Around us, counselors ask questions, check luggage, count heads. Mr. Bob gives orders to the cleaning contractors. Bedding is coming up from the cabins, and plywood is going down, to board up for the winter. As the swarm of activity gets closer, my conversation with Sara comes to an end.

*   *   *

When my family arrives, it seems we’ve been apart for an age. They are brown from their week on the beach—they’ve changed. Seeing them there, walking toward me, makes me realize how easily I fell into routines that didn’t include them, how absent they have been from my mind. Did they forget me too?

“Hey, girl!” Dad yells. He kisses me with his scratchy face. “I see you’re alive and kicking! None the worse for wear?” Mom leans on my push handles to plant a gentle kiss on my cheek. Cindy lifts my suitcase and groans like it weighs a ton. All at once they ask how am I doing, how was it, am I hungry, can I make it home without stopping. I am overwhelmed by the questions and by the sight of my family. I squeal.

“We’re glad to see you too, honey,” my mother says with a smile that has no worry behind it.

“Hello. Since Jean’s apparently not doing proper introductions, permit me. My name is Sara. I was in Jean’s cabin.” She extends her thin hand to my dad like a grand Southern lady.

“Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” I think he’s half serious. “This is Jean’s mama and her sister, Cindy.”

“Did y’all have a good time at the beach?”

“Yes, thank you, we did.” My mother looks flustered. Surprised.

Sara almost winks at me. “Looks like everybody got some sun!”

“Did we? Yes, ma’am, I reckon we did,” my dad answers. Mom and Cindy exchange puzzled looks. Because they’ve never known any Crips but me, they probably expect anyone in a wheelchair to stutter through all social situations. Little do they know.

From the side of her chair, Sara pulls out a sheet of paper rolled up like a diploma. “Jean, this is the picture I drew of the lake. I thought you might want it—I have six or seven of them already. Cindy, can you take this? It’s a pastel drawing. Can you find a spot where it won’t get crushed or wet?”

Carole and Sue come to see me off and answer parental questions. Denise, Peggy Jo, and Yvonne wave good-bye. I can’t say good-bye. I can’t get my words together.

“Well, er, we’ll be off,” Dad says. “And it’s so nice to meet you, Miss Sara.” He is almost bowing. “I hope our Jean hasn’t given you too hard a time! She can be a pesky one!” He rubs my head until my hair sticks up. Sara is highly amused.