And a fire would be sweet. A fire would add light (although he did have his flashlight, he reminded himself) and warmth. And he could cook something on it . . . or he could if he had some pots and pans. Which he didn’t.
Marshmallows. A stick was all you needed to cook those. He’d buy one or two healthy things, something to drink, and marshmallows for toasting. Wouldn’t his mom be surprised when she rolled in and saw him sitting there in front of the fire, popping a perfectly browned marshmallow into his mouth! He might just turn to her and say, “Want one?”
“Smell you!” she’d say, which was her way of saying, You are one cool kid, Jack Martel.
Jack liked imagining these scenes, even though he knew, in truth, he’d leap up and demand that she tell him where she’d been. And then she’d say something like, “I knew you’d be fine, Jackie,” to make him feel better, but it wouldn’t. Just the opposite. And then he’d be so mad, and at the same time so relieved, that he’d start to cry. So instead of being all OK and independent, he’d look like some helpless little kid.
This time he jogged out of the campground. He was nervous about bumping into the same ranger — not sure if he could keep his voice steady, keep his eyes conveying cheerfulness. As soon as he got onto the beat-up island road, he tried calling his mother again. Still no answer.
This time it was a guy with a mustache and a baseball cap behind the counter at Seawall Camping Supplies. Be natural, Jack told himself. Kids probably come in here by themselves all the time. No big deal, right? He gave the guy a quick nod (which felt more nerdy than cool) and checked out his options. He decided on salami, cheese, marshmallows, and orange juice, but when he added them up, they came to more than ten dollars. He had a little over nine. What to give up?
He was still trying to decide when he looked over at the coffee station and saw paper cups. Maybe they’d be willing to give him a cup, or sell it to him for ten cents or something, and he could get water out of the tap at the campground. Then he wouldn’t need to buy the orange juice.
“Hey, OK if I take a cup?”
“No problem,” the guy said. “Take one. Heck, take two.”
So he put the orange juice back, then walked to the counter with the rest of his supplies. As the guy was ringing him up, Jack saw a display of matchbooks on the counter. He’d need something to light a fire with if he planned on roasting marshmallows. “Do those cost anything?” he asked, pointing to the matchbooks.
“Twelve dollars,” said the guy.
Jack’s mouth fell open.
“Nah, just kidding. Free — free to people who buy butts — but you can have one.”
Jack used all but a few coins to pay for his groceries and then started out the door.
“Hey!” shouted the guy.
Jack’s heart pounded. Did he do something wrong? Take something by accident?
“You won’t burn anything down with those, right?”
Jack stopped and held up the marshmallows from his bag.
“Oh, yeah,” said the guy. “Cool.”
As he walked back past the registration hut, thinking about toasting his Jet Puffs, Jack suddenly remembered the sign he’d read inside when he and his mother had registered last night: COLLECTING FIREWOOD IN PARK PROHIBITED. It was hard to believe they meant it; the woods along the campground road were full of dead wood, low branches on trees that had died, sticks covering the ground. It was all right there for the taking. Wouldn’t it be helping them to gather some of this brush? The woods would look neater. . . . Did he dare?
Maybe he’d just hunt around his own campsite, where he wouldn’t be so obvious.
He glanced toward the site where Aiden’s family was staying. He could hear Julie talking in a hyper, squeaky way and the others laughing. Jack thought about walking over and just saying, “Hey, you’re going to the talk tonight, right? The schedule at the gate says it’s about owls. . . .” but he knew Aiden’s parents would start asking the usual questions, which he’d have to answer carefully:
Where’re you from?
Boston — Jamaica Plain. (He liked answering Jamaica Plain before people had the chance to say What part? which was what they always asked, even if they’d visited Boston only one time.)
Are you camping with your family?
My mom.
Where’s your dad? (Julie would probably be the one to ask this.)
He’d settle on the truth. He’d had enough practice lying to know it was best to tell the truth whenever possible. I don’t have one.
Would you and your mom like to join us? (That would probably be Aiden’s mom.)
