Page 82 of Then Came the Fall
“Come on. We’re almost done with our tour. How are your legs holding up?”
“Good,” Brett replies. We take another swig of water and continue towards the boys’ rec field, past the old camp office, and finally, towardthe boys’ Lodge. The cedar chips crunch beneath my feet. I’m caught up in the memory of returning to camp after all those years when I’m surprised to find a light coming from the kitchen. I peer at it as we draw closer.
The air changes. The musty scent of old dirt and pine blends with familiar undertones of vanilla and cinnamon.Cake?
We approach the side door of the Lodge, which leads directly into the kitchen. I place my ear to it and hear the faint sound of crackling music, as if from an old, staticky radio. Anywhere else, I’d be more keenly aware of my indiscretion as a trespasser, but not here. Instead, I gently push the door open only to be engulfed by the unmistakable smell of Opening Day cake.
I step into the kitchen, Brett on my tail. Sure enough, there stoops the culprit, checking on her creation in front of the commercial oven door, clad in a pair of khaki pants, orthopedic shoes, oversized oven mitts, and an old Sound Hollow sweatshirt covered by a dirty apron. From the radio, the Beach Boys serenade the old woman with the words to "California Girls," to which she hums along, foot tapping, unaware of her intruders.
I wait until she closes the oven door.
“Dottie?” I ask. “Is that you?”
The old woman jumps, startled by the unexpected company. The look on her face conveys the surprise of someone who has been caught like a child stealing from the cookie jar.
The surprise of the moment renders all of us speechless. All I can hear is the harmony of the Beach Boys. I don’t hear the sound of the woman’s tiny gasp or the buzzing of my cell phone in the small pocket of my backpack.
Later, I’d find it.Missed call. Matt.
Chapter twenty-five
7 Years Ago
As is always the way at Sound Hollow, the next six weeks passed by in a blurry, blissful whirlwind, and before I knew it, it was August. Every day, I woke up in the early hours of morning, kissed Matt goodbye, and enjoyed a sunrise stroll from the Gate House down the long road to my cabin, breathing in the morning dew of the old girls’ rec field, the scent of evergreen pine and burned-out campfires, the warmth of summer teasing forever, wrapping me in a cloak of false promises. Those early morning hours served to center me, gave me a chance to thank God for each perfect moment of the summer of my dreams. Even when it rained, the fragrance of the trees came to life as the clouds sent kisses from my mother in heaven.
The daily routine was dictated by the bugles. As soon as the first reveille blasted through the old speakers, I retreated for a shower. By the third reveille, I was in my car with my hair in a messy bun on top of my head, a T-shirt and cutoff shorts covering my sun-kissed skin, smoking my first cigarette of the day and being sure to put it out in a half-empty bottle of water before getting over to boys’ side. I was always in the Lodge to help out whichever cabin had been assigned to table setters, unstacking dishes from the high shelves for the little ones who couldn’t reach. Dottie always had the coffee ready when Igot there, citing me as the “first customer of the day.” After breakfast, I led the camp through the flag ceremony, singing both "God Bless America" and the Sound Hollow anthem, then taking attendance and assigning cabins to their daily chores.
The rest of the morning was split between working with the CITs and completing paperwork. Some mornings were broken up by a fire drill, a camper injury, or a surprise visit from the health department, but mostly things were calm, and I was surprisingly good under pressure. I was known for being in the camp office between 11:30 and noon each morning, just to give Callie a break from the mundane desk life of being the camp secretary. I led songs after lunch every day, engaging the campers by choosing one lucky child to be the song leader with me. Then I spent all afternoon setting up for the evening activity, a prospect that was sometimes incredibly daunting, especially during All-Camp nights, like the weekly Council Fire that was offered on the last day of each session. On days like those, I was able to recruit Matt’s help in collecting enough wood to build a huge fire in the center of the Council Fire ring. He was always happy to lend a hand, although his job kept him plenty busy. There was always something broken that needed fixing, something empty that needed replacing or refilling, or supplies that needed to be ordered, unloaded, or restocked. Yet, despite our hectic schedules, after dinner and evening activity, I’d head back to my cabin to change clothes and then would meet up with Matt, either at the Lodge or at the cliff, before settling in at the Gate House to spend the night together.
Our respective roles suited us perfectly, as we each took great pride in our work. Taking Pat’s advice to heart, I tried hard to be the best role model possible, setting firm rules and expectations, being a fair judge of behavioral issues, and keeping an open mind—and an open heart—so campers and staff could come to me with theirproblems. I tried to learn the names of every camper but definitely paid special attention to the eight-weekers. That was how I came to know a little girl named Mackenzie Brooks.
At only seven years old, Mackenzie was a first-time camper who’d been sent to live at Sound Hollow for the entire summer. This wasn’t completely unheard of, but it was certainly rare. I didn’t know much about Mackenzie’s parents, other than their socioeconomic status, which I gleaned from the child’s Gold Coast address. Mackenzie was an only child enrolled in the in-depth equitation program who was shy and typically forlorn, a tough combination in a sleepaway camp setting. I kept an eye on her from day one, when I first met her during routine lice checks at the Health Office.
For a child who likely grew up with a swimming pool on her estate, Mackenzie was an awful swimmer. When Phoenix conducted swim placement tests at the beach that first day, Mackenzie made the top of the list of the “red light” kids—kids who posed a drowning threat.
“It’s bad, Taylor,” Phoenix shared at the staff meeting that night. “The second she takes her feet off the ground, she sinks like a ton of bricks.”
“Make sure she always has a buddy. I’ll get her a life jacket and we’ll keep it at the beach for her swim classes,” I instructed. Phoenix made a note on her clipboard.
The next morning, at breakfast, I found Mackenzie at the end of a long bench of kids in the Lodge. She was quietly munching on French toast when I knelt beside her.
“Mackenzie?”
The little girl looked at me with wide eyes.
“I’m Taylor. I just wanted to come say hi.”
“Am I in trouble?” the little girl asked.
“No,” I reassured her. “I just thought we should meet. I heard you’re going to be with us for the whole summer.”
She nodded, looking intently at the puddle of syrup on her dish.
“That’s pretty cool. I’ll be here the whole summer, too. Do you know that a long time ago, I was the youngest kid at this camp?”
This piqued her interest. “Really?” she asked.
I nodded. “It’s true. There’s a picture of me up on the wall over there, in with the old cabin pictures. Cabin One, 2001. Anyway, back then, I didn’t know how to swim at all.”
