“So how about if I come?”
She turned and looked at me, and I guiltily hoped she’d argue. “All right,” she said.
She didn’t look out the window. She looked right at me, as if calling my bluff.
My heart dropped, and I almost rescinded the offer. Six or not, she was getting in my way. Amber’s irritating vlog was playing on repeat in my head, and I knew the only way to get rid of her was to get rid of her. To beat her at her own game. In order to do that, I needed to get to the farm and intercept Z. And I desperately wanted to stop for a coffee before I did. The thermos I’d brought from the house was making me incredibly nauseated. Normally I could drink any drudge, which seemed like further proof that I was allergic to Montauk.
And now there was a little girl, making a little girl face—which was hard to resist. If I were stronger, I would have resisted it. Or maybe that would have been proof that I wasn’t strong enough.
I put my hands back on the wheel. “Show me where to park.”
28
The assembly lasted for five hours.
At least, it felt that long.
All these little kids did their demonstrations—sometimes in groups of twos and threes. And it seemed like Sammy was never going to be up. Sammy hadn’t mentioned that she was getting her award last—the finale to the entire assembly. Sammy was given her award last because, as Sammy hadn’t made clear, it was the most important award.
She headed to the front of the auditorium to do her demonstration, and the head counselor, a woman named Kathleen, stood proudly behind her. Kathleen was pretty in a librarian kind of way. She had porcelain skin, and long red hair, which she wore in a low ponytail. Her adoration for Sammy was obvious. After each part of Sammy’s demonstration, she cued up the audience to applaud, which we did.
When Sammy was done, the counselor put her hand on Sammy’s shoulder. “Was that fantastic or what?” she said.
From my seat in the second row, I tried not to laugh as Sammy did everything in her power not to physically remove that hand.
“Sammy Stephens has proven herself to be quite a star,” Kathleen said. “The fact that she is already designing a self-sustaining irrigation system, when we are only touching on water during geology . . . well, I just want to say, H2U. Here’s to you!”
Everyone started laughing. Water humor, really? I had clearly stumbled into the nerdiest camp in America.
Kathleen handed Sammy a ribbon—they still gave out ribbons?—and I saw a smile break out on Sammy’s face. It stopped me. What was I feeling? There was no denying it. Pride.
As everyone started to exit, Sammy ran up to me, holding up her ribbon.
“Did you watch?” she said.
“I sure did. Congratulations!” I said.
“Thanks,” she said.
“I’ve really got to run, but let’s get ice cream when I pick you up later.”
Her face fell. “There’s cake, though. For the parents. Now.”
Seriously? Were there no points earned? “I’m sorry, Sammy. Next time, okay?”
“It’s really good cake,” she said under her breath.
How many times was I going to make her ask me? Was I that freaking selfish? “Next time,” I said.
I patted her awkwardly on the shoulder, already searching for the nearest exit.
Then I heard someone call my name. “Sunshine?”
I turned and saw Kathleen walking toward us, her long hair now loose. She waved excitedly.
I forced a smile. I was never leaving this place.
“Hi, there,” she said, picking up speed as she neared. “Kathleen Teague.”
“Hi, Kathleen,” I said.
She held out her hand. “Great to meet you. Sammy mentioned that her cool aunt was going to be joining us today.”
I looked down at Sammy, wondering if cool had been her word. Whatever she’d said, it was probably nice, or Kathleen wouldn’t be so friendly now. Which made one person in the world who didn’t loathe me. Even if she was only six.
Kathleen leaned in and whispered in my ear. “And, FYI, I don’t believe what I read in the papers.”
I pulled away. “I’ve really got to run.”
“Before you do, would you let Rain know that I’ve left her a few messages?”
“Sure,” I said.
But then she reached for my arm. “I need her to give me a call back,” she said.
I looked at Sammy, who was focused on her ribbon. “Is everything okay?”
“Oh, yes! Sammy is wonderful. It’s more than okay. She is having a great time at camp. And I’m so happy with how the summer is going for her.”
She put her hand on Sammy’s shoulder again, Sammy squirming away. Was this woman oblivious?
“I understand why Rain’s avoiding my phone call,” she said. “Sometimes it can be just as scary to hear that something is right with your kid as something is wrong with her.”
“I’m guessing she’s just slammed at work.”
“Perhaps,” she said. “Do remind her though. And please feel free to come anytime. Our doors are always open to Sammy’s family.”
She gave Sammy a smile and headed away.
Sammy looked up at me. “She’s the head of the camp,” she said. “I kind of like her.”
“She seems nice,” I said.
“She talks a lot, though.”
I nodded. “That’s all right.”
“But you’re late,” Sammy said. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you to come.”
Sammy played with her ribbon, eyes down. And I regretted my previous tone immediately—I regretted everything I’d done that made her feel badly that she’d wanted somebody to be there for her.
I bent down so we were eye to eye. “No,” I said. “I’m happy you did.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I am.” I took a deep breath in, almost in disbelief at what I was about to do. “And I can’t believe I was going to let an errand get in the way of cake. That was really crazy talk.”
She smiled. “Really?”
She looked up at me like she was trying to figure out if I was truly happy I’d come. Apparently, she decided it didn’t matter.
We started walking toward the cake reception, and Sammy took my hand. Intertwining our fingers. Little fingers circling big ones. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
I looked down at our hands, trying not to make a big deal, holding on to hers a little tighter.
Maybe I had been lying earlier when I said I was happy to be there. But it felt like the truth now.
29
After I left Sammy at the Maidstone, I barely made it to work on time. I ran to my station and put on my glasses when I heard a voice behind me.
“Of all the gin joints.”
I turned to see Ethan, dressed in a hoodie and jeans, holding a cooler. His hair was freshly washed, his scruff gone. He looked nice, for him at least, though the smell of fish, maybe from the cooler, still seeped out of his edges.
He smiled. “What are you doing?”
“Setting up my station.”
He laughed, literally out loud. “Z did not give you a job cooking here,” he said.
“No, I’m more in a quality control role.”
He tilted his head, and considered. “So you’re the new Taylor?”
“You know Taylor?”