“They were in love,” Tiffany said.
“I don’t care.” Dad stabbed a piece of steak with his fork. “I have plenty of friends in the legal system. If that’d been Tiffany, that scumbag’d be away so long, he’d come back a different person.”
“Oh, my,” Mom said, glancing at Manning. “How’d we get on this subject?” She refilled Dad’s wineglass. She knew when and how to steer the conversation, especially when Dad and Tiffany were at each other’s throats. “You know, Lake’s off to camp soon. Are you looking forward to it, honey?”
I was about to say yes. As a kid, I’d had fun, but I’d enjoyed last year even more as a junior counselor. Young Cubs was a week-long sleepaway camp in the woods with outdoor activities and nightly campfires. But a new thought occurred to me. What would happen with Manning when summer ended? I wouldn’t be able to find him at the lot during the day. It wasn’t as if I could get in a car and go see him, and that wasn’t just because I didn’t have my license. Summer ended in just over four weeks. If I spent one of those away at camp, that only left me three with Manning. “Do I have to go?” I asked.
“What do you mean?” Mom asked. “You had a great time last year.”
“But yes, you have to,” Dad said. “It looks good on your application.”
Tiffany rolled her eyes. “Does everything have to be about college?”
Dad looked at her, then Mom. “Your daughter has more attitude than an entire sorority house.” He chuckled.
Tiffany scoffed, but she was smiling. “And whose fault is that?” she asked. “It’s genetics.”
Dad, finishing his second glass of wine, muttered, “Attitude is not genetic. There—put that on a sticker and slap it on your bumper.” Everyone but Manning laughed. Tiffany had stickers plastered on her school supplies, her desk, her walls, and even a couple on her car. They ranged from a pink, glittery one that read “Warning: I Have an Attitude and I Know How to Use it” to a black, round one with a red “A” scratched in the center. I’d asked why she had an anarchy sticker, and she’d given me a funny look and told me it was “punk, duh.” Dad said it was to piss him off.
Manning had already cleared his plate and was going for seconds. “What’s this camp thing about?”
“It’s in Big Bear,” I said.
He nodded his approval. “Love it up there.”
“It’s for kids,” Tiffany added. “I would die of boredom.”
“I’ll be a junior counselor,” I said, “which means I’m going to be paired with an adult counselor and we’ll be in charge of a cabin for the week. We sleep there at night and do activities during the day.”
“Like what?” Manning asked.
Everybody waited. For once, nobody was talking over me. I sat up a little. “All kinds of stuff. Archery, horseback riding, canoeing, arts and crafts, fishing. We spend practically the whole week outdoors.”
Manning listened with his whole body, his eyebrows drawn. It almost looked as if he wanted to go to camp himself. “I haven’t been fishing since I was a kid. You get paid for this?”
“I volunteer. It’s just for my college apps. But the real counselors get paid.”
“Are you interested?” Mom asked him.
Manning pulled back. “Am I?”
“Do you honestly think he wants to spend a week of his summer with a bunch of children?” Tiffany asked.
“Believe it or not,” Manning said, “I like kids.”
My heart nearly burst out of my chest at the idea of it. Manning. At camp. For a whole week. With me.
“What about your job?” Tiffany asked uneasily. She must’ve been thinking the same thing, except that she’d be spending a week away from him.
“We’re breaking soon for a few weeks while we wait on some permits,” Manning said. “I don’t have anything solid lined up. I’m actually looking for work.”
“What do you do?” Mom asked.
Manning stopped chewing at the same moment it occurred to me—Dad still didn’t know the truth about how we’d met Manning. I looked to Tiffany for help, but as the realization hit her, too, her eyes sparkled.
Manning set down his fork. “I didn’t realize Tiffany hadn’t told you.”
That got Dad’s attention. He looked up. “Told us what?”
“I work construction right now. To put myself through school.” He nodded behind Dad, toward the backyard. “I’m on the crew at that house next door.”
“Excuse me?” Dad asked, looking at Tiffany. “What’s he talking about?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t mention it, Daddy.” She looked contrite. “I didn’t want you to get mad.”
“I told you to stay away from there.” Dad’s voice rose. “What is the matter with you, Tiffany? Anything I tell you, you do the opposite.”
“Charles.” Mom touched his arm. “Stop.”
He turned on her. “Did I not say this would be a problem? That transients in the neighborhood is never good?”