“You should call Sugar,” he says, hopefully. “She would love to hear from you.”
I note her tight smile when he says this, but she still replies sweetly, “I will. Once I get settled.”
Sugar?
“Who the heck is Sugar?” I ask the minute he leaves. We’re standing outside the trailer on our little patch of ‘Summer Heaven’, as my mother calls it. We have a waterfront slot, lined up next to dozens of other campers and trailers. Some, I notice, have been here for a while, judging by the front porch and trellis additions. The one next door has an entire garden of rose bushes. I try not to look longingly across the inland waterway at the island beach houses and condos.
An adventure. That’s what we wanted and that’s what we’d get.
“Sugar is Jimmy’s sister,” Mom says. “We were inseparable as kids.”
My mother has a weird look on her face and is clearly caught up in a memory of her cousin. I can’t tell if this makes her happy or sad. Wistful may be the right word. I don’t have time to ask, since our arrival has brought a trickle of curious residents to our little corner of the Family Campground. At least four or five people wander around, checking on plants or investigating the exterior of their trailers. All I want to do is unpack the back of the SUV and find the beach.
“Can we go inside for a minute?” I ask, hoping we can get away before the onslaught of neighbors begins.
She follows me in and I let the door close behind me with a sharp bang, effectively shutting the nosy neighbors out. We’re now in the tiny living area of our camper. It’s…tight. “What’s really going on here? Why this campground? And this beach? Is there even a book? Did you plan on seeing all these relatives?”
My mother appears offended. “Of course, there’s a book! And this beach is where I spent a majority of my childhood. Mama and Daddy sent me down here from Tennessee each summer to spend time with my grandparents. I have wonderful memories of being here and thought it may be a nice place to relax. I know I didn’t tell you all of that but it’s not like I knew you were planning on making this trip with me.”
“Okay,” I say, feeling ashamed. My tagging along had been a last-minute decision.
She points her finger at me. “Don’t you dare suggest I’m the one hiding something, Summer.”
I had that one coming, since I suddenly decided to come on this trip and not go with my friends to France as planned. In an abrupt turn-around I quit my job, packed my bag, and declared I was not boarding that plane on July 1st.
She waits for me to reply, giving me a chance to confess why I’m really here and what really happened, but I don’t. Things have been strained between us for months and I’m not ready to tell her why. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready.
She knows that. She knows me and sighs.
“Honey, let’s have a good time. I need to get this book written, and you,” she steps closer, smoothing my hair out of my face, “need to rest. Get some sun and sleep. Get ready for next year. You’ll be a freshman at Vanderbilt, with so many opportunities ahead of you. You can put whatever’s been bothering you behind you and start over.”
“Okay,” I agree. “I can do that. But next time we’re related to someone, will you let me know?”
“Of course.” There’s a rap at the door. My mother asks, “Ready to meet the neighbors?”
I shake my head, unsure of what we’ve gotten into. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Chapter 2
After our new neighbors load us down with freshly picked tomatoes, a campground newsletter, and a bit of gossip (beware of lot #16 unless you’re not afraid of snakes) we finished unpacking. Neither of us brought much. We manage to stuff everything in the cabinets over and under the bed. The bathroom is tiny, though it’s nicer than I expected. In fact, the whole trailer is nicer than I first expected. When my mother decided on this project and trip, she got the crazy idea to purchase an Airstream to live and work in. Some guy she knows (of course) hooked her up with this monster—beautiful, but a monster all the same. Carl or Earl or whatever his name is, renovates the campers and happily sold one to my mother. I’m afraid she wasn’t lying when she said she spent her entire advance on this tin can. Money isn’t her strong suit.
“You need anything else?” she asks, fumbling with her purse. She’s on her way to the store for some basics.
; “Fruit?” I suggest. “Oh, and granola bars.”
My mother leans over the counter and scribbles on a scrap of paper. I peer over her shoulder and see the word “Candy.”
“Please just get some real food too, okay?” I ask.
“I will. Promise.” She blows me a kiss in the air and like that, she drives off.
I’m alone at last, standing in the middle of the trailer. Our entire living area is eight feet in both directions. Bed, tiny bathroom, kitchen, sitting/dining/foldout. She’s giving me the bed, while she’s claiming the couch/kitchen, which she will also use as her office.
With nothing else to do, I decide to try the shower. I pull the window curtains and strip, realizing that next year I’ll be living with roommates in a dorm. Maybe getting used to the cramped space and sharing a bathroom with another person will be good experience. I step into the tiny stall and turn on the water. I try to avoid looking in the mirror directly across from the shower but it’s almost impossible unless I close my eyes. Blind, I bang my elbow into the wall while washing my hair, and drop the soap.
“Crap,” I grumble. I use my foot to shimmy the soap halfway up the wall so I can reach it. With two fingers I attempt to pick it up, but the shower water is in my eyes and my butt is pressed against the wall. I’m in my own personal version of shower Twister. Then the water stops.