A painful past and an unexpected friend bring healing and a new beginning

I step onto the bus, inhaling exhaust fumes and anger.

I drag my eyes over all the seats, trying to find an empty one to escape to. Everyone is paired two by two, and I’m surrounded by their laughter and general good cheer. These people are excited to be heading to church camp. Me? I’d rather chew my own arm off.

“You can sit with me.”

My eyes drop to the left as a tall, brown-headed guy scoots toward the window. It’s the only seat available.
“I’m Dawson.”

And I’m Miserable. A slave to my parents’ twisted request that I return to the very place that has haunted me for the last two years.

“Do you have a name?” he asks.

A million smart remarks war in my head, but my counselor says I have to work on that. “I’m Melanie Bancroft.” I wait for the recognition to light his face.

It doesn’t. I turn away from him and ponder this.

People know my name because I’m the girl who watched her sister drown at Camp Samaritan two summers before. I’m the girl who dove in with her twin, the other half of her heart, and came up with nothing. I broke to the surface . . . but she did not.

I’m the one who had to endure the stares. The pointing fingers. The whispers that were anything but quiet.

I’m the one who had to go home to parents who told me they didn’t hold me responsible, but like me, were never quite the same.

“Is this your first year?” Dawson asks, clearly not picking up on my don’t-talk-to-me vibe.

“No.” I leave it at that.

“You don’t look too excited to be going to camp.” Dawson’s brown eyes reflect concern.

“It was my parents’ idea.” They thought if I re- turned to the camp, I might gain some closure. They seem to think I’m stuck in this time-warp of despair.

“My sister doesn’t want to go to camp, either.” He gestures toward the back.

“I’m the one who had to endure the stares. The pointing fingers. The whispers that were anything but quiet”

I nod my head, wondering why he’s still talking to me. Usually people give up by now. “My sister Brittany’s the one with her life jacket on.”

I follow his gaze and see her. She sits in the back row, surrounded by giggling girls who are just as polished and primped as she is not. Nor do they have Down Syndrome.

“It’s her first time to camp, and she’s really nervous.” He inhales deeply. “That makes two of us. I’m kind of protective of her. Hey—maybe you could help me. You know, keep an eye out for her.”

Dude, you do not want me in charge of keeping watch over anyone. “I don’t think so.”

His expression darkens. “Yeah, sure. Forget I asked. Brittany’s an awesome girl, though. In fact, she’s pretty amazing.”

Great. Now he’s offended. “I’m sure she is. But I’m not really good with . . . people.”

“Because she’s different?”

No, because she has a pulse. Because two years ago I let my sister drown. Because I’m out of the business of taking care of anyone.

Dawson doesn’t speak to me the rest of the three-hour ride. He turns and talks to everyone around us. It appears I ticked off the most popular guy on the bus.

My backside is totally asleep by the time we lurch to a stop under some giant oak trees.

My Temporary “Home”
“Welcome to Camp Samaritan!” a woman calls as we gather in the front yard. “Campers, you’ll be divided by age, so find a counselor and see what cabin you need to go to. Your counselors are in the red shirts.”

I catch sight of Dawson again. He’s wearing a red shirt. Super. He’ll probably assign me to trash duty all week. I thought he was just one of us high-schoolers.

Ten minutes later I toss my suitcase in the Acorn cabin. Other 17-year-old girls mill around me. I recognize a few of them, but maintaining friendships has not been my forte lately.

The screen door rattles on its hinges as a suitcase rams into it. I hear a small yelp. One girl rolls her eyes. “That’s Brittany.”

Dawson’s sister pulls on the door, but it hits her suitcase. She picks up the bag, only to have no hands for the door.

Throwing a disgusted look at my roommates, I leap from my bed and fling open the door. I grab Brittany’s stuff and set it inside.

“Thanks.” Wide eyes study me before taking in the room.

“I guess that’s your bed.” I point to the remaining bunk. A top one.

She shakes her head, her earrings flying. “I can’t. I can’t sleep up there. I’ll fall off. My mom told me I wouldn’t have to sleep on the top bunk.”

A blond roomie pipes up. “Brittany, you can handle it, can’t you? If you can’t sleep up there without falling out, then maybe you should call your mommy and go back home.”

I swallow back acid. The old me would take up for her. This me is just too tired. And it would require talking to them—all those other girls.

“You can have my bunk,” I say, anxious for peace. “I do want to go home.” Brittany’s eyes fill with tears. “I want to go home.” She bolts out of the cabin, yelling at the top of her lungs for her brother.

