I laugh and flick my paddle back at him and he gets wet. "Is, too."
Then he strikes back, and then I do, and then it's war, and before long, Lam is standing in the canoe so he can really dump the water on me, and I'm screaming and laughing at the same time because he's rocking the boat. I know he's going to fall overboard. I shift just slightly to get in a better position to soak him back, and the canoe flips, and we both fall in.
"Pregnant lady overboard!" Lam hollers, but there isn't a soul on the river to hear him.
We have a time flipping the canoe back over, even though it's one of the first lessons he teaches the campers, mainly because I'm not helping any. The water feels so good and cool on my body. I'm just floating on my back. It's the most comfortable I've felt all summer.
"Hey, why don't you just leave me here until after the baby comes? This feels really good. Now I know why some women have babies in the water."
"Forget about it. You're going to the hospital."
That's when I decide that I really ought to call that doctor I saw three or so months ago and let him know that I'm still pregnant and due in a few weeks. Hopefully he'll still deliver the baby even if I haven't been seeing him. Maybe I can lie and say I've been out of town. I don't know. I've been lying to everyone about seeing the doctor, and I feel guilty about it because everyone, including the MIL, has believed me.
Since we're soaked, after we return the canoe, we order stuff from McDonald's and eat it in the car, then when Lam goes into the gas station to buy a pack of Camels, I hook up my cell phone charger to his cigarette lighter, dig through my purse for the number of the doctor, and speak to someone called a nurse practitioner. I tell her that I'm still pregnant and stuff. I lie and say I've been in Kenya and that's why I haven't been to see the doctor, but I'm back now. She suggests I come in so they can make sure everything's okay, and I say how I only have this one day off this week, so wouldn't you know she tells me I should come right now.
Lam comes out with his Camels, and I figure he's going to be mad that we've got to go to the doctor's, but he isn't. He says he's proud of me for thinking of it. We head to the doctor's office, and I'm shaking, half because I'm scared and half because I'm still wet and they have the air conditioner on high. People are staring and making snarky faces at me and Lam because we're wet, and Lam and I are having fun with that. He holds my hand, and like old times, it's us against the world, and screw them.
The doctor doesn't do much except listen to the baby's heartbeat, check my pelvis and uterus, weigh me, take my blood pressure, and ask me a bunch of questions. He gets me good with, "When did you get back from Kenya?" because I tell him I only just got back, and he says with alarm in his voice, "You mean you flew eight months pregnant all the way from Kenya?"
"Oh, no," I say. "When I mean I just got back, I mean like a couple of months ago, only I haven't had time to connect with you."
I know my face is beet red, and suddenly I'm not freezing anymore—I'm drenched in sweat, but he doesn't go on about it. He probably knows I'm lying my ass off.
Finally he says, "Well, everything looks to be a go, young lady. The baby is in the right position—everything's good. Of course you know your pelvis is very narrow. We'll have to do a C-section. You'll need to prepare yourself for that, but otherwise, it's all going to go just fine, so you can wipe that worried look off your face."
Worried? More like panicked. C-section? A C-section!
"They can't cut me open—no way," I whisper to Lam on the way out of the doctor's office.
"They'll give you some awesome drugs, and you'll be totally out," Lam says. "Don't worry. You won't know anything until they put the baby in your arms."
"Yeah, I'd better not."
On the way out we actually schedule the delivery date for the last week of camp, on Tuesday, my day off. Can you believe it? How crazy is that? Scheduling it like it's a hair appointment. Then the nurse talks to us about insurance and stuff. My parents had set that up because they still claim me as a dependent, even though I just got married, so everything is ready, and I guess I'm glad I called and showed up this time for the exam.
Lam and I are feeling all lovey-dovey after the doctor's visit, and after we get back to camp, we talk in the car about how this baby inside is made from the two of us. "How amazing is that?" I say.
"Scary amazing," he says, nodding to himself.
"Yeah, 'cause no offense, but I wouldn't want either of us for a kid," I say.
"Exactly." He keeps nodding. "But neither one of us looks like chopped liver, either. It might turn out to be pretty good-looking."
"I hope it has your eyes," I say.
