Authors: Elaine Wolf

Camp (29 page)

BOOK: Camp

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I looked up and saw a tear run down my father’s cheek. “It’s okay, Dad. I understand.”

My father wrapped me in his arms again. I breathed in his aftershave, that woodsy scent of my childhood. “Your mother has spent her whole life feeling guilty about Anna—so guilty she couldn’t even talk about her. I’m glad you can talk about Charlie now. You were a wonderful sister to him. He was so lucky to have you. So please, honey, please don’t repeat your mother’s mistake. You’ve got your whole life in front of you. Don’t waste it feeling guilty. All your mother and I want is for you to be happy.”

Sometimes in my dreams, Charlie gives me lovely things: building blocks and endless hugs.

And sometimes I dream about Takawanda: Rory at the social, Erin in the boathouse, Andy at the bus.

Maybe in college I’ll face other Rorys. I know I’ll stand tall and speak up without fear.

I wonder what happened to her after that summer. Did her father continue to abuse her? Erin wasn’t sure he ever really did. But if it was true, then I hope he finally stopped.

The few times I saw cousin Robin after camp, we didn’t talk about Rory. And my father quit talking about Uncle Ed all the time. Dad’s angry with him, I know, because Uncle Ed rarely called when Mom was sick.

Maybe in college I’ll meet other Erins. I want to stay true, to be a better friend than I was to Erin Hollander.

Last week, while shopping with new friends, I bought three cards.
It’s been a long time
, they say on the front. And inside:
Better late than never.
I sent them off this morning, with notes of apology. I don’t expect Erin and Donnie and Andy to write back. But they each deserve an explanation and long-overdue thanks.

Lately in my dreams, Erin and I walk on a path through the pines—my arm around her waist, her arm around mine. We walk and we walk. And the path doesn’t end. And we don’t look for Rory. We don’t even talk. And when I wake up, I know I’ve been smiling.

Mostly, though, I dream about my mother. I picture her stories. I see myself sitting next to her. She squeezes my hand. She tells me she loves me.

Yes, Dad is right: My mother is proud.

College, here I come.

A Note from the Author

Dear Reader,

I hope you enjoyed
Camp
, and that it was hard for you to put it down. Sometimes when I read a novel that’s hard for
me
to put down, I wonder if the main character resembles the author and how much of the story actually happened in real life. So in case
you’re
wondering, I thought I’d tell you a little about myself and some of the similarities and differences between me and Amy Becker.

Unlike Amy, I loved sleepaway camp. I could hardly wait for summer so I could go back to Camp Truda for Girls in Maine. Truda was owned by my uncle, as the fictional Takawanda is owned by Amy’s uncle. But
my
uncle ran a terrific camp, where the rules were strictly enforced—and I was scared to break them. I did, however, once sneak out with my friends to trek through the woods to the nearest boys camp. And much to my distress, my uncle did report that to my father.

Takawanda looks just like I remember Truda. That’s one of their few similarities. Both camps—the one I created and the one in my memory—are hauntingly beautiful. Years before I wrote this novel, I knew that a sleepaway camp would be the perfect setting for a coming-of-age story.

Just as camp was the most comfortable place for me, coming-of-age novels were the most comfortable books for me— and they still are. I think some part of me is stuck in the teenage years. Psychologists would probably say I have “unresolved issues.” But I think I’m stuck here because I’ve always been involved with teenagers—as a camp counselor, a recreation leader, a special education teacher, a reading teacher, a writers’ workshop facilitator, a judge for young authors’ contests, and as a public school district chairperson for English language arts.

Fortunately my own teen years weren’t bad—not at all like Amy Becker’s. But still, there were moments that made me shudder: like when my parents brought fruit instead of junk food on visiting day. That memory found its way into
Camp
.

Like Amy’s mother, my mother was an immigrant who rarely spoke about her life in Germany. In fact, one of the very few things I remember her telling me was that in Germany no one brought their dogs inside. That made it to the pages of
Camp
too.

Many years ago one of my cousins, who is not at all like Amy’s cousin Robin, told me something about my mother’s past that surprised me. How did my cousin know more about my mother than I did? But my parents didn’t want to discuss it. So I gave Amy the gift of finally knowing
her
mother.

I hope you’ll share
Camp
with
your
mother—and with your friends and teachers as well. I hope, too, that you’ll share your thoughts about
Camp
with me. Please visit my website at authorelainewolf.com.

Wishing you a happy life,

Elaine Wolf

June 2012

Acknowledgments

A huge shout-out to those who read early drafts of this story and to those who cheered from the sidelines:

Ruth Thaler, whose unwavering support, nurturing, and friendship kept me writing; Lou Stanek and Jill Davis, whose knowledge and guidance made this a better book; Bee Cullinan and Mary Tahan, whose encouragement sustained me; Howard Rosenberg, Bill Rosenberg, Bernie Rosenberg, Alice Moss, Ali Moss, Roselle and Bernie Wolf, Sally Wolf, Heidi Wolf, Michael Wolf, Roni Starman, Carolyn Starman Hessel, Donna and Frank Miller-Small, Kathy Greenstein, Florence Kopit, Bea Nasaw, Ileanna Pappas, Sandy Bernstein, Cara Greene, Hortense Gray, Arlette Sanders, my writing and book groups, and my Long Island and Northampton friends, whose belief that they’d see
Camp
on the shelves (or on e-readers) guaranteed I wouldn’t give up.

Thunderous applause for my publishing team:

Jennifer Lyons, my agent, whose dedication and advocacy led her to find the perfect home for this book; Julie Matysik, my editor, whose hard work, intelligence, and grace ensured a joyful publishing experience; Tony Lyons, my publisher, and his Skyhorse team—especially Brian Peterson, Yvette Grant, and Karissa Hearn, whose commitment to this book was exceptional.

And a million hugs to my family:

Adam and Sumana Wolf, and Judy Wolf and Justin David, my remarkable children, whose love and confidence empowered me to fly; Ira Wolf, my amazing husband and greatest champion, whose patience, understanding, and generous spirit enabled me to soar. Without him, there would be no book.

Heartfelt thanks to you all.

Table of Contents

Chapter 2 The Requirement of Perfection

Chapter 3 Boys on the Brain

Chapter 4 Please Don’t Let Them Hurt Me

Chapter 5 A Little Fun with the New Girl