afterward, she drove home with me and my parents and curled up in my bed with me. She poured my favorite candy, Milk Duds, into my palm. For days she kept my water glass full and read aloud from trashy Hollywood magazines and told me how, at school, Will Whitfield had asked how I was doing. She played P!nk songs as we lay in bed, singing so loud Daddy told us to shush because Fritz kept howling along.

I tear the sheet of paper out of my sketchbook and crumple the letter in my fist.

Why say anything if the person you’re talking to doesn’t get what you’re saying?

Is our friendship over for good?

•••

“This is inhumane.”

Parker has said that, like, eighty gazillion times, but after she didn’t show up for the Critter Crawl last week, Megan warned her that if she skipped it again, her pay would be docked.

Therefore, while the rest of us counselors are grappling with the campers, Parker is standing with her arms crossed. Glaring.

“Dude, your girlfriend looks pissed,” Ian mutters to Will.

One of my boy campers waves a glass jar containing a gigantic spider.

“That poor animal,” Parker says. “He might never see his family again.”

Ian is in charge of the Thursday afternoon Critter Crawl, so he takes a stick and draws a big ring in the dirt road. Then he makes a smaller circle inside it. At the same time, Megan walks over to Parker. And even though Megan’s talking quietly, I can tell by Parker’s expression that she’s done something wrong.

Will nudges Ian, pointing at Megan. Ian rolls his eyes and turns his back so the kids can’t see, and makes a jerking-off motion with his hand. The guys speak quietly to each other, then start laughing.

“Attention, Critter Crawl participants, attention,” Ian yells, sounding like an announcer in a boxing ring. “The first critter to make it out of the ring will win eternal glory!”

The campers roar and jump up and down, hollering.

“You’re going down,” Matt tells a girl carrying a plastic cup, her hand covering the top so her butterfly won’t get free.

She makes a face at Matt. “I beat you so bad last year, King.”

Ian says, “Team Sparrow’s lizard and Team Dogwood’s cockroach, please come forward.”

“The cockroach’s name is Harry!” a kid says.

“You let your kids capture a cockroach?” Andrea blurts at Eric, who shrugs and keeps on whittling a stick.

Ian goes on, “There’s been a last minute change to the Critter Crawl roster. The lizard and Harry have been disqualified.”

“What?” yells a boy. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

“Noooooo,” another boy screams, raising fists in the air.

“On what grounds are they disqualified?” Megan asks, rushing forward to inspect the critters in their glass jars.

I bite down on my thumb, trying not to laugh. These kids are acting like it’s Armageddon. I walk over to Parker. She runs a hand through her plaited hair, staring at the ground.

“You all right?” I ask.

“Fine. If I didn’t need the money so bad, I’d be so out of here…” she mutters.

“Never fear!” Ian calls out to the hundred campers surrounding the circle. “We have two new contestants!”

“A snake?” a boy asks, causing all the girls to start screaming and running around. Megan looks like she might murder Ian.

“It’s even better than a snake,” Ian replies. Will and Ian bump fists, and Ian comes running at me. He throws me over his shoulder and runs around in front of the campers. Will does the same thing to Parker.

“It’s Critter Kate!” Ian shouts.

I pound on Ian’s back, yelling, “Put me down! Maattttt!”

When Ian swings me around, I find Matt cracking up, and even Megan and Eric are laughing.

“I’m so breaking up with you,” an upside-down Parker says to Will.

“I feel like I’m on a ride at the fair,” I say, woozy. “I might throw up.”

“Gah!” Ian says, plopping me down in the center of the ring.

Parker slaps Will when he lets her down, and then she goes and slaps Ian, and then she slaps Matt, I guess for good measure.

Ian claps his hands together. “It’s Critter Crawl time. Let’s get ready to rumble!”

The sun begins to set as the campers cheer for their critters. I catch my breath, sitting off to the side with Parker, watching Matt root for his team’s beetle, feeling a bit of heaven inside me.

