Connor cleared his throat again, his gaze sweeping the group of kids.
“She likes to read books, she’s really good at playing piano and she wants to get better at swimming.”
They sat back down and didn’t look at each other again—except once. And when their eyes met, she was surprised to see that they were both almost smiling.
All right, she conceded, so he hadn’t decided to make her a human sacrifice this time, or use her for target practice. She was torn between liking this kid and resenting him. One thing Lolly was sure of. She did hate summer camp, and she didn’t even care if it belonged to her grandparents. She was never coming back here again for as long as she lived. Ever.
INVITATION
THE HONOR OF YOUR PRESENCE IS
REQUESTED
BY JANE AND CHARLES BELLAMY
ON THE OCCASION OF OUR
50TH WEDDING ANNIVERSARY.
YOU’VE SHARED IN OUR LIVES WITH
YOUR FRIENDSHIP AND LOVE.
NOW WE INVITE YOU TO JOIN US IN
CELEBRATING
OUR GOLDEN ANNIVERSARY.
SATURDAY, THE 26TH OF AUGUST, 2006.
CAMP KIOGA, RR #47, AVALON,
ULSTER COUNTY, NEW YORK.
RUSTIC ACCOMMODATIONS PROVIDED.
Two
Olivia Bellamy set down the engraved invitation and smiled across the table at her grandmother. “What a lovely idea,” she said. “Congratulations to you and Granddad.”
Nana slowly rotated the tiered array of tiny sandwiches and cakes. Once a month no matter what else was going on in their lives, grandmother and granddaughter met for tea at Astor Court in the Saint Regis Hotel in midtown. They had been doing it for years, ever since Olivia was a pudgy, sullen twelve-year-old in need of attention. Even now, there was something soothing about stepping into the Beaux Arts luxury of elegant furnishings, potted palms and the discreet murmur of harp music.
Nana settled on a cucumber slice garnished with a floret of salmon mousse. “Thank you. The anniversary is three months away, but I’m already getting excited.”
“Why Camp Kioga?” Olivia asked, fiddling with the tea strainer. She hadn’t been there since her last summer before college. By choice, she had put all the drama and angst behind her.
“Camp Kioga is a special place to me and Charles.” Next, Nana sampled a tiny finger sandwich spread with truffle butter. “It’s the place where we first met, and we were married there, under the gazebo, on Spruce Island in the middle of Willow Lake.”
“You’re kidding. I never knew that. Why didn’t I know that?”
“Trust me, what you don’t know about this family could fill volumes. Charles and I were a regular Romeo and Juliet.”
“You never told me this story. Nana, what’s up?”
“Nothing’s up. Most young people don’t give a fig about how their grandparents met and married. Nor should they.”
“I’m giving a fig right now,” Olivia said. “Spill.”
“It was all so long ago, and seems so trivial now. You see, my parents—the Gordons—and the Bellamys came from two different worlds. I grew up in Avalon, never even saw the city until after I was married. Your granddad’s parents even threatened to boycott the wedding. They were determined that their only son would marry well. In those days, that meant somebody with social status. Not some Catskills girl from a mountain camp.”
Olivia was startled by the flicker of hurt she recognized in her grandmother’s eyes. Some wounds, it seemed, never quite healed. “I’m sorry,” she said.
Nana made a visible effort to shake off her mood. “There was a lot of class consciousness back then.”
“Still is,” Olivia said softly.
Nana’s eyebrows shot up, and Olivia knew she’d better change the subject, or she’d be trapped into explaining what she meant by that. She looked expectantly at the teapot. “Is it ready?”
They always split a large pot of Lady Grey, which carried a whisper of lavender along with the bergamot. Olivia’s grandmother nodded and poured. “Anyway,” Nana said, “you have more important things than my ancient history to think about.” Behind her chic black-and-pink glasses, her eyes sparkled and for a moment she looked decades younger. “It’s a grand story, though. I’m sure you’ll hear it this summer. We hope everyone will come for a nice long stay. Charles and I are going to renew our vows at the gazebo, in the exact spot where we first spoke them. We’re going to reenact the wedding as much as we’re able.”
“Oh, Nana. That’s a … wonderful notion.” Deep down, Olivia was cringing. She was sure the idyllic picture in her grandmother’s mind was a far cry from the reality. The camp had ceased operating nine years before and had lain fallow ever since, with minimal maintenance performed by a skeleton crew that mowed the grounds and made sure the buildings were still standing. Some of the Bellamy cousins and other relatives used the place for reunions or vacations, but Olivia suspected the camp had gone to ruin. Her grandparents were sure to be disappointed in the setting for their golden anniversary.
“You know,” Olivia said, determined to be diplomatic, “some of your friends are getting on in years. As I recall, the camp is not wheelchair accessible. People would be more likely to attend if you had the affair at the Waldorf-Astoria or maybe right here at the Saint Regis.”
Jane sipped her tea. “Charles and I discussed it, and decided to do this for us. Much as we love all our friends and family, our golden anniversary is going to be the affair we want. That’s what our wedding was, and that’s what we’ll do fifty years later. We’ve chosen Camp Kioga. It’s a way to celebrate what we’ve been in the past and what we hope to be for the rest of our lives—a happy couple.” Her cup rattled, just slightly, as she set it down in its saucer. “It will be our farewell to the camp.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“The golden anniversary celebration will be our last event at Camp Kioga. Afterward, we’ll need to decide what to do about the property.”
Olivia frowned. “Nana? Did I just hear that right?”
“You did. It’s time. We’ve got to come up with a plan for the property. It’s a hundred acres of prime real estate, and it has been privately owned by my family since 1932. Our hope is that we can keep it in the family for our children.” She looked pointedly at Olivia. “Or our grandchildren. Nothing’s sure in this life, but we hope the property won’t be sold to a developer who will put up roads and parking lots and rows of those dreadful tract mansions.”
Olivia didn’t know why the prospect of her grandparents letting go of the property made her feel wistful. She didn’t
