didn’t bother trying to fit under the umbrella; he yanked up the hood of his windbreaker, leaped across a puddle and was the first to reach the awning of the station.
Rourke walked between his parents through the entryway. After parking the car, Mr. Santini slipped away to join Joey. The McKnights stopped below the big lighted display board, where they verified the track number and the fact that the train was on time. Some of the people they passed gave them admiring looks. This happened a lot when Rourke was out with his parents. Together, the three of them looked like the all-American family—blond and healthy, well-dressed, prosperous. Sometimes Rourke even sensed envy from people, as if they wanted what the McKnights had.
If only they knew.
Rourke sidled away from his parents. He and Joey exchanged a glance. Sheer delight danced in Joey’s eyes. Some of the girls in their soccer league said Joey looked like one of the New Kids on the Block. Rourke didn’t know about that, but Joey’s grin was infectious. Camp, Rourke exulted, and he knew Joey understood his silent glee. We’re going away to camp.
Rourke wondered if Joey understood how big this was, and how much he owed Joey himself. If not for Joey, Rourke wouldn’t be going anywhere. When the subject of Camp Kioga first came up, the senator had immediately dismissed the idea. It had been Joey who had—in that casual way of his—
named off all the kids from school who were going to summer camp. He’d pretended he was talking to Rourke, but he was careful to mention all the most important families, the kind of people Rourke’s father admired and whose support he cultivated. Rourke had convinced his parents that it was a good idea to send Joey, too, and that had tipped the decision in his favor.
When they reached the track, Rourke said his goodbyes. He and the senator shook hands, his father’s grip crushing hard for a few seconds, as if to leave some sort of imprint. “Never forget who you are,” his father advised. “Make this family proud.”
Rourke looked him in the eye. “Yes, sir.”
Then his father’s attention wandered as he scanned the platform. Here he was, saying goodbye to his kid for ten whole weeks, and he was working the room, looking for constituents.
At least it gave Rourke’s mother a few extra seconds for her own goodbyes. She held him close.
He was a little bit taller than her now, so it was easy for her to whisper in his ear while hugging him.
“You are going to have an amazing time,” she said. “Camp Kioga is just…magical.”
“Julia.” The senator’s voice cut through the moment. “We have to go.”
She gave Rourke one final squeeze. “Don’t forget to write.”
“I won’t.”
He stood on the platform and watched them walk away, slender and fashionable in their raincoats.
His mother tucked her hand into the crook of her husband’s arm. Rourke blurred his eyes, and his parents melted together so they weren’t two separate people anymore, but one single being.
SenatorandMrs.McKnight.
All around him, he could hear kids and parents saying goodbye. Some of the girls and mothers were shedding real tears, professing that they’d miss each other horribly and write every day. Mr.
Santini, a big bear of a man, yanked Joey in for a hug, kissing the top of the boy’s head with a loud smack. “I’m gonna miss you like ice-cream sundaes, sonny-boy,” said Mr. Santini, unabashedly crying.
Rourke wondered what it would be like to have the kind of family you’d actually miss when you left them.
Camp Kioga was as magical as Rourke’s mother had promised. He and Joey shared quarters with ten other guys in a long wooden bunkhouse called Ticonderoga Cabin. Every single day was packed with activities—sports and crafts, nature hikes, rock climbing, sailing and canoeing on Willow Lake, stories around the campfire at night. They had to sing and dance some nights, which Rourke could definitely do without, but
Rourke walked between his parents through the entryway. After parking the car, Mr. Santini slipped away to join Joey. The McKnights stopped below the big lighted display board, where they verified the track number and the fact that the train was on time. Some of the people they passed gave them admiring looks. This happened a lot when Rourke was out with his parents. Together, the three of them looked like the all-American family—blond and healthy, well-dressed, prosperous. Sometimes Rourke even sensed envy from people, as if they wanted what the McKnights had.
If only they knew.
Rourke sidled away from his parents. He and Joey exchanged a glance. Sheer delight danced in Joey’s eyes. Some of the girls in their soccer league said Joey looked like one of the New Kids on the Block. Rourke didn’t know about that, but Joey’s grin was infectious. Camp, Rourke exulted, and he knew Joey understood his silent glee. We’re going away to camp.
Rourke wondered if Joey understood how big this was, and how much he owed Joey himself. If not for Joey, Rourke wouldn’t be going anywhere. When the subject of Camp Kioga first came up, the senator had immediately dismissed the idea. It had been Joey who had—in that casual way of his—
named off all the kids from school who were going to summer camp. He’d pretended he was talking to Rourke, but he was careful to mention all the most important families, the kind of people Rourke’s father admired and whose support he cultivated. Rourke had convinced his parents that it was a good idea to send Joey, too, and that had tipped the decision in his favor.
When they reached the track, Rourke said his goodbyes. He and the senator shook hands, his father’s grip crushing hard for a few seconds, as if to leave some sort of imprint. “Never forget who you are,” his father advised. “Make this family proud.”
Rourke looked him in the eye. “Yes, sir.”
Then his father’s attention wandered as he scanned the platform. Here he was, saying goodbye to his kid for ten whole weeks, and he was working the room, looking for constituents.
At least it gave Rourke’s mother a few extra seconds for her own goodbyes. She held him close.
He was a little bit taller than her now, so it was easy for her to whisper in his ear while hugging him.
“You are going to have an amazing time,” she said. “Camp Kioga is just…magical.”
“Julia.” The senator’s voice cut through the moment. “We have to go.”
She gave Rourke one final squeeze. “Don’t forget to write.”
“I won’t.”
He stood on the platform and watched them walk away, slender and fashionable in their raincoats.
His mother tucked her hand into the crook of her husband’s arm. Rourke blurred his eyes, and his parents melted together so they weren’t two separate people anymore, but one single being.
SenatorandMrs.McKnight.
All around him, he could hear kids and parents saying goodbye. Some of the girls and mothers were shedding real tears, professing that they’d miss each other horribly and write every day. Mr.
Santini, a big bear of a man, yanked Joey in for a hug, kissing the top of the boy’s head with a loud smack. “I’m gonna miss you like ice-cream sundaes, sonny-boy,” said Mr. Santini, unabashedly crying.
Rourke wondered what it would be like to have the kind of family you’d actually miss when you left them.
Camp Kioga was as magical as Rourke’s mother had promised. He and Joey shared quarters with ten other guys in a long wooden bunkhouse called Ticonderoga Cabin. Every single day was packed with activities—sports and crafts, nature hikes, rock climbing, sailing and canoeing on Willow Lake, stories around the campfire at night. They had to sing and dance some nights, which Rourke could definitely do without, but
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