Dear Kristy,
I received your letter this morning. I love hearing about your campers. How are things going now between Harmoni and Marcia? I already like Harmoni, just from your description of her. She actually sounds a little like you….
I’m glad Abby likes camp so much, but I can’t believe that she even likes the food. You must be kidding me. (Right?) And I’m glad you and Abby are having so much fun together. Really. I am.
I’m also glad you think I’m a strong person. I have a feeling I’m going to need to be strong where Logan is concerned. Guess what I decided. I decided I have to do something about him, that we can’t go on like this. He’ll drive me crazy if we do. I almost did something drastic — called him and told him I didn’t want to see him anymore. Then I thought things over and realized we need to talk. Logan doesn’t even know anything is wrong, and that’s because I’ve just let him call me and hover over me and baby me. I haven’t told him he’s driving me crazy.
So. This morning I got up my nerve and called him. This was our conversation:
“Hi, it’s me.” (That was me.)
“ ’Morning.” Logan sounded very sleepy. I checked my watch. Almost 10:30, but then he tends to sleep late on the weekends. I wondered whether now was the best time to have this particular conversation with him and almost told him I’d call back later.
But then Logan said, suddenly coming to life and sounding concerned, “Are you all right, Mary Anne?”
“All right? Of course I’m all right. Why wouldn’t I be all right?” (Don’t say anything, Kristy. I know how that sounded.)
Logan hesitated. “Well, I know how difficult this summer has been for you. And now with your grandmother coming and all, I just thought …”
“Logan, I’m fine. And in fact, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“What?”
“About — that I am fine. I really am. But I feel like you think I’m not fine.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re overprotecting me. Or something.” Suddenly I felt inarticulate. “You’re, um, you’re kind of smothering me. And you, um, you kind of seem to want me to need you. To cling to you.” There was a very bad silence on Logan’s end of the phone. Finally I said, “Logan?”
“Yeah?” (I don’t know how he did it, but Logan managed to sound extremely hurt when he said that one word.)
“Logan, I —”
“That’s okay. You don’t have to say anything, Mary Anne.”
“Yes, I do. I — I don’t know what I was thinking. Forget I said anything.”
“Okay. You want to go to the movies this afternoon?”
And that was how our conversation ended. Absolutely nothing accomplished.
Bravely, but ineffectively,
Mary Anne
Saturday
Dear Claudia,
I just wrote to you yesterday morning, Friday morning. Now it’s Saturday evening. You won’t believe what has happened since the last letter. To give you a clue, I’m supposed to be out with Ethan at this very moment. Instead, I’m sitting in my room writing to you, and Ethan is at home, probably calling all his friends to see if any of them can do something with him.
Hmphh.
I had a funny feeling when Dad left for work yesterday morning that I hadn’t heard the last about Ethan. I was right. At 11:45 that morning I was sitting in the living room working on that needlepoint thing for Mom. (You know what, Claud? Needlepoint is hard. I don’t know how you and Mary Anne can do so much knitting and sewing and creating. I had thought I might finish the glasses case in time to give it to Mom when I return from NYC. Now I think I’ll have to wait until Christmas.) Anyway, I was sitting there struggling with the yarn when I heard our fax phone ring. At first I wasn’t going to bother to answer it because I figured it was just work stuff for Dad. Then I thought MAYBE it was a fun letter or something for me. So I ran to the machine and watched it spit out … a memo to me from Dad. He was requesting that I set aside half an hour this evening, from 7:00 to 7:30, to talk to him.
I was immediately suspicious. Why was he being so formal and businesslike? Plus, he knew I was supposed to meet Ethan at 7:00. Plus, we had just had that awful discussion at breakfast. I figured I better say I could meet with him, though. So I faxed him back. I don’t know whether he was expecting that, but I couldn’t let him be the only one sending faxes. Two could play that game. I asked him if we could set aside a different half hour, the one from 6:30 until 7:00. I figured that way I could be a good girl and go to Dad’s meeting, then still meet Ethan.
