How Sweet It Is - Alice J. Wisler [77]
thirty-six
We take my Jeep, Zack’s silver Ford truck, and Robert’s emerald Dodge minivan. Rhonda, Charlotte, and Lisa ride with me. The food and cooking gear, along with the large plastic first-aid kit, have been loaded into the back of the Jeep. The sleeping bags and tents are in the bed of Zack’s truck.
We asked the church for donations of sleeping bags and tents. There were several announcements about the need in the Sunday bulletin. Apparently last year people were also asked to either lend or donate. The kids were told to bring their own pillows and flashlights. Darren’s grandmother bought him a new mega-flashlight. He turned it on while we were packing up the vehicles at The Center and blinded us all.
Bubba wanted to bring his camping chair, a blue vinyl foldup one. Zack asked him what he was going to do when others wanted a chair. “Huh?” Bubba’s mouth stayed open.
“How many kids are going on this trip, Bubba?” the social worker asked.
“I dunno. Seven, eight. Is this a trick question?”
Zack explained, “If there are eight kids and only one chair, what do you think is going to happen?”
“Aw, Zack… I mean Mr. Anderson.” He smiled.
“Do you want to share your camping chair this weekend?”
“You mean let other kids sit in it? Like Dougy?”
“Yes.”
Bubba’s smile faded and the chair was left behind in the church. Shortly after that, we were ready to leave.
I’ve told myself that this trip will be about the kids, their having fun. I don’t want to let whatever it is that Zack and Rhonda have or don’t have going on take away from the children. Concentrate, concentrate, my positive self repeats as I drive, following Zack’s truck that leads our caravan to the Smoky Mountains.
We are to camp at Smokemont, which has an elevation of 2,198 feet and is near the Cherokee reservation. Miriam reserved two side-by-side campsites where we’ll pitch our four tents.
I am wearing a short-sleeved shirt the color of berries. All summer I’ve covered my arms, and now on this camping trip, I’ve decided it is time to expose my scars and just deal with whatever comments come my way. The afternoon air still holds warmth, so I don’t feel chilly.
I drive cautiously, but soon realize that I’m more relaxed about being in a vehicle on these mountain roads than I’ve ever been. Perhaps having the excited girls in the back seat helps. Lisa has a packet of Skittles she shares with Charlotte. Rhonda says little but does find us a radio station with jazz music.
“Do you like jazz?” I ask her as we creep farther up the mountain through the park.
“I love it.” She leans back in the passenger seat. Dreamily, she adds, “So does Zack.”
I wonder if anyone has packed Tums. We curve around a scenic overlook; a few cars are parked, and tourists are admiring the hues of autumn colors under a shiny blue sky. The day is too nice to let jealousy get the best of you, I tell myself.
When we reach the campsite, the kids from Zack and Robert’s vehicles are darting across the fallen leaves and laughing loudly. Where do they get all their energy?
“I’m going to jump in the Bradley River,” yells Dougy.
I’d heard that the river runs through the camping area. Hopefully, it will be too cool for anyone to be tempted by its waters. I enjoy swimming but have never had to rescue anyone. I look at Zack, who is starting to set up a tent. He’s the one in good shape. If Dougy makes a dive into the river, I’ll let Zack help him out.
The boys want to assist Zack with the tents. He lets them help until Dougy uses a rope and pair of pliers to lasso Bubba. Then all of us feel it works better if we have two people setting up each tent, and the selected two are Zack and Robert. Rainy and Charlotte watch closely, and when the boys start to toss a Frisbee and become too occupied to protest, the girls help the men hammer the pins through the rings to keep the tents secure. Zack says