Page 27 of Past Tents

Other than the island marking the division between kitchen and den, it was one large room leading out to the deck. “It was two smaller spaces, but the wall between these rooms wasn’t weight-bearing so we were able to take it out. And Shane and I worked on the deck a bit, installed those sliders.” I pointed to the floor-to-ceiling glass windows that overlapped each other when they slid open, giving the room an indoor-outdoor feeling.

“And in answer to your question, yes, it would be nice to eat in here, but we’re going camping. Come.” I grabbed the cooler and beckoned her to follow me outside. She looked wistfully at the comfy blue couch in the den, touched the soft gray throw blanketon the end, and wordlessly followed me to the sliding door. When her large blue eyes landed on me, I gave in and went back for the throw blanket, handing it to her to carry.

“Fine. This is not an officially sanctioned camping blanket, but I suppose it won’t kill us to have a few comforts while we’re in the wilderness.”

“The wilderness?”

“The yard. My yard. Nothing scary out there, except maybe an overly sharp blade of grass.”

She swatted my shoulder. “Don’t make fun of me. I’m here, aren’t I?” She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and shivered.

“You cold?”

“Tiny bit. I brought jackets though.” She pointed at the overstuffed duffle bag which I was carrying over my shoulder along with the cooler.

“Jackets?” I emphasized the plural. We were only going to be out here for one night, and I’d promised a roaring campfire.

“Four or five, just in case.”

I surveyed her large duffel. The size made more sense now. I wondered what else she’d packed. It wouldn’t have surprised me if she had an inflatable mattress in there, though I sensed the issue with camping wasn’t so much the lack of creature comforts as more a fear of the wilderness. Whichever it turned out to be, I’d get her past it. I was determined.

My yard was a small flat patch of grass overlooked by my back porch. In the early spring weather, cool air blew off the lake,and the trees exploded with young green leaves. The dahlia bulbs that had lain dormant all winter long had sprouted tall stems and leaves beneath tight purple buds ready to burst. Twin wooden feeders hung from low branches, where the birds would land in the morning and peck at the piles of seed.

“Wow. This is so pretty,” Ally said, taking in the herb garden sprouting with purple chive blossoms, low-growing oregano, and some hardy winter lettuces.

“Thanks. It’s fun to experiment.”

I’d spent my childhood visiting my grandparents here, hiking in the surrounding woods, and messing around on the lake. I hadn’t shared this place with people outside of my family, never invited friends over for parties. That wasn’t the point of the place. I understood the good fortune of having a house on undisturbed parkland. Bandit Lake had some of the cleanest water in the state due to the restrictions over who could use it. Not taking the responsibility lightly, I felt more like a steward of a borrowed treasure than an outright owner. I was a tenant until the house moved into the next person’s hands, and I wanted to leave it better than I’d found it.

Ally inhaled a deep, satisfying breath. “Mmm, I love that smell. If you can transport this to wherever we’re going next weekend, I just might get on board.” Ally blinked up at the cloudless blue sky and inhaled another large breath. She held it in her lungs before closing her eyes and blowing it out slowly.

“Great, isn’t it? The lake has its own little microclimate.” I took my own deep breath, envious of someone experiencing it for the first time.

The patch of grass was just large enough to give us space to practice putting up the tents in a row of three, just like what we’d do at the campsite. I had them laid out, along with wood for the fire we’d build and the camping supplies we’d need for some other camping practice activities.

Ally inhaled another deep breath, and I watched her shoulders drop an inch. “I’ve only known one other person who lived on the lake, so it’s been years since I’ve been up here. How did I not know you had a place here?”

I shrugged. “I inherited it seven years ago when my grandmother passed. We don’t exactly talk at school,” I reminded her, guiding her over to the three tents. “How could you have known?” She followed me but didn’t look down or acknowledge the tents in any way.

“Sure we do. I rib you about your pristine leftovers and you tell me to stop teaching my students to memorize facts about master painters.”

“I’ve never said that. Kids don’t memorize enough facts these days. They ask Siri for everything and don’t have to recall anything they’ve learned. It’s a travesty.” Finally, she glanced down and squinted at the neat beige and orange nylon sacks.

“Mini parachutes?” she guessed.

“No, but that would be fun.”

“Itwouldbe fun. Have you ever jumped out of a plane?” Her eyes danced, casting toward the sky as though looking for parachutes.

“Let me get this straight. You’re afraid to spend a night in my yard, but you’d jump out of a plane at fourteen thousand feet?” Mind blown. But mind also confused.

Her eyebrows bounced, and she shed the blanket from around her shoulders, looking for a place to put it. She settled on a pair of camp chairs I’d set up near where I’d planned to make our firepit. “Sounds like someone knows exactly how high the planes fly before they let you jump out.”

“I may have done some research. Then I came to my senses and realized I was not meant to free-fall through the sky while having a panic attack.”

She laughed and picked up the orange tent, then twirled it from its string. “Yeah, kind of the same conclusion I came to.” She watched the tent spin from her fingers. “If I ever decide to do it though, I’ll be sure and call you. We can panic together.”

I felt a wellspring of hope at the idea of plummeting to the earth with her if it meant spending more time together outside of school. But I dismissed the idea and the feeling just as quickly because she and I couldn’t happen.

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