After the race is over (Harry the cockroach lost to Team Bluebird’s granddaddy longlegs), I walk with Ian to let the critters go free. He has four glass jars in his hands.

“That was nice of you to take the attention off Parker,” I tell him, as I release the lizard back into the woods. He scurries away.

Ian squats and places the jars at his feet. “Megan needs to get laid. She’s so crotchety.”

“Carlie said the same thing,” I say.

“Sometimes I think she and I share the same brain,” Ian replies with a small grin, which quickly disappears.

“What’s wrong?”

“Are you and Matt going out now?” he asks. He opens a glass jar and coaxes the beetle out.

“Not yet,” I say quietly.

“But you want to be, right?”

“Yeah.”

He screws the lid back on the jar. Stares at it. “Maybe seeing you with Matt will make Carlie want to try it with me.”

“You guys aren’t dating?”

“Not officially.”

“But you guys, um, are like, behind the cafeteria all the time.”

“You know about that, huh?”

“Everybody knows about that.”

He pauses, his eyebrows pinching together. I squat down next to him.

“So Carlie doesn’t want to date?” I ask.

Ian releases a granddaddy longlegs, thinking. “We went to the same high school and church, but different colleges. I hadn’t seen her in over a year until we got jobs here last summer…” He glances at me. “I’ve always liked her.”

“Go on,” I reply.

“Last summer I told her I wanted a relationship, but she didn’t want that with anybody, you know, right in the middle of college and all. I guess she doesn’t want to get tied down. I was hoping she might want to try for real this summer…but—”

“But?”

He looks up at my face. “I’m not going to pressure her. I’d rather it just happen naturally if it’s going to.”

“Um, why are you sleeping with her if it’s not serious?”

He laughs a little, seeming even sadder. “I just can’t help it.”

“I just don’t get that.”

“You and me both.” He stands, wipes off his hands, and grabs the jars, motioning toward the cafeteria. “Dinner?”

“Yeah.”

We walk together back up the hill. “Thanks for listening,” he says quietly. “I’ve been praying about it…but sometimes it’s good to say it out loud.”

I nod slowly. If I said what I helped Emily to do out loud, would it change things? Make me feel better?

I don’t see how it could.

what happened last night

The campers are showering and getting ready for the dance, so I grab my portfolio and a pencil.

Last night, Eric made me start the fire and get the hobo packs going all by myself. He basically ignored me while he played with fishing lures. I had no Crisco and no starter log and no hope.

I sketch the patch of kindling I stuffed under the logs. Bits of hay and grass.

I used a match to get it going. My flame went out three times, but I kept trying and finally, on the fourth try, the kindling got hot enough to catch a few sticks on fire. From there, the logs didn’t have a chance.

“Nice,” Eric said to me, smiling, and went back to his tackle box. I grinned to myself and told each camper to tear off a piece of aluminum foil.

“Wrap it like a burrito!” I told them.

I smile to myself as I draw the scene: a fire blazing next to a bunch of campers stuffing their faces.

It’s nearly time for the Thursday Night Dance. I hide my sketchbook under my pillow and use the rest of my time to pray, to say thanks for helping me start my fire.

saturday, june 16 ~ week 3 of 7

I’m making cheese and crackers when Daddy comes into the kitchen and tells me to meet him in his study to discuss college courses.

I carry my snack down the hall and step over Fritz, who’s napping in the entryway, and take a seat in a stiff armchair. Mom redecorated this room in January, so the cushion isn’t worn-in yet. Not like Daddy’s chair. I swear, the thing must be from 1965. Mom hates it. It’s orange, has multiple ink and coffee stains, and a big rip runs down the back of the upholstery. But she lets him keep it ’cause she loves him.

Pictures of me, Mom, Fritz, and Daddy’s hunting escapades fill the bookshelves and walls. Every other space is filled by dusty plants and gigantic law texts.

Daddy steps over the dog, carrying the Belmont registration booklet and an ice cream sundae covered with chocolate syrup, chocolate chips, peanuts, and cherries.

