We cut across the field to the Camp Bonaventure road. I try to get Elliot singing songs that I remember from my own days at camp, but he’s not going for it. He’ll walk—but he’s not happy.
He’s even less happy when it starts to rain. Before long it’s pouring, and the dirt road has turned to mud. There are too many hills to climb and nothing to take our minds off them. The only sights on the road are a few shabby houses tucked into the woods. My camp songs aren’t cutting it anymore.
One of the houses has a satellite dish. Elliot says, “I want to stay with these people.”
I wipe the water off my face and say, “No, I know a better place.”
Elliot says, “Yeah, right,” and laughs in a surprisingly adult way.
I hear a car engine rev. Elliot’s face lights up as if someone’s finally coming to rescue us, but I yank him into the woods before we’re seen. We land in a little gully, and my shoes fill up with water. The car pulls out of a driveway and heads back in the direction of town.
Elliot starts sobbing. I hand him a banana as if it’s the best treat in the world, then get him back on the road. We walk past the driveway where the car came out.
There’s an old bike left on the lawn.
I don’t even think about what I’m doing. I just grab the bike, sit Elliot on the crossbar and start pedaling.
“Did you just steal this bike?” he says. He’s not crying anymore. In fact, he looks sort of delighted.
“Yes,” I say. Sometimes you just got to do what you got to do. I don’t know if Dad ever said that, but it wouldn’t surprise me.
I pedal as hard as I can. I’m tired, but it makes me happy to see that Elliot is almost having fun.
It takes us about half an hour to get to Bonaventure. The driveway is barred by a metal gate. That’s good, I think. We’ll be safe here. We push the bike under the gate, then get back on and ride all the way down the hill to the camp. I make a big whooping sound as we splash through the puddles.
We come to a dead stop at the bottom of the hill. I do my best to sound positive, but it’s hard to believe anyone’s dreams ever came true here. The grass is brown. The lake is cold and gray. There’s a playground, but the swings, the teeter-totter and the ball from the tetherball set are all missing. The buildings—the big wooden one in the middle and the little red cabins by the lake—are boarded up. Their paint is peeling.
Elliot slumps down on a rickety step with his fists on his cheeks. Rain streams down his face. “I don’t like this camp,” he says.
“You’ll like it once we get inside!” My voice sounds fake even to me. I try all the doors and windows in the main hall. I yank away at the boards over each of the cabins. It’s hopeless. Without a crowbar—and some biceps—I’m never going to get in.
I’m almost ready to give up when I notice another cabin tucked into the woods. It’s got a sign out front that says Cookie’s Hideaway. I see right away that the door is open.
“Elliot!” I wave at him. “C’mon!”
The door isn’t just open. It’s right off its hinges. We run in out of the rain.
There are a bunch of empty beer cans on the floor. The chair is turned over, and books have been knocked off a little wooden shelf onto the single bed. It doesn’t take me long to figure out what happened here. Some local kids obviously broke into the cabin to have themselves a party.
I silently thank them for their vandalism. They gave us a place to sleep.
I turn the chair over, tidy up the books, kick the beer cans under the bed. The cabin is cold and has a moldy smell, but it’s better than another night outdoors. “There,” I say. “Isn’t this nice?”
Elliot tries to smile, but he’s shivering. I can’t let him get sick. I take our almost-dry clothes out of my purse, and we change. The mattress on the bed is damp, but it’s softer than the floor. We snuggle up in the red blanket and share the last banana. We each have a granola bar for dessert. We play a game to see who can make it last the longest. Elliot only beats me because he hides a raisin in his hand. I take one tiny sip of juice, then let him have the rest. He’s thirsty, and that’s all he’s had today.
We eventually warm up a bit. I’m feeling better about things again, but Elliot isn’t. “I’m bored,” he says.
I have to laugh. We’ve run away from home. Slept outside. Begged for money. Stolen a bike—and he’s bored?
“Me too,” I say. “Wanna play a game on my phone?”
I don’t have to ask twice. Elliot’s thrilled. Mom hardly ever lets him play video games.
I turn on my phone. I’m amazed there’s coverage here at the end of the world.
My mailbox is full. I whip through the messages. I’m past the point of being disappointed that there’s no word from Colin or even Helena—but I did sort of hope to hear from Sophie. I used to be able to count on her. Love sure ain’t what it used to be.
(I guess I should have figured that out by now.)
Mom’s the only one who tried to reach me. I hit Delete. I don’t want to hear from her.
Elliot and I play Tetris for a while. I let him win every time, but he still doesn’t last long. Even though it’s barely dark out, he’s ready for sleep. I turn off the phone, and we lie down on the lumpy mattress.
“I love you, Ria,” he says.
“I love you too.”
I’ve never meant anything more in my life. Some love is different.