“Can I speak to Dawn, please?” The girl’s voice on the other end of the phone sounded quivery and familiar.
“This is Dawn. Who’s this?”
“I—it’s me—Marlee Hodges.”
For no reason, Dawn’s heart skipped a beat. “Hi. How are you? Is everything all right?”
“No.” Marlee’s voice wavered.
Dawn clutched the phone so tightly that her fingers hurt. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m back in the hospital, and I’m scared. Please, come see me, Dawn. Please.”
I would like to especially thank the campers of Camp Horizon,
Nashville, Tennessee,
for their willingness to share.
And also, thanks to Valerie and Linda.
Text copyright © 1991 by Lurlene McDaniel
All rights reserved. International copyright secured. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of Lerner Publishing Group, Inc., except for the inclusion of brief quotations in an acknowledged review.
Darby Creek
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Minneapolis, MN 55401 U.S.A.
Website address: www.lernerbooks.com
Cover photo and design by Michael Petty/Petty Productions.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available.
ISBN: 978–1–58196–005–1
Manufactured in the United States of America
2/1/11
eISBN: 978-0-7613-6812-0 (pdf)
eISBN: 978-1-4677-2791-4 (ePub)
eISBN: 978-1-4677-2792-1 (mobi)
One
“ARE, you scared?”
Dawn Rochelle glanced toward her brother Rob and considered his question for a moment before answering. “Well, maybe just a little.”
“I think you’ll do fine,” he told her as he pushed his foot on the accelerator and passed a slow-moving truck on the winding country road. “Besides you’ve been to camp before, so what’s to be scared about?”
“Well, for one thing I’ve never been a counselor before. It’ll be different than just being a regular camper.”
“That’s why you’re going up early—so you can go through training.” Rob reached over and slugged his sister’s shoulder affectionately. “Come on. Where’s that old Rochelle enthusiasm? Think of all the fun you’re going to have. Katie says you’ll be the best counselor-in-training in the group.”
Dawn gave him a bright smile, one far more courageous than she felt. How had she ever let Joan Clark at the clinic talk her into becoming a CIT at cancer camp this summer?
Dawn thought back to the day she’d come into the clinic for routine blood work and Joan had corralled her in her office. There, she’d explained how important she felt it was to have teens who’d had cancer work with kids who were also cancer victims. It was one way to show the younger kids that it was possible to survive cancer and live a normal life.
“But why me?” Dawn had asked Joan. “I wasn’t even planning on going to camp this year. I promised my friend Rhonda that I’d work at her uncle’s ice cream store this summer.”
In truth, at fifteen, Dawn was tired of the whole business of leukemia. After all, she’d been through a lot since her diagnosishospitalization, months of chemotherapy and sickness, remission, relapse, and finally, a bone marrow transplant from her brother. Since then, her blood work had been free of cancer cells, but she knew that there were no guarantees. Her doctors wanted her marrow working for several years before they pronounced her cured.
But Joan had shrugged off Dawn’s comment. “I’m asking you because you’ve been through so much with your disease and because you seemed to have such a good time at camp.”
“Oh, I did. It’s a wonderful place for kids with cancer. It helps them know that they’re not alone, that there are others who are going through the same things. The first time I went, I thought it was the most wonderful place in the world.”
But the first time Dawn had gone to camp, her friend Sandy Chandler had gone, too, and they’d met Mike and Greg. Now Mike was off to college, Greg had moved, and Sandy—well, Sandy was gone forever.
“There’ll be other CITs your age,” Joan offered. “Six of you. You’ll go in three days early for training with the rest of the staff. I think you’re perfect for the job, Dawn. Please say you’ll do it.”
The memory of Joan’s office faded as Dawn stared out the car window and watched as they passed by the wooded Ohio countryside.
“It’s too bad Katie couldn’t come with us today,” she said to Rob, sighing a mock sigh. She watched as the tips of Rob’s ears turned red and a funny little smile tugged at his mouth. “Don’t forget, Rob, if it hadn’t been for me, you’d never have met Katie.”
“An event that will forever put me in your debt,” Rob said, lifting one hand off the steering wheel in a little salute.
Katie had been the nurse assigned to Dawn’s case during her transplant procedure. Dawn adored her and hoped that she and Rob would be happy together. Rob had had a tough time with girls lately. Just before her bone marrow transplant, he had broken up with his fiancée, Darcy, and he was just now getting over it. “So I guess you’ll be seeing her a lot this summer, huh?”
“Why do you think I’ve decided to take a job in Columbus instead of staying at the university and finding summer work there?” Rob asked, his eyes twinkling.
Dawn tapped the side of her forehead, pretending that she was concentrating hard. “Do I get a prize for the right answer?”
Rob flashed her a grin. “You can have anything you want from me, little sister.”
Dawn returned his smile. But she thought that even if a magic genie appeared to grant her a wish, she wasn’t sure what it would be at the moment. Her feelings were a jumble of anticipation, apprehension, and wistfulness as Rob turned onto the familiar rutted roadway that led to the main buildings of the camp area. Trees wore the richly hued shades of June green, and their leafy arms stretched over the road like a canopy. Dawn rolled down the window and sniffed the sweet, fragrant air.
