Summer Constellations

Two

After heaving an ATV wheel out of the back of the truck and waving Paige off, I roll the wheel up to the big shed at the side of the house. 

Red, maintenance man for the Pines, strolls out, his paint-splattered overalls so worn the blue denim's almost white. Along with Mom and me, this guy basically keeps the place running. "

Hey, Red," I say, as he holds the door open for me. 

"Hey, Jules, thanks for grabbing that for me. How was the last day of school?" he asks. "

Good, especially now that it's over." I duck under his arm, rolling the tire inside. It's weird to think that high school is over. Done. Finished. I'm not really sure how to feel. But I have to admit I'm looking forward to spending all day and night outdoors and under the stars, swimming in crystal-clear lake water and breathing in the sweet mountain air. And seeing Dan, of course. 

"So, you're officially on summer vacation, hey?" Rubbing a hand over his gray beard, he reminds me of a rugged Santa Claus. 

My eyes narrow. "Yeah, but don't get any ideas. I don't 'officially' start full-time around here until tomorrow." 

"I was just gonna get you to check out some boards at the dock." His tone is cajoling. "Some campers mentioned that there's a couple o' loose ones." 

"A woman's work is never done." Sighing, I lean the wheel against the wall. "I'm headed down there tonight. I'll take a look. Supposed to be a killer meteor shower later on." 

"Thanks, girl." Red's worked at the campground for as long as I can remember and is pretty much family. He was a good friend of my grandfather's and took over mentoring me in the ways of the handyman, or handyperson, I should say, after Gramps passed. They both felt that girls should be able to do things like change a tire, frame a cabin and manage basic plumbing. The latter being extremely gross. Useful. But gross. Thanks to Red, I can do all three. 

"No problem," I say, wiping my hands on my shorts and exiting the shed after him. I inhale the comforting smells of fresh cut wood and campfire. The campground's been open to the public for more than a month, but now that school's out and summer holidays have officially begun, we're gearing up for our busiest season. It's mostly just been retirees and weekenders, so far, but soon we'll be booked full. Which is good. Though Mom doesn't like to let on, I know money's been super tight this year with all the recent medical bills. 

I walk into the house, where the fragrance of baking supplants the campfire smoke. Weird. Mom doesn't usually bake unless it's one of our birthdays or something. 

"Mom?" I yell. "I'm home." "In here," she calls from the kitchen. I walk into a war zone. Our refrigerator has exploded. "Been busy?" I survey the mess and the undomestic goddess that is my mother. Her apron reads, "Get your Asana in Gear!" Aside from running the campground with Red, she also teaches hot yoga and is a bit of a fanatic about it. You'd think a hard-core health nut would love to cook, but she prefers we eat mostly raw whole foods from the organic market. At least that's the story she's selling. "

"Just wanted to make you and Caleb a special dinner tonight," she says, slightly out of breath. My mom has a pretty rocking bod for someone in her mid-forties, but I notice a few more fine lines around her eyes. Caleb's illness was rough on us all, and Mom pretty much lived at the hospital when he was in there. "Red's joining us." 

I inhale deeply as another uncommon smell drifts under my nostrils. "Is that meat?" "Pot roast," she says, pride tinged with regret. "Seriously?" Mom's a vegan, though the rest of us are carnivores. 

"Free range, grain-fed and hormone-free." She opens the oven door and takes a peek. "Poor thing."

"Can't I cook a nice dinner for my family?" she says, the tautness of her shoulders belying her innocent tone. I look at her more carefully.