“Meg?” Annabel sounded impatient.
“I have no idea how many people,” I said. “Dozens.”
“Dozens?”
I had a feeling she was about to rescind the invitation.
“Dozens,” I said. “And you might not want them in your backyard. Grandfather’s crews tend to get a little rowdy around the campfire after a hard day of rescuing. Your neighbors will hate it.”
“The only neighbor close enough to that field to be bothered is Theo Weaver, and I damn well hope they make his life a misery,” she said. “Blake can bring a whole damned army if he likes. But they can’t use my toilet. Got to draw the line somewhere.”
“I’ll tell him he’ll need port-a-potties,” I said.
“There’s a side road leading to the field,” she said. “About a quarter of a mile beyond my gate. Have them use that. I don’t want a whole mob tromping through the yard.”
“I’ll pass that along,” I said. “Oh, and Michael and the boys and I are probably going to come down, too. And their summer babysitter, Natalie—my sister Pam’s next-to-youngest. The kids are all excited about going camping with Great-Grandpa. I’d love for them to meet you while we’re there. If that’s okay with you.”
Another silence. Not quite so long this time. Still, I wondered if Annabel’s curiosity about her cousin’s grandchildren would outweigh her reclusiveness. And her already clearly expressed distaste for her cousin’s seducer.
“I’ll think about it. As long as it’s just a few of you. And I don’t want to meet Blake.”
“I can understand that,” I said. “We should be down sometime in the next day or so. I’ll let you know.”
“Fine,” she said. “Good-bye.”
I looked back at the table where Dad and Grandfather and the rest of the troops were studying their maps.
“Good news,” I said. “I’ve found you a place to camp.”
Chapter 8
Michael and I headed down to Riverton first thing the next morning. Luckily, we’d been considering a camping trip, and I had already gathered most of the equipment and supplies we’d need. With the camping checklist in my notebook-that-tells-me-when-to-breathe, it only took an hour or so after dinner to gather the remaining items and pack them in the Twinmobile, our sturdy minivan.
If anyone had asked Why the rush? I’d have told them that we only had two weeks before Michael’s summer session began. But that wasn’t my real reason for haste. I wanted to be there as a buffer between the rest of the rescuers and Annabel. Particularly between Grandfather and Annabel. Even those of us who loved him dearly often found Grandfather exasperating. And Annabel had already shown clear signs of animosity toward him—obviously resenting what he had done to her cousin. Even if Grandfather was savvy enough to steer clear of her, I couldn’t be sure that the rest of the campers would, and I suspected Annabel did not suffer fools gladly.
And this gathering could get rather large. In addition to the film crew—Grandfather never passed up the chance to document his exploits for the television audience—there would be the usual motley assortment of volunteers who always showed up when he put out the call, drawn both by their eagerness to serve the environment and their desire to be seen doing so on one of Grandfather’s specials.
As we pulled into Riverton at a little past eleven o’clock Wednesday morning, I was already planning how I’d handle it. I was driving—partly to prove that my hand didn’t hurt that badly and partly so I could feel no guilt at abandoning Michael to set up camp and tend the boys while I headed over to charm—or at least distract—Cousin Annabel. Probably a good idea not to spring the boys on her just yet. Not until we’d found something very active for them to do, to drain off all the extra energy they’d built up on the ride. And I’d be there to ease any anxiety she felt as the other campers trickled in, swelling our small beachhead into the full camp.
So I wasn’t thrilled when I turned the Twinmobile onto the dirt road that led to our borrowed campground and realized—
“Blast!” I exclaimed. “We’re not the first.”
“How can you tell?” Michael was sitting back in the third row, with Josh, and probably hadn’t spotted the telltale clues.
“Because there’s already a sign over the road up ahead,” I called back. “Saying Welcome to Camp Emu.”
Someone had hung the sign between the last two trees before the lane left the woods for the open field. So when I drove under it, I found myself in the midst of an already thriving camp. Cars, vans, pickups, trailers, and RVs were everywhere, and I could see at least half-a-dozen tents already set up, with more in progress.