the counselors reminded the children, who quickly responded, “Thank you.”
Ari watched the children tear into their lunches. Peanut butter and jelly on whole wheat, a small cup of Pepperidge Farm Goldfish, three carrot sticks, a gingerbread cookie, and, in reusable bottles, water.
The counselors sat at their own round table at the front of the room, looking out at the kids, who were all too deeply involved with eating to talk to one another. Greg quietly left for the day, so it was Sandy, Cal, and Ari at the table.
“How do you like Beach Camp so far?” Sandy asked.
Cal was eating with one hand while texting with the other.
“I love it,” Ari answered. “But I wondered…” She lowered her voice. “The kids in the other camp all had matching shirts. Wouldn’t it help give the kids a sense of belonging—”
“I’m going to stop you right there,” Sandy said, sounding rather terse. “Our kids are not from wealthy homes. Beach Camp has been operating for two years, and we’ve raised grant money to buy those two used vans you saw, and the yoga mats, and all the toys and balls, and Cal and I make all the food ourselves. Sure, matching tees would be awesome, but first we need to pay for gas and insurance for transportation, and necessary medical supplies like thermometers and Band-Aids and state and local paperwork—oh, and to pay our counselors, of course.”
Ari felt chastened. “I hadn’t thought about all the other expenses.”
“Look.” Sandy reached over and took Ari’s hand. “I didn’t mean to depress you. These kids are so lucky to have this camp. And to be clear, I need the money. I don’t feel a pinch of guilt for taking my pay. You shouldn’t, either. It’s enough that you’re helping these kids have a great summer so their parents don’t have to leave them alone all day with the television while they work.”
After lunch, the kids filed up one by one to put their trash in the basket. They returned to their yoga mats for rest and reading period. Some children curled up and fell asleep at once, others lay there mumbling to themselves, and others lay propped on their elbows, chin in hand, reading. The counselors took turns leaving the room for the bathroom and to check their phones. After forty-five minutes, Cal roused them—although they were almost all awake—and told them they were going to a special place today.
The special place was the State Forest, one hundred forty-three acres of black oak and pitch pine, with walking trails, grassy racetracks, and fallen trees made into hiding places. Since Nantucket was a sandy island with few tall trees and the sun relentlessly beating down, this forest was like a magical place with its shadows and bright spots. The kids went wild, running, calling out, tossing the balls Cal had brought. A sense of joy burst through the air like the birds that swooped from tree to tree.
Later, back in their schoolroom, the children sat at long tables working on art pieces to decorate the flowerpots they would eventually give to their parents.
For the last hour of the day, the counselors shepherded the children out to the community school playground. They ran screaming with glee as if set free, climbing the jungle gym, hanging from the monkey bars, whacking the tetherball back and forth. Then, one by one and sometimes in a bunch, the parents arrived to pick up their children.
“Goodbye!” everyone called. “Goodbye!”
All at once, it was very quiet.
“I’m exhausted,” Ari said, immediately wondering if that was the wrong thing to say.
“You have no idea,” Sandy agreed, sitting on a log in the playground.
Ari plopped down next to Sandy, sticking her legs out straight in front of her.
Cal sat down. “You did well today,” Cal told Ari. “You fit right in.”
“Thanks,” Ari said. “Good to know. They’re cute kids.”
Cal pulled his phone from the pocket of his shorts and checked it. “The forecast is for rain tomorrow. We’ll do some gymnastics on the beach and hit the library. Get a good rest tonight!”
They rose and headed to their vehicles waiting at the far end of the parking lot. Cal’s car was a Ford pickup truck, old but in good shape. Sandy’s car was an ancient white sedan, dented and scraped. A twinge of guilty embarrassment pinched Ari as she opened the door to her Subaru. She settled in, strapped on her seatbelt, and waved at Cal and Sandy as they all drove off.