"I hope it has your mouth. You have the perfect mouth." He leans over and kisses me.
So we're kissing and whatnot in the parking lot by the lake. Lam parked in the shade and it's dark and hidden from any nosy campers there, but after a few minutes I see Ziggy's car pull up right next to ours.
I push Lam off of me. "Ziggy's here," I say.
"So what?" Lam says. "Let him watch." Lam grabs me, and I push him away again.
"Lam, come on, stop. That's not nice."
Lam scoots away and crosses his arms and scowls. "Your crush on Ziggy's what's not nice. He's a wuss."
I slap Lam's arm and laugh, even though I don't mean to. "Shut up!"
Ziggy is at my window, and he motions for me to roll it down. I glance at Lam, then open my window. "Hey," I say. "Did you have a good day off?"
"Yeah, great. I found a chest of drawers for you. I think you'll like it."
"What? Ziggy, you shouldn't have." I blush and glance at Lam again, and he's got this punk-like pout on his face. I don't know what to do, but then Ziggy opens my door and holds his hands out for me, so what can I do but take 'em and get out of the car?
Lam gets out on his side and slams the door and kicks it. He's pissed, and I think Ziggy wants him to be. I'm hoping the chest is really ugly, or too beat up, so Lam won't be so mad, but no, the chest is wicked cool.
Ziggy has the trunk of his car open and tied down with a piece of rope. The chest is sticking out about a third of the way, and as soon as I see it, I know I love it. It's old and it's painted a teal blue. I love teal.
Ziggy unties the rope and lifts the lid of his trunk, and I see a small bouquet of flowers painted in the center of each drawer, and each drawer has these old red glass knobs for drawer pulls. "Awesome!" I say, before I can catch myself. But really, it's too awesome. I'm so excited. It has to be the prettiest chest in the world.
"Wow! Ziggy, where did you find this? Thank you. It's so pretty. Lam, isn't it so beautiful?" I take Lam's arm in mine, hoping he'll see that even if it is pretty, I'm still on his side, but Lam just lets his arm hang limp. "Yeah, it's real girly," he says, and I know he's implying that Ziggy is real girly, and so does Ziggy.
"Anytime, anywhere," Ziggy says. He punches his fist into his other hand and glares at Lam.
Lam loves a good fight, and I'm pretty sure he'd crush Ziggy. They're both about the same height, but Lam is used to fighting, and I doubt Ziggy is. I've seen Lam's hands do some major damage. I find myself wishing Leo were there, just in case they really start to fight. I don't know why. Maybe he'd throw himself into the middle of the fight and get his head knocked off, but somehow I think everything would calm down if Leo were here.
"Come on, guys," I say. "Don't spoil a good day. It's been such a great day, and now I'm really tired. I need a nap."
Ziggy keeps his eyes on Lam, but he says to me, "I'll take the chest up to your cabin."
"No, I'll take it up," Lam says.
"Like hell. I bought it, I'll take it up."
"Like hell. She's my wife. I'll take it up."
I always thought having two guys fighting over me would be so cool, but it's not. I ignore the both of them because I'm just too tired not to. I leave them arguing over the chest, imagining it forever remaining in the trunk of Ziggy's car because they can't agree on who should bring it
up.
Chapter Eighteen
I LEAVE LAM and Ziggy to duke it out and trudge up the hill, feeling tired and achy because I haven't been sleeping all that well, and, wouldn't you know it, coming down the hill to greet me is the MIL.
"Oh, great, what fresh hell is in store for me now?" I say under my breath, even though I'm smiling and trying to open my eyes wide and look perky so she doesn't know how tired I am. Even sweet the way she is now is annoying, and I'm way too tired to deal with her. The MIL is smiling and greeting the campers she passes on her way down to me, and her smile and greeting don't look fake at all until she reaches me.
"Eleanor, I'm so glad I caught you," she says, and I can practically see the sticky-sweet syrup oozing from her mouth. "How did the shopping go? I don't see any clothes bag in your hand." I hate how fake it sounds. I'd rather have her old angry hag self back, if you want to know the truth. At least it's honest.