She’s not feeling well, he’d say. That was as close to the truth as he could come.
But the imaginary conversation made him tired — tired of thinking, tired of trying to figure things out. Definitely too tired to risk talking to Aiden’s family.
On the way back to his campsite, he passed bundles of wood for sale — only two dollars — but he was out of money. His mother had better pay him back tomorrow; that was his souvenir money he’d spent on food. Buying food was her responsibility.
He slipped into his tent, ripped open the food packaging with his teeth, and ate salami-and-cheese sandwiches without the bread. Hors d’oeuvres, he thought. Then he stuffed a handful of raw marshmallows into his mouth and closed his eyes.
“Baby elephant,” he heard his grandmother saying. He was five, and they were sitting at a table. He had just stuffed his sandwich crusts into his mouth.
“Baby elephant,” she’d said.
“Elephants have to stuff their faces,” he’d said with a full mouth.
“I know,” she said. “You told me. Three hundred pounds of food a day.”
It was his earliest memory of his grandmother. Was it truly a memory or a story he’d heard his mom tell? He wasn’t sure.
Once, Jack had asked his mother if they were ever going to see his grandmother again.
“Never!” Mom had said, wiping her face. She’d been crying a lot that day. “I’ll never forgive that woman for what she tried to do to me — to us, Jackie.”
They were sitting together in the multicolored hammock Mom had hung from the ceiling of the dining room — a room they had never used before the hammock. She had her favorite poetry book in her lap; he had woven his toes in and out of the soft hammock strings and was reading The Cowboy and His Elephant. It was a book for adults, but he could read it — and liked it.
“Of course you can read a book for grown-ups, Jack. You’re a smart kid,” his mom had said. “Read a chapter to me.”
He had, skipping over a bad word or two, and she had smiled.
Jack woke feeling as if someone had glued his tongue to the roof of his mouth. According to his phone, it was nine p.m., only a couple of hours later. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. He’d been lying there, playing stupid games: If he could remember all the names of the sixteen Hawthorn-owned elephants, his mother would come back. Or if he could remember the names of the rescued elephants at the Tennessee sanctuary, his mother would come back. Or if he could remember which elephants at the Tennessee sanctuary were Hawthorn elephants, his mother would come back. But he’d dozed off, and now the salami and cheese had left him dying of thirst. He grabbed the two cups he’d gotten from the convenience store and headed down the road to find the tap. A full moon, rather than his flashlight, lit the way.
Aiden’s mother was at the faucet; he recognized her red hair, pulled back in a ponytail. For a moment he thought of turning back, waiting until she left, but he was afraid he’d already been seen and didn’t want to appear more conspicuous. He stood nearby, and he waited until she had filled her pot with rushing water before saying hi.
“You’re the boy from the beach today,” she said. “Jack, isn’t it?”
He nodded.
“Aiden was thrilled to find you. I wouldn’t let him bring a friend. Told him he’d meet kids on the road, but he didn’t believe me.”
Jack smiled and filled one of
his cups. He gulped down the water, knowing his grandmother would accuse him of being rude, but he had to have water immediately. Maybe it wasn’t just the salami; maybe it was the hot dogs and the sun and the salty sea, too, but Jack had never in his whole life felt so thirsty.
“Who are you camping with?” she asked. There was the question.
“My mother,” he said, wiping his mouth with the hand that held the second cup. “I’m getting water for her, too,” he said, lifting the two cups (like a little kid would, he thought later) and bending to fill them both.
“We’re going to Echo Lake tomorrow. Would you and your mother like to join us? I know Aiden would certainly be happier.”
Jack was glad he had two cups to fill; it gave him more time to think. He and his mom would have a ton of things to do tomorrow, all the stuff that had been on their list — that is, assuming she came back tonight, or first thing tomorrow morning. Which she probably would.
But what if she didn’t? Nothing would be worse than sitting around, waiting for her. Besides, it would serve her right to wonder where he was.