Dad faxed me back again. (He must have been having a very slow day at the office.) This is what the fax said:
* * *
Stacey —
Meeting to be held from 7:00–7:30. No amendments. Pls. call Ethan and tell him you won’t be seeing him tonight.
* * *
That was it. That was the entire fax, Claud. It sound like a telegram, doesn’t it? I mean, could it be briefer?
Anyway, I did as Dad requested and called Ethan to tell him we wouldn’t be able to get together. Ethan was mad (not at me). I was mad (not at Ethan). I stayed mad for the rest of the day. I was maddest of all when Dad was late to his own meeting. He walked through the door at 7:15.
“The meeting’s half over,” I announced. I was sitting at the dining room table with a pad of paper, two pens, and a pitcher of water.
“Stacey,” said Dad, “this is not a joke.”
“I know. That’s why I got to your meeting on time.”
Dad harrumphed, put his things away quickly, and sat down across from me.
“Shall I take minutes?” I asked.
Dad gave me quite a Look. Then he ignored all my meeting paraphernalia and launched into a talk that he had obviously spent part of the day preparing.
“Stacey,” he began, “I’ve been monitoring the amount of time you spend with Ethan and find that it is way too much.”
“But Dad —”
“No interruptions. And you know that I believe Ethan is too old for you.”
I couldn’t help this next interruption. “He’s not any older than me now than he was when I first began seeing him. We age at exactly the same rate.”
“Stacey, enough. I just said no interruptions. You’re not making this easy on me.” (Which was precisely what I wanted.) “I’ll get right to the point. You may spend a total of fourteen hours a week with Ethan. That’s two hours a day. You may take the time any way you like, but you must, you absolutely MUST be home by 9:30 if you go out with him in the evening.”
My jaw dropped. “Now am I allowed to speak?” I asked.
“If you are not going to be impertinent.”
“Dad, this is so unfair! Two hours a day? A DAY?”
“I feel that Ethan is not a good influence on you.”
The conversation went on a bit from there, Claud, but this is the important part of it. What a drag. I’d rather be on Monhegan with no TV.
Your frustrated friend,
Stacey
Monday nite
Dear Stacey,
I just got your letter form friday. I have not herd of the Pony either. I think I have herd of the limelite, but I dont realy know anything about it. Are you sure its such a bad thing. Well I guess thats a silly question if it werent a bad thing you’re father wouldn’t be so upset. But I do think he’ is overreacting. So what if he saw Ethan in fornt of that pony place. Like you said it doesn’t mean he was IN it.
Boy am I envious. The party at Tomas’s place sounds realy cool. (By the way I think you speled Tomas’s name wronge.) Drinking coffee and listening to poetry. Very grownup. That sounds like something you’d do on Tv. Does your dad know about that? I think he’d approve. If he knew what you and Ethan were up to maybe he would change his mind about Ethan. I guess you couldnt say that Thomas is 17, though. Or that the party was held at his place while his parents were away.
Well heres what we’re up to on Monhegan. Mo
m and dad and Janine and I are spending lots of time together. We’re finding time to do our own things but during part of every day we do something as a family. Yesterday we desided to hike the hole backside of the island. This was realy fun but also a little scary. Listen to some of the things you have to be careful about on this island. No swimming or wading on the back side of the iland because of dangerous undertows. The broshure I got actually says (these are the EXACT words) that no one has been saved who has gone overboard from Green Point to Lobster Cove. Can you believe that Stacey? And the head lands which are like cliffs and are just beautiful … well just imagin what would hapen if you fell off cliffs into the sea. And then we went to Gull cove were the broshur says to be really realy realy carful on the rocks becuse their slipery and people have falen into the sea and been lost. Also these huge enormous waves called combers sometimes roll in without warning and (again these are the EXACT words from the broshure) they sweep away anything in their path. Yikes.
