Page 2 of Then Came the Fall
We lock eyes.
“Nobody, honey,” he calls. “Go back to bed. I’ll be right there to tuck you in.”
“Hi,” I whisper.
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I can’t do this, Taylor.”
“Take this.” I push the envelope into his hand.
“You have to go.”
“Just take it.” My voice cracks when I say it.
“Fine.” Reluctantly accepting the envelope, he steps back and rests his free hand on the doorknob. “Please go. I don’t want—”
“I was hoping—”
“I can’t.” Unblinking, he silently pleads for me to leave.
I nod, swallowing a sob that threatens to strangle me.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter.
“Me too.” He begins to close the door, but I place my hand on it to stop him.
“Just one thing.”
“What?”
“If you need anything, I’ll be here.”
“Okay,” he says. I remove my hand. Matt takes one last look, then turns away as he retreats inside.
The stoop is dark again, and I am alone in the frigid winter air. Somehow, I make it back to the car. Only when I turn on the engine and sink into the still-warm seat do I finally give myself permission to fall apart.
Chapter two
25 Years Ago
It wasn’t a meet cute.
I mean, it couldn’t be. I was only six years old.
Visitors Sunday at Sound Hollow Sleepaway Camp was so busy that it was easy to get lost in the shuffle. The schedule offered an open house where prospective families could come tour the camp while concurrently giving current campers the chance to go out for lunch with their visiting parents.
From the windows of the Dining Lodge, I watched the parade of parents marching down the long road, eager to see their kids and spoil them for an afternoon. At six years old, I was one of the youngest campers that summer, and I watched impatiently from the windows, scanning the crowd for signs of my mom or dad. I searched the oncoming deluge of grown-ups, looking for a single braid of thick, brown hair hanging over the left shoulder of someone who could only be my mother. The last two weeks had seemed endless, and I’d been so good at camp I just knew that Mom would reward me with a trip into town for a special lunch at Friendly’s or maybe Pizza Hut. Those were fancy sit-down restaurants, but I hoped they would take me there regardless. I smoothed my T-shirt, the one with the big yellow sunflower on itthat was Mommy’s favorite. “You are my sunshine,” it read. I saved the shirt especially for this day, hoping that with any luck my parents would realize how much they missed me, call the whole camp thing off, and just bring me home.
The parade got closer, and campers spilled out of the Lodge, pairing up with their moms and dads, exchanging hugs and chatting excitedly. There were so many bodies it felt like one of thoseWhere’s Waldo?picture books from the bookshelf in my first-grade classroom. I examined the families, my eyes darting from one small group to the next.Could they be late?
We weren’t supposed to leave until we saw our parents, so I remained perched on a folding chair, parked earnestly by the window. I watched as the mass of people thinned, most of them walking away from the Lodge, back towards the girls’ rec field where the cars were all parked. As the Lodge grew quieter, I felt less at ease, but the counselors were carelessly splashing with the spray of the commercial dishwasher and no one was paying any attention amidst the chaos. Since staying still hadn’t made my parents appear, I ventured outside and started down the road, following the dirt footprints of intact families, determined to find my own.
“Taylor!” an unfamiliar voice called.
I froze, caught.
“Come on back. The kids with no visitors are going to stay together today. In a little while, we might go down to the beach,” the tall, older girl said. She had to be a staff member because she was wearing a staff shirt, but I didn’t know her name.
“But I’msupposedto have visitors,” I explained, my voice small and strained.