“You know you’re not supposed to eat that,” I warn.

“I know,” he says, smiling as he flops down in his orange chair. “But you only live once.” He crosses his leg and jiggles his loafer. “So which classes have you picked out?”

I pull a deep breath. “None. I have no idea what to do.”

“What about the pre-law track we talked about?”

“It just sounds…boring to me.”

He scoops some ice cream into his mouth. “Is that your way of saying you think I’m boring?”

I laugh. “No, no. I’m just not sure what I want to study.”

“That’s fine. You’ve got time.”

“Aren’t I supposed to pick out a major before I start school?” I bite into my cheese.

“Kate,” he starts. He stops to take another bite of ice cream. I give him a look and mutter “blood pressure” before he speaks again. “You don’t have to know right now. You can change your mind about what you want to do two years into college. Or after college. You could go back and study something else if you wanted to.”

I tap my sandals on the floor. “I love art, but I’m not sure I want to do it as a career. It’s just something for me.”

Daddy nods. “Why don’t we pick out a bunch of random classes and talk again after next semester?”

“Isn’t that a waste of your money?”

“Learning is never a bad thing. And neither is changing your mind about things…It’s always good to reevaluate. To think and consider all sides.”

I bite into a cracker and stare out the window. I don’t like that Matt’s in a frat. I don’t like how Emily’s been treating me. I don’t see how I could ever change my mind about those things. But at the same time, I love everything else about Matt. I love that he wants to run a marathon barefoot and I love that he can’t seem to get enough ranch dressing. I like how he touches my jaw and stares deep into my eyes, like I’m the only girl he’s ever seen.

He drinks beer and I know he wouldn’t mind sharing a bed with me.

But this week, when I asked him if he believes in God, he said, “What a silly question. Just look at that.” He turned me to face the sun setting above the rolling hills beyond camp.

If I were to ditch Matt and wait for a guy who’s 100 percent devout, I might end up with a guy who doesn’t stare at me like I’m the only girl he’s ever seen.

But living with an ugly orange chair is a lot different than putting up with a fraternity.

“Can we wait to register for classes?” I ask. “I need more time.”

Daddy smiles. “Let’s hold off for another week or two, okay?”

“Okay,” I say quietly.

“Can I ask you something?” he says, and I nod. “Can you tell me what happened with Emily? Why you’ve been so out of it?”

Care fills his voice. I don’t want to lie to him. “We had an argument about church and God.”

He raises his eyebrows. Takes another bite of ice cream. “And?”

“She doesn’t believe in God anymore.”

“And you do.”

“Of course, don’t you?”

Daddy leans onto his armrest, propping his jaw up with a fist. “It doesn’t matter what I believe. What matters is what you believe.”

“I believe in God. He loves us.”

“And Emily doesn’t believe that anymore…but she’s still your friend.”

I slowly shrug and stare down at the plate in my lap.

“Your truth isn’t everybody else’s truth. Your beliefs matter, right?” he asks.

“I think they do. Not everyone else thinks they do, though.”

“But you wish they respected your beliefs?”

I nod.

“So don’t you think Emily wants you to respect what she thinks?”

I set my plate on the coffee table and cross my arms across my stomach. Fritz wakes up and drags himself across the room and plops down at my feet. I pat his head.

“Tell me what’s going on with this boy,” Daddy says, smiling coyly. He scrapes the bottom of his bowl. “Matt.”

I bite my lower lip, smiling. “I like him. He invited me to dinner tonight to meet his family.”

“I’m glad. I can tell he’s something you’re serious about.”

“How can you tell?”

“He makes you smile when not much does anymore. Even drawing doesn’t make you smile like that.”

My face grows hot.

“Is he treating you right?” Daddy asks, looking down at the dog.

I clear my throat, thinking of how many times we kissed in the past week. I lost count after fifty. “Everything’s perfect.”

We sit in silence for a few moments. Something is nagging at me, and I just have to ask. “I care what you believe,” I say quietly. “When I asked if you believed in God a few minutes ago, you looked away.”