But guess what. We had so much fun. It was a great hike and I dont think Ive ever been in such a beautiful place. Stacey, we were high up on the cliffs on the backside of the island and far far belowe us we saw harbor seals swimming along. We all looked at them threw the bin be spyglasses. I have never seen a seal before that wasnt in a zoo. Oh, you have to come hear sometime. Its so hard to describ what we see everyday. Cliffs rising out of the ocean, woods carpeted with pine neddles, lobster traps piled everywhere, boats far out on the sea. Sometimes the fog roles in and everything is all misty and misterious like a Nancy Drew Book.
In case your wondering how I’m am doing with my lobster-eating streek I have not broken it yet. Lobster in some form every single day. Guess how we’re going to have it tonight we are going to go to the Fish R Us fish market in town and get whole live lobsters to cook and eat. I plan to disapear when mom has to drop the lobsters into the boiling water. That is so crewel. But I am still looking forward to our lobster cookout.
Love,
Claud
July 13
Dear Kristy,
I loved your letter about the scavenger hunt! And I can’t believe that Marcia has eyebrow tweezers at camp. Does she actually use them? That is kind of weird.
The big news here is that Grandma arrived last night. We were all nervous about her arrival. I mean, Dad has that uncomfortable relationship with her because of what happened after my mother died, and Sharon feels nervous around her because she doesn’t know her very well and because of Dad’s reaction to her. Also, this is the first time Grandma has been here since my mother died, so I thought this might be a very emotional trip, and the last thing we need around here is another emotional person. PLUS, we’re so jammed into this teensy house — how are we going to make Grandma feel comfortable here? (She’s sleeping in my bed, and I’ve moved to the pull-out sofa in the itsy-bitsy living room.)
Anyway, Grandma got here at dinnertime last night. She insisted on taking a car service from the airport and wouldn’t let us pick her up. At about 6:00 Dad and Sharon and I were in the kitchen putting together dinner when we heard a horn honk. We ran outside and there was Grandma standing by a black sedan. The driver was getting all this stuff out of the trunk of the car — two taped-up card-board boxes and more luggage than even Stacey travels with. I glanced at Dad and was about to ask him if we were sure how long Grandma was going to stay when she waved to us and we started walking across the lawn toward her.
I have to admit that even though I hadn’t exactly been looking forward to Grandma’s visit it felt good to hug her. Grandma cried, of course, and said how glad she was to see us. (People say that all the time, but when Grandma said it last night it had special meaning.) Then Dad began to give the driver a hand with Grandma’s things. “What did you pack in here?” he asked her with a little laugh.
Grandma shrugged and smiled. “Oh, this and that,” she replied.
I glanced at Sharon, but I don’t know why. Of course she didn’t have any more idea than I did about what was in all those bags and boxes.
A few minutes later the driver was on his way and we were carrying Grandma’s things into the house. Grandma looked around our teeny place and said, “Well, this is very cozy.” She was being sincere, Kristy. She really meant it.
I looked at our house with different eyes. “Would you like a tour?” I asked her.
“Of course.”
“We’ll start with my room. We can leave your things in there. You’re going to sleep in my bed.”
“Oh, I hate to put you out.”
“It’s okay. This doesn’t feel like home anyway.”
I don’t know where those words came from. They just slipped out. I hadn’t meant to say them.
Grandma looked at me gently. “I can understand that, Mary Anne,” she said.
I swallowed hard. Then I said, “Well, anyway, this is my room, and over here is Dad and Sharon’s room. Back down the hall is the kitchen and across from it is the living room. That’s it. Four rooms. Well, plus the bathroom. Which is right in there.” I pointed.
Grandma and I were standing in the living room. “I can see why it doesn’t feel like home,” she said.
“Yeah. It’s furnished with somebody else’s furniture. And it’s, well, I know this sounds spoiled, but it’s just so small. We were used to our old house, where we weren’t all piled on top of each other.”
“Perhaps it was just that your old house was familiar,” suggested Grandma. “It was what you were used to.”
