Forever . . . Page 13

  “This . . .” I said, holding up the disk.

  “Yes.”

  “It says Katherine on one side and Michael on the other.”

  “The guy you’re always writing to?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Can I see?”

  “Sure.”

  He stood very close to me and took it in his hand. He looked at the side that said Katherine first, then turned it over. “What’s forever supposed to mean?”

  “What do you think?” I asked.

  “I think forever’s one hell of a long time for a kid like you.”

  “I’m not a kid. I happen to be eighteen.”

  “Congratulations,” he said.

  Right after that I asked him to please stop calling me Kat.

  He said, “I can’t stop now . . . I’m used to it . . . besides, it suits you.”

  Now everyone at camp calls me Kat. I don’t mind as much as I did then.

  I got a letter from Michael.

  Dear Kath,

  I’m getting settled here. I’ve got my own room since my cousin, Danny, is away for the summer. His twin sisters are thirteen and remind me of Jamie. Tell her I said hello. I’m getting to be a first rate lumber stacker. Next week I get to work the saw. That’s a big step up! I think about you every night—all night.

  Love forever,

  Michael

  Dear Michael,

  Be careful with the saw! I don’t want anything to happen to your hands. I love them (and the rest of you isn’t bad either). Ha ha.

  Love forever,

  Kath

  Each staff member gets two short and one long night off each week. A long night means you don’t have to hang around for evening activity. You can leave right after supper and you don’t have to report in until the next morning.

  This week Theo asked if Nan and I would like to go into Laconia with him to see a movie. He has a car and we don’t. Naturally we accepted.

  I tried to arrange it so that I would sit next to Nan and she would sit between me and Theo but he decided it was only fair that he sit in the middle, since he was the only guy. He put one arm around each of us but I knew that it was just a joke. It’s funny, the way you get to know summer friends so well in a short period of time, especially at camp, when you are thrown together morning, noon and night.

  Sometimes I dream that Michael and I are making love. I can understand that. But in the middle of the night after the movie, I woke up drenched with perspiration and ashamed—more ashamed than I’ve ever been in my life. I dreamed I was with Theo. It was so real—I could smell him, taste him, feel him—and I wanted him so much. I did things to him that I have only read about.

  I wrote Michael a four-page letter the next day, to keep my mind where it belongs. I stayed as far away from Theo as I could. Even so, I knew there was something growing between us. Something I was afraid to even think about.

  Every night, from 8:00 to 10:00, the canteen is open and the campers can hang out in there, listening to music, dancing and getting snacks. Theo dances with the younger kids, like Jamie, but avoids the older ones, like Marsha. You can tell he’s not looking for trouble. Nan doesn’t dance at all. She says she has two left feet. That presents a real problem because dancing can be a very good way to get two people together. And Theo likes to dance. If only he would look at Nan the way he looks at me. If only my insides didn’t turn over every time our eyes meet.

  Tonight, Marsha put on this slow song and all the kids booed her because they prefer hard rock. They don’t even know how to touch-dance. But Marsha wouldn’t change the record and she came slithering over to Theo and tried to drag him to his feet. He told her, “Sorry, Marsha . . . but I promised this one to Kat.” And he took my hand and pulled me up. I shook my head but he didn’t care. He said to the kids, “Watch carefully . . . and I’ll show you a new way to dance.” Then he put his arms around me and the kids whistled and cheered and Theo laughed and held me tighter. Soon, some of the kids got up to try touch-dancing and Theo started the record from the beginning again.

  He’s not much taller than I am—just three or four inches—and I was wearing clogs, so that as we danced our bodies came together. We didn’t talk or look at each other but there was a lot going on between us. When the record ended I broke away from him and ran out of the canteen. I went down to the lake where it’s cool and dark and I sat on a rock and I cried. How can you love one person and still be attracted to another?

  The next day I got a long letter from Michael. I kissed it and showed it to Nan to prove that I am not the least bit interested in anyone but him.

