Catch Me at Calder Pond

Amanda never liked fall in New Hampshire. This was a controversial stance, she knew; who didn’t love world-class autumn foliage, small town festivals, and delicious crispness in the air each day? Amanda Rhines. It wasn’t that she hated fall. In fact, the changing leaves and apple spice everything were two of her favorite things. She just hated New Hampshire. Specifically, Grovertown, New Hampshire, where she and her husband had settled down after years in Fort Lauderdale when she was three months pregnant with her fraternal twins, Parker and Simon. “It’ll be nice to be back home,” Lance had reassured her the whole drive. “We will have family close by and you’ll be able to actually have real coffee with your bestie instead of those sad virtual things you two have been doing since forever. You’ll love it! Seasons!”

“Seasons,” she replied sorrowfully, her forehead pressed against the passenger-side window as the scenery changed from palm trees to pine trees. She couldn’t care less about the changing seasons; she preferred sunny skies and sandy beaches. She enjoyed having virtual coffee dates with Katerina and certainly missed her mom and dad, but it made their holidays together in Pigeon Forge all the more special. She had promised herself that she would give it a try six years ago. That was six falls ago, and she still hated it.

She had, however, purchased an apple-spice candle.

This did not make her a hypocrite. It made her a woman capable of separating a good smell from a bad climate.

The candle burned on the kitchen counter while Amanda stood over two open duffel bags and tried to determine how many pairs of socks a six-year-old could reasonably need for two nights in the woods. The answer according to Lance was three. The answer according to Amanda was every pair they owned, plus a new package in case the forest had developed an appetite for children’s socks.

“Those aren’t mine,” Parker said.

She was kneeling on one of the kitchen chairs, watching Amanda place a folded stack into the bag with the concentration of an airport security officer who had just spotted contraband.

“They are blue and they fit your feet. That makes them yours for camping purposes.”

“Mine have dots.”

“Your socks have identities now?”

“Those are Simon’s.”

Simon looked up from the headlamp Lance had given him to inspect. He clicked it once, flooding the bright kitchen with a weak white beam, then clicked it again and produced a red light.

“I don’t care,” he said.

“That is because you are an enlightened person,” Amanda told him.

He clicked the lamp a third time. The red light began flashing.

“Please stop signaling for help before anyone needs it.”

Simon turned it off. Parker remained unmoved by the sock injustice.

“The dotted ones are in the dryer,” Amanda said. “You can have them when they’re dry. Until then, the blue socks are being held as backup.”

Parker considered this compromise, then climbed down and ran toward the laundry room. She had been excited about the trip since Lance first mentioned it. Simon had been more suspicious, mostly about the sleeping arrangements and whether bears understood zippers. Lance had explained that the campground was established, their food would be secured, and black bears were not roaming Birch Loop in search of children who left granola-bar crumbs in their sleeping bags.

Amanda had thought this explanation contained too much nuance for a boy who had asked a yes-or-no question.

The trip itself contained too much nuance for Amanda.