I nodded. “I could have gone to camp this summer. And escaped this?” I gestured around at our little house. “I was all signed up. I would have had plenty of space there. But I didn’t want to leave Dad and Sharon.”
It was Grandma’s turn to nod. “Perfectly sensible,” she said, and I smiled.
Kristy, I didn’t remember that Grandma was so easy to talk to, but she is, and I like that. Now I’m glad she came to visit.
I was going to end my letter here, but I know you too well. You’re wondering what I’m doing about Logan. You won’t let me get away without telling you. Well, I’m not sure you’re going to like the answer. I’m simply trying not to think about him right now. I know I’ll have to deal with him eventually, but one thing at a time. Okay?
Lots of love,
Mary Anne
July 13
Dear Mary Anne,
What’s with Logan? Maybe he’s going through that male midlife crisis thing really, really early. He quits the Baby-sitters Club and now he’s acting, well, just plain weird with you. So how are things going? Has he let up at all?
Mary Anne, I don’t want to be pushy, but I am, and since I can’t help it, let me say that you’re going to have to stand up for yourself in this matter. Sooner or later you’re just going to have to tell Logan what you think, even if you wind up hurting his feelings. I mean, he HAS to hear what you’re trying to say to him. And I mean REALLY hear, which means UNDERSTAND you. Am I making my point? I know you already told him that he’s overprotective, but clearly he didn’t want to hear you. Would you consider writing him a letter? A letter is kind of hard to ignore, with the words written down right in front of your eyes and all.
Okay, enough about that.
Well, one more thing. The next time you try to make a point and Logan doesn’t want to hear you and changes the subject and asks you to go to the movies with him … DON’T GO!!!
Camp is still great. Do you want to hear about a typical day here? Old Meanie has changed things a bit, so they’re different than the last time you were here. Not better or worse, necessarily; just different.
This is our schedule:
6:30 — We’re awakened when “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy” comes blaring over the loudspeaker system. Abby is such a sleepyhead in the morning that I lean down to her bunk (she has the bottom one) and sing along right in her ear, to help the waking-up process.
7:00 — Everyone should be dressed and ready for the day and heading to the mess hall. I walk with Abby
and steer her to our table, help her load her plate, etc. She’s more helpless than the campers at that hour, but I find it endearing.
7:30 — Campwide meeting to talk about the day: special events and so forth. The counselors sit together at this meeting and leave the CITs in charge of the campers. At this hour, when Abby’s eyes are still not reliably open, I consider her one of the campers, so I put myself in charge of everybody.
8:00 — Morning activities begin. Abby and I play softball at some point every morning.
12:00 — Lunch in the mess hall.
12:30 — Afternoon activities begin. Abby and I are in charge of our campers for this next part of the day.
4:00 — Rest hour. You know what that’s like. When I’m not writing letters, writing in my journal, or reading, I discuss CIT and BSC activities with Abby. She seems to love helping me make plans and schedules.
5:00 — Free hour.
6:00 — Dinner in the mess hall.
6:30 — Evening group activity.
8:00 — Back to our cabins.
9:00 — Lights-out. (Ha-ha.)
Some of the most fun Abby and I have had has taken place after 9:00 P.M. — telling ghost stories (not too scary) with our campers, planning raids on the mess hall (a little silly since we don’t actually want much of what we can find there), planning goofy attacks on other cabins, and so forth. Rebecca is really nice and just sort of closes her eyes when we do this.
Anyway, this is all great, but I miss you, Mary Anne. We’re starting to plan Parents’ Day, our last day here. When the parents arrive to take us home we’ll have a program for them with skits and songs, an exhibition softball game, plus lots of other exhibitions — horseback riding, swimming, archery. If you were here, I know you’d be involved in the arts-and-crafts show. (Neither Abby nor I has been in the arts-and-crafts cabin yet.)
Better go. Rest hour is over and Abby and I are going to go hit a few balls.
Love,
Kristy
Tuseday
Dear Stacy,