How Sweet It Is - Alice J. Wisler [79]
The adults do a head count, and not seeing the girl, Zack starts to get up.
I quickly stand. “I’ll go look,” I say with a firmness I’m not used to. I suppose my trying-to-motivate self is springing forward in this campsite. I hear Dr. Seuss’s words in my memory: Today is your day!
“Hope a grizzly didn’t get her,” whispers Bobby.
“Hope a hawk didn’t carry her into the river,” Dougy teases.
“She’s probably in her tent,” Lisa says.
Joy has jumped up to scout out the tents. She unzips the door to one, pokes her head and flashlight inside, and calls, “Not in here.”
“Remember not to go in the boys’ tents,” yells Bobby. “Remember them rules.”
Earlier, before dinner, Zack laid down the ground rules: “Boys stay in their tents, and no going in the girls’.”
Lisa twirled a strand of hair. Batting her long eyelashes and turning her head to look toward Dougy, she asked, “Is it okay for girls to go in boys’ tents?”
Zack stood facing the group. “What do you think?”
She mumbled, “I don’t know.”
Zack set her straight. “There will be no going in the boys’ tents if you are a girl. Is that understood?”
“What if my asthma starts acting all crazy and I need help?” Bobby asked.
“Then we’ll help you. Did you bring your inhaler?”
Bobby nodded at Zack. “I’m hungry,” he announced, his voice echoing across the wooded site. “Let’s get this party started!”
After getting all the rules laid out, we ate dinner.
Obviously, Charlotte is not in any of the tents now.
I start out on my search. Immediately, I feel the coolness of the air. Earlier, I took my jacket off because by the fire, it was warm. I wish I’d thought to put it on before heading out to who knows where.
I’m not sure where to look for Charlotte. Last I noticed her, she was seated by Bubba, and then she went to the restroom. With my flashlight lighting the way, I walk along a path lined with crisp autumn leaves. Suddenly, the darkness scares me; the boldness I mustered just a while ago seems lost. How will I find her in this place void of bright lights? I enter the damp, sour-smelling washroom, call her name, open each stall door, watch a spider scurry across a roll of toilet paper, call her name again, and panic.
Dear God, I hope a bear hasn’t chewed her in two. How will I ever tell Cindy? I envision her standing with a pen and pad at the Fryemont, all ready for an evening of waiting on tables, and instead learning that her sister has disappeared.
I leave the restroom and stand under a florescent light, wondering which way to go. The tall pines loom thick around me, their shadows dancing against the crooked paths strewn with pine needles and cones. I consider calling out her name; perhaps then Charlotte will come out from wherever she’s hiding. Or it could have the opposite effect. Realizing I’ve come to find her, she could hear my voice and run farther away. I know one thing: I am not about to fail at this. Determined to find her, I breathe, “God, please help me.”
A breeze picks up, rattling oak leaves across the path. I squint and wonder if my eyes are getting worse. Regena Lorraine once said that she could get me a discount on her leopard-spotted glasses. I wonder how long the kids would laugh if I appeared one day in those. But what I wouldn’t give to be able to have some help in finding Charlotte now, and if it meant wearing goofy glasses, I’d gladly put them on. Sighing, I look around and hope the rumors of bears really are rumors. Coldness covers me. I want to go back to the warmth of the campfire and to Zack’s smile. But I am so worried for Charlotte.
It is then that I hear a rustling sound coming from the left side of the restrooms. I listen; if I were a dog, my ears would be pointed and alert. Guided by the light from my flashlight, I carefully make my way toward the noise.
Seated at a picnic table behind the restrooms is Charlotte. Of course she wouldn’t go far. Why did I worry? She’s more timid than I am.
Approaching her, I whisper, “Charlotte.”
Her head is on top of the wooden table, her arms flung over her hair.
I sit