He leans back in his chair, shaking his loafer. Our eyes meet, but he says nothing.

I ask, “Why did you always make me go to church?”

“I’ve never made you go to church, Kate. Never. You’ve always enjoyed it…up until Emily left. I know you’ve been upset.”

“But you don’t really believe?”

He sets his bowl on the coffee table and leans over onto his thighs, peering up at me. “I’ve thought for years about this, Kate. I just don’t know. Part of me believes that a higher being created evolution.”

My chest burns. Is he saying he doesn’t believe in God?

Has he just been going through the motions all this time?

“Why do you go to church?” I whisper.

“I have friends there. It makes your mother happy. I like organ music.”

I can’t help but laugh.

“Do you pray?” I ask him.

“Doesn’t everybody pray sometime?”

He is fifty-two years old and still hasn’t figured this out. He’s right that my beliefs matter.

But why does no one else seem to share them anymore?

•••

Matt ushers me through his back door and we climb a short flight of steps to enter a madhouse.

His mom, a thin woman with bags under her eyes, is trying to make room on the table for dinner. She removes a tutu from the table and replaces it with a whole chicken.

“Jere,” she says. “For the tenth time, put away your tennis racquet. Please.”

A cute boy about my age doesn’t stop looking at his phone as he yanks the racquet off the table and stashes it under his chair.

“I don’t want lima beans!” a girl yells. This must be his littlest sister, Jenn. I remember Matt saying she’s six, about to turn seven in August.

“But beans are yummy,” Matt says, sweeping her up in his arms and kissing her cheek. He gives her a raspberry, blowing air against her face, and she’s giggling and squirming. “Jenn, I want you to meet someone special, okay?”

That’s when Matt’s mom and Jeremiah look up and see me. His mom pushes her damp blond hair off her forehead and wipes her hands on a dishtowel before coming to shake mine.

“Mom, this is Kate. Kate, this is my mother.”

She pats my shoulder and beams at Matt.

Jeremiah manages to put his phone down for approximately five seconds to say hi to me, but then goes right back to texting. Then Mr. Brown comes into the kitchen and moves a bunch of schoolbooks so his wife can set the bread and water on the table.

“It’s really nice to meet you,” he tells me, pushing his glasses up on his nose.

Mom would have a heart attack if she were to see their kitchen. Every visible surface is covered by toys, newspapers, and kitchen appliances. Why is an umbrella on top of the fridge? Why is a sock hanging from the ceiling fan? I don’t think the room has been redecorated in years, judging by the faded blue-and-yellow-flowered wallpaper. But I love it. It’s cozy and homey.

Matt wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me closer. Jeremiah watches Matt holding me and raises his eyebrows, then goes back to texting. That’s when five girls strut into the kitchen. One of them must be his sister, Lacey, who’s twelve.

I figure out which one she is pretty quickly because she pinches Matt’s arm and says, “You brought a girl home!” Then proceeds to tease Matt.

“You’re just jealous ’cause Dad won’t let you date,” Matt says to Lacey, and she scowls.

“Not until you’re ninety,” Mr. Brown says, placing a roll of paper towels in the middle of the table.

“Who’d want to date me then?” Lacey asks, plopping down in a chair. “I’ll be all wrinkly. Gross.”

“My dad says I can date when I’m sixteen,” one of Lacey’s friends says, looking pointedly at Jeremiah, who keeps right on texting.

Matt whispers in my ear. “Slumber parties freak me out. Last time she had one they played Truth or Dare and someone got dared to launch an Apple Pie Water Gun Kissing Attack at me.”

“What’s that?” I whisper back.

“You don’t want to know.” He shudders. I laugh softly, and he kneads my lower back.

I catch his mom and dad watching us. They share a meaningful glance before focusing on dinner again.

“Kate, Kate,” Jenn says, patting the table. “Sit by me.”

That’s when I notice nearly every seat is filled. “Oh, um, I’m not sure there’s room.”

His parents’ heads pop up. I watch them count the chairs.