Rob slowed the car to a crawl. “Does it bring back memories?” he asked.
“How did you know?”
“We’re joined by bone marrow, remember?”
Dawn laid her head against the car seat headrest and stared upward through the windshield at the flecks of blue sky between tree branches. “Yes, it brings back lots of memories.”
Rob turned off the engine. “Why don’t you wait a few minutes before I drop you off at the main building?”
“I’ll be late for the first meeting.”
“So what? Tell me what’s on your mind.” “I’m not sure I can explain it.”
“Try. Are you sorry you came?”
“No. I’m glad to help out. It’s just hard coming back, that’s all.”
“Why?”
Dawn searched for a way to put her mixed-up feelings into words, a way to make him understand the turmoil she felt. “I–I’m never sure who’ll be back from the year before.”
“There are plenty of reasons kids stop coming to camp, Dawn.”
She turned her head so that she could see his face. “This is cancer camp, Rob. When kids stop coming, you don’t always know why. Sometimes it’s because they move or get busy with something else. And sometimes, it’s because they . . .” She let the sentence trail, unable to say the word.
“It’s because they die,” Rob finished for her. “Like Sandy did. I’m sorry, Squirt.”
A film of tears formed over Dawn’s eyes, and she turn
ed her head quickly. She didn’t want to go into a meeting with red puffy eyes, and besides, Sandy had been gone for a long time. Dawn should be over it by now. “She was my very best friend. I still miss her, you know?”
Rob placed his hand on her shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. “I know, and I hate to see you hurting over it.”
“Hurting is what happens when you make friends with someone who has cancer,” Dawn explained with a sigh. “It’s just hard watching people go away when they have so much to live for. It’s not fair to have life taken away from kids who have dreams and plans and stuff.”
Her voice threatened to break, so she stopped talking and thought back to Sandy. Sandy had died in a clinic in Mexico far away from her home in West Virginia. She never even got to finish seventh grade or see her sister and two brothers again or kiss the boy she thought she loved.
After Sandy’s death, Sandy’s parents sent Dawn a cardboard box filled with special items Sandy had wanted Dawn to have. She used to sort through them often. But every time she did, she cried so hard she had trouble stopping. Finally, she’d had to store the box in her attic. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d gone through it, but she could remember every single item with crystal clarity. The combs Sandy had worn in her baby-fine blond hair. The craft projects from their days together in the hospital and at camp. Sandy’s diary.
A tear trickled down Dawn’s cheek, and she wiped it with the back of her hand.
“Are you okay?” Rob’s voice sounded alarmed when he asked her.
Dawn sniffed and dragged her thoughts back into the present. “Sure. I just got a little weepy thinking about Sandy and all.”
Rob smoothed her auburn hair, which now had grown past her shoulders. “Should I go ahead and take you to the main hall?”
“Take me to my cabin first so I can dump my stuff.”
Rob restarted the car and headed up the roadway. “I think you’re going to have a great time,” he told her cheerfully. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll make some really cool new friends.”
“Maybe,” Dawn said, without believing it. Deep down, she wasn’t sure she wanted to make new friends with kids who had cancer. It hurt too badly when she lost them.
All she really wanted to do was fulfill her commitment to the CIT program and go back home and work in the ice cream shop with Rhonda. When school started in the fall, she’d be a sophomore in a brand new school where most people didn’t know her. No one would think of her as the girl who has cancer. She could make lots of friends with kids who were normal and didn’t have to face the idea of maybe dying before they ever had a chance to live.
Two
“SORRY I’m late,” Dawn said as she hurried into the main hall where campers met, ate, and held activities on rainy days. A small group of people sat around one of the wooden dining tables. Dawn quickly counted twelve adults and five teens about her age. She recognized some of the faces from the last time she was at camp.
At one end of the table, Dr. Ben stood wearing his familiar baseball hat. “Dawn, good to see you!” He motioned her toward him. “This is Dawn Rochelle, everybody.” He held out his hand, but before she could shake it, he withdrew it.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “You haven’t got an electric joy buzzer hidden in your palm, have you? I mean, I remember the last time I saw you. It took me an hour to clean off the raw eggs and flour.” His eyes held a teasing glimmer behind the thick lenses of his glasses.
Dawn blushed and laughed along with the others. It was a camp tradition to play a special prank on Dr. Ben. Fortunately, he was a good sport and actually seemed to enjoy the pranks. She figured he’d never forget the time she, Sandy, Mike, and Greg had stolen his underwear, sewn flowers on a pair, and run them up the flagpole.
She held up her hands, showing them to be empty. “No. I’m clean.”
“Well, okay then,” he said, grasping her hand and shaking it firmly. Then he pointed to an empty chair. She sat down as he began to speak.
“These packets will explain our overall philosophy, as well as give a thumbnail sketch of day-to-day activities.” He passed around thick, colored folders filled with paper.
Dawn took hers and leafed through the sheets. She wondered again if she should have taken the job. There seemed to be so much to learn.