“My mother’s not feeling well, but I’d like to come. I’ll ask her if it’s OK,” he said.
“Great!” she said. “Would you like me to walk back with you?”
“No — thanks, though. I think I’m just going to stand here and empty the well,” he said. “Or the reservoir, or whatever.”
“OK, then,” she said. “Good night.”
An ache in his chest, an ache he didn’t even know he had, started to lift. Maybe a good-night from a mother — from anyone’s mother — was all he needed.
The next morning, Jack woke to the wheezy cooing of a mourning dove and felt happy — for about two seconds. Then he remembered. He listened, hoping to hear his mother moving around the site, whistling “Sunny Days” from Sesame Street, like she always did, but he knew better. She wouldn’t have waited for Jack to wake on his own. She’d have circled the tent, pretending to be a coyote or something. Then she’d have pounced on him, taking the whole tent down with her. She’d crawl into the collapsed tent and hug him, finally telling him where she’d been. He would push her away, but it wouldn’t work. “Don’t be mad at me, Jack,” she’d say. “I could never leave you.”
“Like an elephant,” he whispered now. Even when in danger, a mother elephant would not leave her calf.
He looked at his phone to check the time and noticed that not only did he still not have reception, but the battery was about to die. The charger was in the car — the car his mother had taken. He turned his phone off.
The tent smelled sour. No doubt he should take a shower, but he probably didn’t have enough coins to use the showers in the camping-supplies store. And anyway, he was going swimming with Aiden’s family. He grabbed what was left of the salami and cheese and sat out on the picnic table to have breakfast.
The early-morning air was cool. A mother in her pajamas, clutching a towel and a cosmetics kit, was leading two young girls to the bathroom.
“Do you want eggs?” he heard the man in the next site ask his family.
“Yes, please!” his mother would have called back, and before you knew it, she’d be over there helping with the cooking.
Jack noticed a ranger, a man this time, with a green jacket over his gray uniform, walking purposefully around the loop, and his breakfast caught in his throat. What should he do? Duck back into his tent? The bathroom?
Too late. The ranger skipped his neighbors and came directly into his site.
“Hey, there,” said the ranger. “Is your mom here?”
Jack shook his head. “She’s just gone to the store — to pick up stuff.” He hoped the ranger hadn’t noticed that the car (and his mother) had been gone since yesterday morning.
The ranger nodded. Jack couldn’t tell if he believed him or not.
“Well,” he said, “I just want to confirm that you’re here until tomorrow.”
“Yup,” said Jack. Wherever his mom had gone, she’d have to come back by tomorrow. Right?
“Can we stay longer if we want?” he blurted, hoping he sounded enthusiastic and not worried.
“Sure. The park really clears out after Labor Day. They’ll be no shortage of spaces then. Just remember, you need to prepay.”
“I’ll tell my mother,” he said, hoping it was the end of the conversation.
“OK, then,” said the ranger, in no hurry to go. “My name’s Stan, if you need anything.”
Jack wondered if Stan was thinking the obvious: Tuesday, the day after Labor Day, was the first day of school. At least it was for Jack. Why would they want to camp longer?
But the ranger glanced at his clipboard and went on. Jack ate the last bite of salami and then wished he hadn’t. This was the only food he had, and he’d spent all his money. He had to start being smarter. Start thinking about the possibility —
He stopped that thought in its tracks. Don’t be ridiculous, he told himself. Mom will be back today. I know she will. Just the same, he wrapped the remaining cheese.
A stick cracked behind him. Jack turned hopefully.
Not Mom. Aiden — and a cold splash of disappointment.
“Ready to go?”
Jack popped back into his tent, changed into his suit, and slipped his phone into his pocket. But as he and Aiden began to leave the site, Aiden seemed to hesitate.
Jack suddenly saw the site — one little tent, no car — from Aiden’s eyes. “My mom’s gone to get coffee,” Jack said. “Even when she’s sick, she needs coffee.”
Aiden laughed. “Sounds like my dad,” he said, and turned to lead Jack back to his site.
