No More Words - Kerry Lonsdale
Summer of ’95
Charlotte and Dwight Carson unloaded their three children at the Whitmans’ lakeside cabin like a courier with a cardboard package. Dwight shook hands with Harold Whitman, and Charlotte helped three-year-old Lily from her booster seat, depositing the little girl with the rosebud lips wrapped around her thumb onto the gravel driveway. She dragged reluctant six-year-old Lucas from his seat, prying his fingers one by one off the door latch while he hollered in her ear that he wanted to go home. Eight-year-old Olivia was the only one who willingly exited the car, inching the plastic thong on her flip-flops between her toes and shouldering her olive-green JanSport backpack. She was also the only one of her siblings smart enough to know that a summer at the lake with a family she barely knew would be a vast improvement over summers spent in day care and evenings with their parents, who, even to Olivia’s inexperienced eyes, didn’t love each other.
She was nervous, though. She’d never been away from home for six weeks. The longest she’d been without her parents were the four days Charlotte had her and Lucas stay with their neighbor Nancy Merriweather after Lily was born.
Gravel crunched under her flip-flops as she backed away from the car, looking up at the two-story A-frame cabin with the rustic wood siding that would be home for the next one and a half months. It looked tiny under the towering Jeffrey pines. But Rhonda Whitman assured Olivia the loft had enough room to comfortably sleep Olivia and her two younger siblings.
“Between you and me,” Mrs. Whitman conspiratorially whispered last weekend at Olivia’s parents’ annual summer luncheon, a catered affair with servers in black pants and starched white shirts, “there’s enough room to sleep ten kids. We’ll swim and play games. It’ll be your best summer ever,” she reassured when Olivia expressed her reluctance about being away from home for so long.
Olivia had smiled meekly, sipping the one glass of punch Charlotte allowed her before she’d be relegated to her room until the party ended. Dwight Carson was raising money for his congressional campaign, and the important people at the party, including the Whitmans, couldn’t be bothered with children underfoot. She wanted to believe Mrs. Whitman, but every summer Olivia experienced so far had been boring. Dwight always seemed to be running for an elected office. Summers were spent going door-to-door, distributing pamphlets, or attending rallies to raise funding for red, white, and blue lawn signs.
Lily sidled up to Olivia, her thumb lodged in her mouth. Olivia felt her little sister’s hand inside hers. She threaded their fingers, and Lily leaned into her like Mrs. Merriweather’s poodle when she scratched the dog in his favorite spot behind his ear.
Lily was nervous, too. So was Lucas. He wore his brave face but kept blowing out his cheeks and popping his lips. Olivia reached for Lucas’s sticky hand, and he surprisingly didn’t let go or shove her away. He had complained most of the drive from Seaside Cove, a planned, gated community on the coast just west of San Luis Obispo where they lived. He’d wanted his friend Tanner to come.
“Stop whining. You’ll make new friends,” Dwight had insisted before going back to his call on his brand-new wireless, scheduling client appointments for the upcoming week. Olivia didn’t know exactly what her dad did when he wasn’t campaigning, but she once overheard Charlotte explain to a neighbor that Dwight showed wineries how to operate. His job sounded distinguished to her.
Dwight kissed Olivia’s forehead. “I’m going to miss you.”
“I’m going to miss you, too.”
“I’ll call you every day.”
A little smile peeked out like sunshine through a cloud as she wondered what she’d tell him tomorrow. They could talk about her new sketches. She’d been drawing The Lion King characters from scratch and they looked good to her. She was devouring the Baby-Sitters Club and Sweet Valley High series. Maybe he’d want to hear about the book she’d been reading because she couldn’t picture what they’d be doing all day here other than sitting around.
“Be good, Princess.”
“I will, Daddy.”
He turned to Lucas. “Listen to the Whitmans. Do what they tell you.”
Lucas threw himself against Dwight. “Don’t leave.”
“Summer will be over before you know it. You won’t even notice I’m gone.” He hugged Lucas, then wrested his arms from around his waist.
Sniffling, Lucas grasped Olivia’s hand. She could tell he didn’t believe Dwight. From the moment their parents told them they were sending them away, he’d