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Chapter 5

    “W e are the world! We are the children!”
    Beside me Frances groans in agony. Maxine has been singing eighties hits since we backed out of the driveway. Two hours ago. And there’s a reason she’s never been asked to join the church choir.
    I stretch my left leg out a little, trying to restore some feeling. I’m sitting in the middle of the backseat, Frances on one side, Maxine the diva, on the other. My foster grandmother is taking up more than her fair share of legroom.
    “I. H-a-a-a-d. The time of my l-i-i-i-fe—!”
    “Maxine, please stop.” I rub my throbbing head. “You’re upsetting Rocky.”
    “Nonsense.” Maxine scratches the dog under the chin and finishes the rest of her inspirational melody. Rocky knows a lot of tricks, and unfortunately, singing is one of them. When anyone belts out a tune, Rocky will howl along. The first time I heard it, I was convinced it was the Scott’s way of driving me out of the house and back to where I came from. And let me tell you, listening to Rocky and Maxine wailing some classic Madonna makes for a very long ride.
    Millie turns around in her seat. “Mom, knock it off. You’re being obnoxious on purpose.”
    “Yeah, Maxine, you have the next three days to push us over the edge. Pace yourself.” James catches my eye in the rearview mirror and winks.
    “But I was just getting ready to do my melodic tribute to the nineties.” Maxine sighs.
    “Save it for the return trip.”
    “Don’t encourage her, James,” Millie murmurs.
    James turns his black Honda sedan off the highway, and a few minutes later he’s stopped at a gatehouse and paying for our campsite.
    “We’re here!” We weave through the campground, pulling a small trailer between rows and rows of campers, RVs, and tents.
    I reach across Frances and lower the window, inhaling the smell of pine trees and barbeque grills. And the occasional odor of dead fish.
    “Site number eighty-six. This is us.” Millie points to the spot, and James whips the car in.
    James begins to set up the tents, as the rest of us unload the car.
    I lift a small cooler and place it beneath the covered picnic table. With my hand shielding my eyes from the sun, I scan the perimeter. Trees to the left. Trees to the right. The lake a mere fifty feet in front of us.
    Millie comes to stand next to me, her arm wrapping around my shoulders. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
    “Um, yeah.” I continue my perusal of the area, hoping my eyes will lock on one particular object of beauty.
    “The tall pine trees. The lofty cedars. The lapping of the lake. The hum of a distant boat. The—”
    “Flush of a toilet?”
    Millie’s brows furrow. “What?”
    “Where is the bathroom?” These people are out of their minds if they expect me to squat behind a tree.
    “Katie, haven’t you ever been camping?”
    “No.”
    “Never?” My foster mom laughs and pats me on the back. “You are going to have such a great time on this trip. You won’t even care that the bathrooms are on the other side of the campground or that there’s no electricity or hot water.”
    And then I’m laughing too. “No electricity. That’s a good one.”
    “No, I’m serious.”
    My face drops. “But how will I watch TV?”
    Frances moves in beside us, her binoculars hanging from her neck. “You brought a TV? What for?”
    What for? Is everyone a little lightheaded from all the clean air?
    “We’ll be so busy boating, tubing, eating, and swimming you won’t have time to miss your TV,” Millie says.
    I swat a bug crawling up my arm. “Should I have gotten some shots or anything before I came?”
    Frances and Millie leave me standing there, swapping camping stories as they go.
    God, if you’re up there, I pray I would get a better attitude. We both know this is going to be a long three days, but I have to put on a brave face for Millie’s sake. I pray you would keep us safe and bear-free. And Lord . . . when Frances finds her