Jack had expected to ride in the family car to Echo Lake. Instead, they took the Island Explorer, a free bus that went all around Mount Desert Island.
“It’s better for the environment. Better for the island,” explained Aiden’s dad. “Cuts down on traffic and exhaust, uses less gas.”
It wasn’t the environment Jack was thinking about as he bounced a little in his seat, studying the map of the Island Explorer route. He realized that he now had a way — a free way — to search for his mom.
During a lull in the conversation, Jack took out his phone and tried again to reach his mom. This time, he got her voice mail immediately. That meant she had turned off her phone. Which meant that she probably hadn’t driven off the road and gotten stuck in a ditch somewhere.
Which meant that she could have called him. . . .
No, it didn’t mean just that one thing. Her battery could have died. If something had happened to her, if she was lying unconscious somewhere, her phone could very well be dead.
Jack gazed out the window and caught himself looking for tire marks or any other signs that a car had skidded off the road.
What if she was in trouble? What if she was like that woman who somehow drove into a ravine and survived for a whole week in her car without food? Mom had told him the story. Said the woman had raised her arm out the window and caught rainwater from overhanging leaves. Maybe he should tell someone, like Aiden’s mom or dad. Tell them his mother was missing and was maybe hurt, needing help. Maybe he should tell them right now —
But he didn’t.
He didn’t tell them because a car accident was not the likeliest of all the possibilities. The likeliest possibility was that she had just gone off — again.
The last time had been at home, and he had just stayed in the apartment, and there was food, and there were things to do, and he hadn’t told anyone, and she had come home, and no one had to get involved, and no one asked too many questions, and no one had tried to take him away.
So Jack didn’t tell Aiden’s parents. But he made a promise to himself: he would look for her, and if he didn’t find her on the island, then he would tell someone. Or at least he would think seriously about telling someone.
He was relieved when the bus pulled into the little parking lot at Echo Lake. There wasn’t anything he could do now — not if he wasn’t
going to tell anyone — so he decided he might as well enjoy the few hours they had here.
They walked down a boardwalk to a small, sandy beach. Aiden’s family gravitated to the far left, at the trees’ edge, where rocks formed a cozy nook and there was shade. Aiden’s dad set up two small beach chairs he’d been carrying. Aiden’s mom spread out a blanket on the sand and unzipped a soft cooler of food. “Would you like something to eat, Jack?” she asked.
Jack suddenly realized he’d been staring at the cooler and felt his face go warm. His stomach was cavernous, demanding more than a few slices of cheese and salami.
“Let’s swim first,” said Aiden, turning and running into the water.
Jack followed reluctantly.
When they tired of swim races, jumping off rocks (ignoring the KEEP OFF THE ROCKS sign like everyone else), and trying to do backflips in the water, they staggered back to the blanket. Aiden’s mom had spread out tuna fish sandwiches, grapes, apples, carrots, chips, pickles, and double-chocolate brownies. Jack couldn’t remember a time when food had tasted so good. She slipped another sandwich onto his plate without even asking.
By the time he got to the brownies, he was feeling full, but no way was he going to refuse these. He took a bite and lay back in the sand, letting the chocolate melt in his mouth.
“There’s a herd of elephants,” Jack said, pointing straight up.
“Huh?” asked Aiden.
“In the sky,” Jack told him. “A herd of elephants.”
“I see one there!” said Julie. “Look, there’s its trunk!”
Everyone tried to see where Julie was pointing.
“I see it!” shouted Aiden’s mom.
“There’s an elephant stretched out on its belly!” said Aiden.
“That’s so weird,” said Aiden’s dad. “If you think about elephants, you see them everywhere.”
Jack smiled. He and his mother could point out elephants for hours. Sometimes they even found them alphabetically: Airy Elephant, Balloon Elephant, Curly Elephant . . . He missed his mom so much at that moment, that moment of cloud watching, that he could almost feel his thoughts traveling to her, and finding her, and making her pick up her phone.