“One second,” Mr. Brown says. He comes back and squeezes an eleventh chair in for me. He moves a pile of Barbies and a pair of shin guards so I can sit down between Jenn and Matt.

Holding hands, we say grace, and I’m grinning as Matt rubs his fingers back and forth across mine.

•••

After dinner, Matt and I grab a seat on the couch in the basement. Finally alone.

Our mouths move together slowly, grazing, testing. He massages the inside of my thigh.

While he was in the bathroom, I studied the pictures sitting on top of the grand piano in the living room. I was learning the faces of several generations of Matt’s family when his brother came up behind me.

“Please don’t hurt him,” Jeremiah said quietly, as he texted on his phone.

“What?” I asked.

“My brother. You’re not messing with him, right?”

“I think that’s the last thing I’d ever do.”

He peeked up from his phone, smiling slightly. “Good. So do you have any sisters? Or cousins?”

I laughed, and that’s when Matt appeared and gave me a piggyback ride down to the basement.

“I love your family,” I tell Matt, leaning over to press my lips to his.

“I love them too,” he says back. “But let’s not talk about them right now.”

I dip my head and our lips meet again. I can feel him smiling against my teeth.

That’s when Jenn comes running down the stairs, screaming at the top of her lungs. She’s wearing
Little
Mermaid
pajamas that look so comfortable. Matt breaks away from me as his little sister launches herself into his arms.

“Attack of the killer Jenn!” he says, tickling her. She escapes, but he chases her until she falls onto the floor. She howls and laughs and kicks at him as he tickles her. I’m getting exhausted just watching them play together, but I love that they have a connection. It makes me happy that she invited me to sit next to her at dinner.

When the Great Tickle Fest is over, he drags himself up onto the couch. Jenn climbs onto Matt’s lap and squeezes his nose. He stares back at her and that’s when I notice their eyes are an identical grayish blue, the color of Normandy Lake. If I ever have a little girl, I want her to sit on my lap and love me like that.

Was Emily’s baby a little boy or a little girl? Would she have had Emily’s straight auburn hair and green eyes? I find myself reaching out and touching Jenn’s elbow, to feel the skin, the reality.

“Jenn,” Mrs. Brown calls from upstairs. “Time for sleep.”

Jenn’s bottom lip begins to quiver and Matt wraps her up in a hug and kisses her cheek. “No tears,” he says. “I’ll see you first thing in the morning. You’ll wake me up, right?”

“Right,” she replies, bopping his nose with a finger.

“Good. How would I ever wake up without you?”

“An alarm clock, silly,” she says, rolling her eyes.

“Ohhh. Right. An alarm clock.” He knocks himself in the forehead, and she giggles again.

I smile at them.

“Jenn!” Mrs. Brown yells. “C’mon!”

“Night, Munchkin,” Matt says. His sister jumps off his lap and runs up the stairs.

I clear my throat and will my tears to dry up. Matt weaves his fingers with mine and we watch TV together, and I want nothing more than to be here with him in the now, but I can’t stop thinking. If I hadn’t agreed to take Emily to the clinic, she would’ve found another way there. If I had done that, would I feel so guilty now? Would I feel guilty just because I know what happened? Maybe if I hadn’t gone, Emily would’ve realized I didn’t support her whatsoever and would’ve come home and decided to keep the baby. Maybe by being there, I somehow validated her decision. Or maybe Emily would have felt abandoned and refused to talk to me after the abortion and sunk into depression and who knows what.

And now my own father questions the existence of God? I don’t know what to make of that.

I touch my cheek and focus on my lap.

“What’s up?” Matt whispers, taking in my face.

I lean my head against his shoulder. I can’t tell him what I’ve done. What kind of person I really am. “I’m just a bit down, is all.”

He squeezes my hand and kisses my hair. “Anything I can do?”

“Nah.” Just be with me, I want to say. But I’m not ready to let on how much he means to me yet.

“What did you mean that day at camp?” I ask. “When you told me I saved you?”