  On visiting day I spent the morning on the courts rallying with the campers so their parents could see how much their games had improved. Foxy gave me the afternoon off to be with Mom and Dad. I was the only counselor who had visitors. After lunch Jamie showed them her oils and watercolors and the fabric she’s weaving with Angela’s help. Then my father changed into tennis shorts and he and I played two sets. I beat him 6-3, 7-5. He was very impressed.

  Later, I took Mom up to see my room. “It’s nice and cozy.” She sat on my bed and looked at the pictures of Michael taped to the wall. “You seem to be getting along very well . . . I’m glad.”

  “I’m managing . . .” I told her. I went to my closet and took out a shoe box full of letters. “Look at this,” I said, “. . . all from Michael. We write every day.”

  Mom nodded.

  “I’ll bet you thought we wouldn’t.”

  “No . . . I never thought that.”

  24

  On the following Sunday night I was in the retreat answering Erica’s letter, when Foxy poked his head in and said there was a phone call for me. I looked at my watch. It was 10:30. Who would call me at 10:30?

  Nan walked me over to the office.

  My mother was on the line.

  I said, “Mom . . . what’s wrong?”

  She said, “Bad news, Kath . . .”

  “What is it?” I felt tears in my eyes before I even knew.

  “It’s Grandpa, honey . . .”

  “What . . . ?”

  “Another stroke . . . he didn’t make it this time, Kath. He died two hours ago.”

  “No . . .” I said and I started to cry for real. “No!”

  “Yes, Kath . . . I’m sorry I have to tell you this way . . .” Her voice trailed off and my father got on. “Kath?”

  I couldn’t talk.

  “Kath . . . are you still there?”

  I made a small noise.

  “Listen, Kath . . . he didn’t suffer . . . he just passed out and when they got him to the hospital he was gone.”

  “Dead?”

  “Yes . . . dead.”

  “Oh, Daddy . . . I didn’t want him to die . . .”

  “None of us did . . . but we didn’t want him to suffer either.”

  “But he was so nice . . . so good . . .”

  “I know . . .”

  “What about Grandma?”

  “She’s okay.”

  “I want to talk to Mom again.”

  “Kath . . .” Mom said.

  “I want to come home,” I told her, “right away . . . I want to be with you and Grandma . . . I’ll pack tonight and leave first thing in the morning.”

  “No, honey . . . we’ve talked it over and we don’t want you to come home.”

  “But I have to . . .”

  “Please listen . . . Grandpa didn’t want a funeral . . . you know that . . . If you stay at camp with Jamie for another ten days Grandma will have a chance to get herself together. She wants you to do this for her.”

  “Is she all right . . . you’re telling me the truth, aren’t you?”

  “She’s upstairs . . . resting . . . Uncle Howard’s with her.”

  “I want to talk to her.”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “What about Jamie?” I asked. “Who’s going to tell her?”

  “Do you think you could do it?”

  “I don
’t know.”

  “Please try . . . in the morning . . . and then call us.”

  “Okay . . . I’ll try.”

  “Get some sleep now . . . and we’ll talk tomorrow.”

  “Tell Grandma I’m sorry . . . will you?”

  “I will.”

  “I loved him.”

  “We all did.”

  I told Nan what had happened and that I needed to be alone for a while. I went down to the lake and sat on my rock and I thought about Grandpa. I remembered how he’d played horsey with me when I was just a little kid and how he’d read aloud, using a different voice for each character. I thought of him sniffing around in the kitchen when Jamie and Grandma were preparing their feasts. I thought of how he’d looked after his first stroke—small and white and how he’d held out his hand to me when I visited him in the hospital. I tried to remember all the good things—the way he’d toasted Grandma in the restaurant—To love, he’d said, raising his glass.

  And then I got the feeling I wasn’t alone anymore. I turned away from the lake and saw Theo.

  “Nan told me,” he said. “I’m really sorry.”