"Lam didn't want to go shopping today," I tell her. "He wanted to go to the Adventure Center, and then I had a doctor's appointment, so we didn't have time. I'm sorry."
The MIL crosses her arms and frowns. "So what did you do with the money? Spend it on a big fancy lunch, drugs, beer, what?"
Ah, there's the bitch-lady I know and love. I reach into my purse and scrounge around for the fifty dollars she had given me earlier. I pull it out, but before giving it to her I say, "I don't do drugs. I'm pregnant, and drugs are bad for the baby. But if I did do drugs, I still wouldn't steal someone else's money to pay for them." I hand her the bill, expecting her to say something like, "And yet you do steal cars and break into houses," but she is back to being her fake syrupy self.
"Well, now, you go ahead and keep it. I gave it to you." She hands it back to me, and I mumble a thank you and stash it in my purse. The money still feels like it comes with strings attached, so I don't really feel all that grateful.
"I didn't come here to get the money back or to see what you bought, anyway. I just thought you'd be pleased to know that we've decided to go ahead with your wonderful idea of putting on a talent show, only it won't just be the campers, but the whole camp, counselors and campers, and we'll have it on the last night of camp."
I look at the MIL, and she looks so pleased with herself for being able to bring me this good news. Originally, I had come up with the idea of a talent show because some of the made-up dances the girls in my class are doing are really great, and I thought it would be neat to showcase them and some of the other things that are going on here at the camp. The ILs are always talking about "finding your bliss" in their self-esteem pep talks they give each morning, and every day when I'm walking around the camp, I can hear kids singing or playing instruments, and they sound so wonderful. I know Ziggy puts on a little music show every couple of weeks, but what about all the cool stuff that Leo and the kids have made in the crafts hut? What about my dancers? I'd like to see them get some recognition, too, and if they all had a performance to work toward, I figured it might help bring a little more order and direction to my classes.
For the most part the class has been going okay, because the girls like getting into groups and making up different dances and performing them for each other. The only problem I've been having is with Banner. She's such a crybaby. Everything seems to upset her: being late for class ("Oh, I'm late—are you going to kick me out? Do you hate meee?") or not getting chosen to help me with the music ("Are you mad at me? How come you didn't pick meee?") or getting stuck with bathroom-sink-cleaning duty in the cabin ("Meee? Again? Did I do something wrong?") all said with that squeaky whine of hers. She acts like she's getting picked on, when everybody has to take a turn cleaning the sinks once a week. So, of course the girls don't like having her in their groups. I've had to step in and force a group to take her, and then she feels like crap, and so do the girls in the group. No wonder she gets picked on all the time. She all but walks around with a "Kick me" sign on her back, the way she mopes and moans and sulks.
Still, when I stand back and watch Banner dancing in my class, I realize there's something cool and powerful and vulnerable, all at the same time, in her movements. As heavy as she is, she's so light on her feet. Sometimes she looks like she's just floating. So lately I have been thinking if the whole camp could just see her perform, it would help people see Banner in a different way, and if they did, maybe she'd stop acting like such a victim all the time.
I smile now at the MIL as we stand together on the hill, and my smile is sincere. "That's fantastic," I say. "Thank you! The kids are going to be so excited."
She nods, looking very pleased with herself. "Now, anyone who wants to be in the show should be allowed to be in it. We don't want anyone to feel excluded, and hopefully you'll be able to find something to do for those campers who don't wish to be in the show but want to get involved in some way. Don't take this all on yourself. It's too close to your due date. Get a group to help you."
"Sure. Sure. I'll do my best," I say, but already in the back of my mind I'm wondering who I'm going to get to help, be cause I'm going to need a lot of it. I don't tell the MIL just yet about the C-section, but it's only a week away.
"Great, Eleanor. Mr. Lothrop and I are really pleased with you taking the initiative on this. I'm sure it will be a big success." She smiles, but it's more like a grimace, as if it pains her to have to compliment me.
"Thanks." I want to lie down. I want to sleep. "Well, I better get planning," I say, making a move to leave.
"Good, good," she says, and she continues down the hill, while I continue up it.
