She begged me to let her spend a week at scout camp
"I'm not acting like you're six."
"You labeled my sunscreen."
"Because you'll lose it."
She stared at me.
I stared back.
Then she pulled the sunscreen out of her backpack.
"I'm not acting like you're six."
She had already lost the cap.
Neither of us said anything for a second.
"Fine," she muttered.
I laughed, and eventually I agreed to let her go.
It was her first time away from home for more than one night.
Eventually I agreed to let her go.
The first two days were harder on me than on her.
Phones were discouraged during activities, so I tried not to message too much. I got one short text the first night.
Made it. Cabin is small. Food is weird. Love you.
The second night, nothing.
Phones were discouraged during activities
I told myself that was good. She was busy.
Then, on the third day, my phone buzzed while I was eating lunch at my desk.
It was a photo from Ava.
She was standing near a group of picnic tables, smiling at the camera. There were girls from her troop behind her.
It looked completely ordinary at a glance.
It was a photo from Ava.
Underneath, Ava had written:
We just finished training and we're heading to lunch. See? Everything's fine. It's so much fun here! Love you and miss you!
I smiled.
I actually whispered, "See? She's fine."
Then I looked at the picture again.
It looked completely ordinary at a glance.
There was a girl sitting at the table behind Ava.
Loose, light brown hair. Pink shirt.
Maddie.
I knew Maddie because her mother, Beth, and I had spent twenty minutes talking in the parking lot before the girls left for camp.
There was a girl sitting at the table behind Ava.
I also knew Maddie wasn't at camp anymore.
Beth had called me the night before.
Maddie had gotten sick and come home.
I zoomed in. Definitely Maddie.
I checked Ava's message again.
I also knew Maddie wasn't at camp anymore.
"We just finished training."
Present tense.
I called her. No answer.
I called again.
Nothing.
I called her. No answer.
At first I tried to be reasonable.
Maybe she had sent the wrong picture. Maybe the message had been delayed. Maybe I was missing something obvious.
I called the camp office.
A woman answered with the calm, practiced voice of somebody accustomed to nervous parents.
Maybe the message had been delayed.
"Hi. My daughter is there with her troop. Her name is Ava."
"Of course. Is everything okay?"