  “He was very special . . . you just don’t know . . .” I buried my face in my hands and I cried.

  Theo sat on the grass, beside me. “It’s hard to accept death,” he said.

  “He’s the first person I’ve loved who’s died.”

  “It’s hard the first time.”

  “I don’t know what to do,” I told him.

  He didn’t talk until I was all cried out. Then he said, “I think you should get some rest now.”

  “I don’t want to,” I said. “I don’t want to be alone.”

  “Maybe you could stay with Nan.”

  I shook my head.

  “You can’t sit here all night, Kat.”

  “I have to tell Jamie in the morning . . . how do you tell that to someone?”

  “The simplest way possible.”

  “I’m not sure I’ll be able to.”

  “I’ll come with you if you want . . . but right now you’ve got to get to bed.” He stood up and took my hand. “I’ll walk you back to the house.”

  When we got there he smoothed my hair away from my face. “Goodnight, Kat . . .” he said, kissing my forehead.

  I put my arms around him and pulled him close and I kissed him, the way I had in my dream, and at first he kissed me back—then he untangled himself from me and said, “Not like this . . . not with death for an excuse.”

  I ran to my room and started crying all over again.

  It was a mistake to tell Jamie about Grandpa after breakfast. She threw up as soon as she heard. But all in all she took it better than I did and she didn’t want to go home. We called Mom and Dad and I asked to talk to Grandma.

  “We had forty-seven wonderful years together,” she told me. “How many people can match that?”

  “Not many,” I said. Hearing her voice made me feel better.

  July 28

  Dear Michael,

  My grandfather died yesterday. He had another stroke. There’s not going to be any funeral. He wanted to be cremated. I spoke to my grandmother this morning and she’s okay. She’s asked me to stay at camp with Jamie even though I want to go home and be with her. I won’t believe this really happened until I get back and see that Grandpa’s not there anymore. I’m going to miss him so much.

  Love,

  Kath

  A few nights later Nan went into town with Kerrie and Poe but Theo stayed at camp with me, even though he had the night off too. We sat together on the steps of his cabin.

  “About the other night . . .” he began.

  But I told him, “I’d rather not talk about it.”

  “You have to, Kat.”

  I shook my head.

  “You needed to be close to someone,” he said, “and I happened to be handy.” He kicked at the ground with his foot. “Sex is an antidote to death . . . did you know that?”

  “No.”

  “Psychology Two . . . it’s a very common reaction . . . somebody dies . . . you need to prove you’re alive . . . and what better way is there?”

  “I’m not sure that’s how it was,” I said.

  He stood up, then went down to the lake and tossed in a few stones. I thought of that first day I’d spent with Michael.

  “Look,” he said, as if he could read my mind, “what about this forever business?”

  I turned away but he walked up to me, put his hands on my shoulders and made me face him. “I want to see you again . . . after camp . . . but I won’t until you get your head together.”

  “I need to think,” I said.

  July 31

  Dear Kath,

  I’m really sorry about your grandfather. I liked him a lot. I wish I could be with you because it’s hard for me to let you know I understand this way. Soon we’ll be together. I love you and miss you.

  Forever,

  Michael

  I couldn’t answer that letter.

  August 4

  Dear Kath,

  I haven’t heard from you. Is everything okay? Did you get my last letter? I meant what I said.

  Love forever,

  Michael

  Dear Michael,

  No, everything is not okay—but it’s not your fault. I don’t know how to say this but I’m going to try. I think I still love you but something’s changed. I’ve met someone who’s got me very mixed up. No, that’s not exactly true. I mean it’s true that I’m mixed up, but I can’t blame him for that. I know this is hard for you to understand. It’s hard for me, too. I made promises to you that I’m not sure I can keep. None of it has anything to do with you. It’s just that I don’t know what to do now. You must be thinking what a rotten person I am. Well, believe me, I’m thinking the same thing. I don’t know how this happened or why. Maybe I can get over it. Do you think you can wait—because I don’t want you to stop loving me. I keep remembering us and how it was. I don’t want to hurt you . . . not ever . . .