***
So now I'm thinking that I need help. I need a co-producer, and I think of Ziggy, because he's a natural when it comes to shows and performing. That's what he does at school. But since Lam is so jealous of him, and because the next time I see him after the standoff with Lam down at the cars I see he's got a big bruise on his cheekbone and Lam's got a bloody, maybe broken, nose, and the chest of drawers is still lying in the trunk of Ziggy's car, I've decided against going with Ziggy on this.
I think about it all through dinner and again while I'm telling the girls in my cabin a bedtime story about the time a hyena chased me halfway across Kenya. Then I hear these girls talking outside the cabin, and I'm sure it's the nasty ones who came to my class a few days ago, and I wonder if I dare ask them to help me with the show. These girls are fifteen, and they think they're hot shit, and I can tell they look down on me for being pregnant. I'm only a little older than they are, and they know it. Nobody bought that I was twenty or even that I got pregnant after Lam and I got married. I always knew lying was a bad idea, and I can't even tell everyone it was the MIL's idea, because then parents would probably be pulling their kids out of this camp left and right. Just having me here at all is a risk for the ILs, I suppose, because I know if I had a kid I was sending to this camp, I wouldn't want them influenced by someone like me. That's why I'm okay with saying stuff like don't smoke, and don't drink, and don't have sex, the way the MIL told me to, just so I won't be the bad influence I know that I am.
These girls came into my class as a group—four of them, all kind of leaning into one another and whispering and laughing and glancing over at me. I called the class to order, and they just kept talking. I told everybody to form a circle, the way I usually start the class, and these girls formed a separate circle made up of just them. I told them to come join our circle, and they giggled and stayed where they were and whispered stuff to each other. They ignored everything I said. The class was impossible. My everyday girls were dancing around, and these other girls purposely bumped into them, then pretended it was an accident. They sang off-key to the songs I played, and every time I said something to the class, they repeated it as if they were an echo, only they used this whiny voice. Ha, ha, very funny.
Yeah, okay, if I weren't me teaching this class, I'd be them, and be just as obnoxious, but since I am teaching the class, they really pissed me off. I wanted to cuss them out up one side and down the other
and maybe tear their hair out of their heads, but I couldn't do that without more trouble from the ILs. Man, were these girls pushing my buttons!
Finally I said, "You girls either act right or get out of this class."
They said, "'You girls either act right or get out of this class,'" in a chorus, and all whiny.
"I'd watch out if I were you. You think we counselors don't talk? You think your mommy and daddy don't tell us stuff, and you don't think we talk about you behind your backs?"
Well, that shut them up. I was totally making this up, but since it was working, I kept going.
"Yeah, that's right, I know a couple of you have talked to a counselor or two around here and told them things you don't want people to know, and guess what? We know all about your issues"—I figured we all have issues, so I took a stab that this might scare them—"and I have half a mind to tell the class right now exactly what I know, and believe me, you'll be sorry. So, unless you want me to blab all over the camp what I know about you"—I looked especially at this one girl who reminds me of what Ashley Wilson could turn out to be like when she gets older—"then I think maybe you ought to leave."
The girls stood there with their bitch-girl looks, squinting at me for a second or two, and then, just like that, they left, single file this time, and silent.
The rest of the class clapped, and I turned around and got busy selecting the next piece of music so they couldn't see how scared I was. What kind of trouble would these girls get me into with the ILs? I wondered. But they didn't get me in trouble. Nothing else happened, so while I'm telling my campers about Kenya and the mad hyena and I hear their voices outside the cabin, I ask myself, why don't I give those girls something to do besides cause trouble? Maybe if I had had more to do, like a job, I wouldn't have gotten into so much trouble with Lam. I decide to ask them in the morning.
***
I go early to the girls' cabin. I bang on their door, and Gren, their counselor, calls out, "Come on in."
Gren, I find out, isn't half as shy as she acts, but whenever she sees me, she still blushes and gets all nervous, and I don't blame her. I heard she really got a reaming from the ILs, and anyway, I'm fierce when I'm angry, and I'm plenty angry at her. I'd like to twist her arms and legs off and toss her in the Androscoggin for messing with Lam. Call me whatever you want, but I won't cheat if someone is already taken. That's dirty pool, if you ask me.