Until Niagara Falls by Jennifer Maruno

Author:Jennifer Maruno
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dundurn
Published: 2020-01-31T16:00:00+00:00

11

THE TENT

“Your tent is just like a little tropical island,” Maureen whispered. We were laying side by side in my new pup tent, reading. I wouldn’t let Dad put it up until after Amy left. I didn’t want the smell of nail polish remover inside my birthday present.

Despite my own lack of enthusiasm, Maureen had convinced Gran and Dad to let us sleep outside because of the heat. We had dragged sleeping bags, a huge pile of comic books, a box of crackers, and flashlights out to the tent.

“It’s like having a bedroom all my own,” Maureen continued.

“Where does everyone in your house sleep?” I asked, trying to imagine where they fit ten people in their tiny two-bedroom house.

Maureen sat up. “The two bedrooms upstairs are for kids,” she said, holding up two fingers. “One is for the boys and one for the girls.”

“Ahh,” I said. That arrangement made sense.

“The boys are fierce about bunk space,” Maureen said. “They fight with anyone who even sits on their bunk without permission.”

“Do you sleep in a bunk?” I always wanted bunk beds, but Gran wouldn’t hear of it.

“Nope. We’ve got my mom’s old double bed and a single. It doesn’t matter to us who sleeps where,” she explained. “The person who goes to bed first just moves over to the wall.”

“But where do your parents sleep?”

“In the room downstairs,” Maureen said.

“You mean the dining room?”

“That’s where they keep the crib.” She reached out and picked at the canvas seam of the tent. “There’s always a baby.”

As I zipped up the flaps, I thought about the Sullivan house. The only time I had been inside was once for lunch. A whole loaf of toast sat in the middle of the table. A giant jar of peanut butter sat beside it. The older kids spread the peanut butter, holding the toast in the palms of their hands. They threw slices at the younger ones. I felt a bit of Gran’s horror rise inside me as the little kids caught them with their grubby fingers.

Meals at our house were a lot different. During the week we ate at the kitchen table. On the weekends, Gran put an embroidered cloth on the dining room table. She put out a small dish of pickles and a little ceramic jar of mustard. We always had to use napkins, and I always had to ask to leave the table.

“Turn off your flashlight,” Maureen said. “Let’s see how dark it really is.”

I didn’t want to. The flashlight made it look like we were inside a pumpkin, without the seeds and goo.

Maureen grabbed it and hit the switch. It was lighter outside than I expected. The full moon made me think about werewolves, and I tingled all over. Maureen unzipped the flap.

“We can’t leave the tent,” I protested. “We promised.”

“We’re only going over to my place,” Maureen said as she rummaged around the sleeping bag for her other shoe. “My mom’s waiting up for Evelyn.”

“So,” I replied. “My gran waits up for my dad sometimes.

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