  I couldn’t finish. Tears were stinging my eyes. Maybe there’s something wrong with me. I don’t know. Maybe if Michael and I had been together for the summer this never would have happened . . .

  Later, when I read the letter over, I knew I could never send it. I ripped it into tiny pieces and threw them away.

  25

  On Saturday afternoon, right before activities ended, I was called to the office. Theo told the kids on the courts to rally by themselves and he walked me over, holding my hand, sensing how scared I was. Please don’t let it be Grandma, I prayed . . . please don’t let it be anything bad this time.

  When I got there Foxy looked up from his desk and said, “Hi, Kat . . . you’ve got a visitor.” He pointed to the bathroom but before I could ask any questions the door opened. And there was Michael.

  Theo and I were standing side by side, both of us dressed in cut-off shorts, him with no shirt and me in a halter, covered with sweat, smudged with dirt and still holding hands, which we dropped immediately.

  “Michael . . .” I said, going to him. “How can you be here?”

  “I was worried,” he said. “You didn’t answer my letters so I flew in a few days early and decided to surprise you.”

  “Well . . . you did. You really did. Look at me . . . I’m a mess!”

  “Not to me, you’re not.”

  He hugged me hard, then I introduced him to Theo and they shook hands. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” Theo said.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you too,” Michael told him, which wasn’t exactly true because I only wrote about Theo now and then and it always had something to do with Nan.

  Theo said, “I’ll see you later . . . I’ve got to get cleaned up for supper.” I wasn’t sure if he’d meant that for me or for Michael. He walked out of the office.

  Foxy said, “You can take a long night off, Kat.”

  I went back to the house, stood under a hot shower and shampooed my hair, thinking, what can
I say to him—how can I explain—how can I make him understand without hating me? And now that he’s here—now that I’ve seen him again—I don’t know what I want. I let the water run off my hair into my face but it wasn’t just the shampoo that made my eyes burn.

  I put on the only dress I’d brought to camp. Michael was waiting for me downstairs. He took my hand and we walked to his car. He drove to a restaurant on the wharf and ordered lobsters and a bottle of white wine. We talked about Grandpa and Michael pulled two obituaries out of his pocket—one from The New York Times and one from The Leader. Erica had written it herself. Then we talked about North Carolina and lumber yards and tennis and Jamie and the weather and the food. We didn’t get around to the most important thing at dinner, but I knew before long we would. And what then?

  After dinner we went to Michael’s room at the motel. He took off his shirt—a yellow polo with an alligator above the pocket—and tossed it onto a chair. We sat on the bed and as we kissed he unbuttoned my dress. All I had on under it was a pair of bikinis. He got out of his jeans, then his underpants. We lay side by side. Michael pushed my dress up, kissing me all the time. I couldn’t really kiss him back. “I’ve missed you so much . . .” he said, “so much . . .” I didn’t let my tongue wander into his mouth the way I used to. I just lay there, waiting. I couldn’t let myself feel anything.

  He put his hand inside my dress and held my breasts, squeezing one, then the other. I thought of pretending. Some people do that. They think of other things while they’re making love. They pretend they are with other partners. He ran his hand up the inside of my thigh, resting it between my legs. I didn’t wiggle out of my bikinis. I’m no good at pretending. And anyway, pretending isn’t fair.

  “Come on, Kath . . .” he whispered.

  “No, wait,” I said. “Wait, Michael . . .”

  “I can’t . . .”

  I rolled away from him. “You have to.” I got off the bed and crossed the room. “We’ve got to talk.”

  “I thought that’s what we’ve been doing for the last couple of hours.”

  “This is different.”

  “You’re thinking about your grandfather, aren’t you?” he asked. “But he’d want us to be together . . . you don’t have to feel guilty.”