Free Camptown Ladies by Mari SanGiovanni Page A

the fuck does she do that?” Lisa said, letting me go at the sight of Mom rounding the doorway.
    “Language!” Mom yelled.
    I wiped the chocolate and vanilla from my mouth onto my sleeve. I whispered, “She can hear through walls.”
    “Looking good, Eddie!” Lisa shouted, the thunderous echo making Cindy-Lu cower as Lisa stuffed the rest of the ice cream in her mouth, despite my nostril contact. “Work it, boy! Bottoms up, elbows down, you dog!!”
    Eddie delicately put a rubber-gloved hand on his hip, “Girl, I just know you’re not talking to me like that.”
    I said, “Lisa, what would you think about hanging an Italian Horn somewhere in here for luck?”
    She answered, “I suppose it’s less creepy than the string of rosary beads Aunt Aggie wants.”
    Eddie piped, “You Catholic types are weird.”
    “Amen,” Lisa said.
    Eddie said, “I don’t get it. The whole drink the wine and eat the host.”
    “Only if she’s hot,” Lisa said, before she walking off. She thumped me on the back, hard, and said: “Well, I’m off to stock the pond with some fin-less brown trout.”
    Eddie waved his rag, “Isn’t the pond that way?”
    I laughed at him. “She says that whenever she has to go to the bathroom.”
    Eddie shook his head in disgust. “Dykes,” he said as he lovingly scrubbed a petite spot of urine.
    It felt good to laugh again, and as I scanned the edge of the campground the trees waved, laughing with me. I would always keep my Tree-as-Magic-8-Ball religion to myself. It was a bizarre part ofme and I needed it . . . just like I needed to hear Mom and Aggie snapping at each other over what shelf the plastic tablecloths should be stored on. I needed to see how Eddie would visually transform a smelly teen recreation hall into my sister’s dream. I needed to watch my Dad fester, dramatically guarding his wood like the insane man that comes barreling out his screen door when neighborhood kids make the unfortunate choice to cut across his lawn. I needed to hear Lisa barking orders like an insane short-order-cook-football-coach, using insults and sarcasm to motivate her weary and mostly unskilled team. I needed my brother and I to forget two women; one who was coming back too soon, and the one I realized I’d never had.

 
    Seven
     
    Testing For Soft Spots
     
     
    I knew Vince wanted Erica to come, for all the wrong reasons. He looked like a heartbroken, but hopeful, boy, with dreams of still winning the girl. “This might be our only chance. I would have never gotten her back with Erica in California and me in here in Rhode Island.”
    It was then I feared the trees had been signaling doom, and I had misread it. “Remember, Erica is coming to help us with the Campground,” I said.
    “It’s a long way to come for a contracting job when she’s doing so well out there.” He was trying to stifle a grin. It was a grin I hadn’t seen in so long.
    I tried again, “She’s doing it as a favor to Lisa. That’s probably all, Vince.”
    Still, I supposed there was a chance, since it really didn’t make any sense for her to take the job. She’d be leaving lucrative clients out west, to come across the company to be closer to someone she just broke up with, yet she had decided she’d be the lead contractor of a campground? Maybe there was still a chance for her and Vince, but I knew better than to encourage him since, by the look on his face, he was already counting on it.

     
    A few days later, Erica and what she called her “scouting” crew of three roared into Camptown Ladies in a rented, flatbed, diesel engine truck, outfitted with ladders and tools and some other heavy gear Icould not identify. Since Lisa and Mom had forced me to eat a meatball sandwich for lunch, I did a quick face check in the mirror before heading outside to greet her. It had been over eight months since I had seen Erica at my Uncle Tony’s wedding to Lorn’s mother. Since then, the phone calls between us had dwindled