“Don’t panic, folks,” Dr. Ben said, almost as if reading Dawn’s thoughts. “We’ve got three days to sort through this stuff and get prepared. Each cabin will be assigned one medical staff member, one CIT, and six campers.”
From the other side of the table, a woman she remembered as Gail motioned to Dawn and mouthed, “We’re together.” Dawn smiled and started to go back to reading her folder. Then she noticed a boy sitting beside Gail. He was slim and blond, blue-eyed, too. But it wasn’t simply his good looks that kept her glancing at him. Something about him looked familiar.
Impossible, she told herself. She recognized most of the people around the table, but she was certain she’d never met him before. Yet she couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that she somehow knew him, too.
“. . . start with the bonfire,” Dr. Ben was saying. His words jerked Dawn back into the flow of the meeting. The bonfire. Dawn knew it was the emotional highlight of every camp session. At the bonfire, the campers returned ashes from the previous year’s fire and removed ashes from the present year’s to take home with them. Returning the ashes was a symbol that they had survived to come back to camp another year. The ceremony she and Sandy had participated in together leapt to life in her memory as if it were yesterday. She remembered Sandy telling her, “Let’s be sure to be here next year,” and her own determined reply, “I’ll be back.” But Sandy didn’t return and even now, two years later, recalling their broken promise made Dawn feel helpless and embittered.
Dr. Ben’s voice cut through her thoughts. “We’ll need people to play the Indians, of course. They’ll man the canoe and bring the lighted torches across the lake. Tom, you did it last year. How about you and Gail?”
Dawn turned to see Tom, but her gaze tripped over the blond boy on the far side of the table. His eyes held hers, and he offered a smile. She felt her cheeks grow red, not only because he’d caught her staring at him, but because his smile and face looked so hauntingly familiar.
“. . . you CITs will be leading all the songs.”
Once again, Dawn had to force herself to pay attention to what Dr. Ben was saying.
“But I can’t sing,” one girl wailed.
“Neither can I,” one of the boys echoed.
“So what?” Dr. Ben said with a grin. “It’s a dirty job, but someone has to do it.”
“Are we getting all the dirty work?” a girl Dawn knew as Shelly asked Dr. Ben suspiciously.
“Would I give you guys all the dirty work?” Dr. Ben asked them in wide-eyed innocence.
The CITs exchanged glances, then chimed, “Yes!”
“You’re right,” Dr. Ben said. “But rank has its privileges.”
Several of them wadded up scrap paper and threw it at Dr. Ben.
“Testy, aren’t they?” Dr. Ben asked of the other staff members, most of whom were doubled over in laughter.
“What other little surprises have you got for us?” another counselor asked.
“Cabin inspections.”
“But kids hate cleaning up the cabins.”
“Naturally. That’s why you get to make sure they do it.”
“Unfair. They’ll hate us,” one of the CITs answered.
Dr. Ben chuckled. “I know.” He cleared his throat amidst good-natured jeering from the CITs. “Also, you’ll be responsible for assisting in our special events—like Fifties Night, State Fair Day, Indian Day, and my personal favorite—the Junior Olympics.”
Dawn brightened, remembering the events from the Olympics she and Sandy had been a part of two years before. Together, they’d had so much fun, and simply thinking back to the day brought back the sound of Sandy’s lilting laughter. Dr. Ben’s voice intruded in
to her memories.
“This year we’ll be adding a new event: Tug-of-War Over the Biggest Mud Hole We Can Make.”
A cheer went up from the CITs. “Our chance to get even, guys,” Tony shouted.
“You’ll eat dirt, Dr. Ben,” Dawn heard herself call out.
The camp director let everyone joke goodnaturedly for a few minutes, then took control of the briefing once more. “The important thing for you CITs is to be available to the campers. For lots of them, this will be their first time away from home, certainly their first time away from the medical regime. Most will be on their drug protocols, chemo pills, and pain medications. We’ll be responsible for dispensing them.” He gestured toward the adult medical personnel. “But for the most part, these kids will look to you CITs for help. I plan to break into small groups each day for rap sessions—you know, a time set aside for sharing thoughts and feelings. You CITs will be especially valuable in these sessions, because I think kids will tell other kids things they might not share with adults.”
The mood in the room had sobered. Dawn realized that despite all the teasing and joking, no one could forget these were not ordinary, typical campers away from home for a few weeks of fun. These were kids with cancer, whose time at camp might be the only fun they had all year. Dawn knew their world. It was a world of constant pain, spinal taps, blood work, nausea from chemo, and radiation therapy. A world of hospitals, labs, clinics, and for some—like Sandy—a cemetery.
After lunch, Dr. Ben told everybody to take a break and meet back in the hall at 4:00. Dawn was grateful for the chance to escape outdoors, and she took off alone toward the lake. She rounded a bend and heard someone call her name from behind. She turned to see the blond boy from the dining hall jogging toward her.
He stopped in front of her. “Hi,” he said, his smile open and friendly. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you.” His accent was softly Southern, another prick against her memory.
“I–I feel as if we’ve met,” she said, hoping to explain the weird way she knew she must be acting. “But we haven’t. Have we?”