A red-head plugs in her straightening iron for a quick touch-up. “She is so annoying.”

Not an Ordinary Hike
After lunch we gather in the courtyard for a quick meeting. Dawson blows a whistle to get our attention The girls from my cabin dissolve into obnoxious giggles. I have to admit, the college boy is cute.

“ I freeze in my tracks. I can’t move. I can’t breathe. ”

“You’ve got two options,” Dawson says. “You can either go with me for a bike ride through the hills, or you can go with Counselor Meg for a hike. Either way, you have to stay in groups of two or three. Don’t lose each other.”

And where do you go if you don’t want to do anything?

“I don’t like bikes.” Brittany’s bottom lip trembles as she slides closer to her brother. “I want to hike, Dawson. Please go with me. Please.”

“I can’t.” He surveys the group of campers. “Who wants to partner with Brittany for the hike?”

There’s an awkward silence as people shift together—away from Dawson’s sister.

“I will.” I startle at my own voice. Did I just say that?

“Great!” Dawson’s face splits into a grin. “Brittany, this is Melanie. She’s going to be your buddy today.”

“Oomph!” I stagger backward as Brittany covers me in a bear hug. She clearly doesn’t know about my no-hugging policy.

“Thanks, Melanie.” Dawson gives my shoulder a squeeze as he walks by, gathering his bikers.

Two hours later, I’m really regretting my decision. “Come on, Brittany. The others are way ahead of us.” And I have no idea where we are.

“But it’s so pretty here.” Brittany picks a wildflower and sniffs it. I think she’s sniffed, picked, oooh’d and ahhh’d everything out here.

“We really need to keep walking, OK?” I try to keep the impatience out of my voice.

Brittany doubles over. “Help!” “What? What’s wrong?” I rush to her side.

Seriously???
“It’s a baby bird.” She bends closer to the ground and points. “It’s fallen from its nest.” I put a hand to my racing heart. “Just leave it.” “No, it needs my help.” “Brittany, don’t touch it. We can’t help it.” She pays no attention to me. The girl who nearly broke down the cabin door this morning takes a soft hand and scoops up the bird, cooing as she moves it. “God loves this bird. He wants it safe, too. He loves every creature, every person. He doesn’t want it to just stay there and be sad.”

“He doesn’t care if it’s sad, Brittany.” “But He does. And this bird doesn’t need to stay lost. Not when I’m here to help.” Brittany finds a nest overhead and gently rests the baby bird within it. “His mama will be back for it. I know it.” Two more baby birds chirp at the commotion. I stare at the nest. “Sometimes things get hurt. Sometimes people die.”

Her round eyes look into mine. “But that bird is alive. It just needs love. Why should it just stay lost and alone?”

“Well, I wish you could help us find our way back on the trail. I’d like to catch up with the others.”

“It’ll be OK, Melanie. We’ll be found.”

We’re still walking when the sun begins to fade. I’m on the verge of screaming for help, but Brittany hums a happy tune and talks to any wildlife that crosses our path.

“Let’s go this way, Melanie.” Knowing at this point one direction is as good as the other, I follow Brittany. Ten minutes later we walk through a clearing.

And come upon the lake. I freeze in my tracks.

Painful Memories
Melanie runs to it, squealing. “It’s so pretty!” She stops on the pier. I will my heart to continue beating. I can’t move. I can’t breathe.

“It’s my brother!” Brittany points into the distance as an engine’s rumble grows louder. Lights shine on the trees from a four-wheeler. It grows closer until it halts in front of me. Dawson jumps off. “Are you girls OK? We’ve been looking for you.”

I nod my head, feeling light-headed. My world spins, yet I can’t take my eyes off the lake. The pier.

“Is this where it happened?” Dawson’s voice is a whisper as he stands next to me. Tears cloud my vision.

God, I’m lost and hurting, too. When are You going to put me back in the nest? When do I get to feel safe again? Where have You been?

“It wasn’t your fault, Melanie. People dive off that pier every year.” I shake my head. “I dared her. She didn’t want to, and I dared her.” And then she hit her head on a rock. And never came back up.

God, I killed my sister. They told us not to jump off. Why didn’t You take me instead?

Dawson points to the water’s edge where Brittany tosses rocks. “She might be different, but my sister gets it. She knows life is meant to be lived. She enjoys each day. She sees everything that’s around her.”

“I can’t do that.” My voice breaks.

“It’s time to start living, Melanie. Your sister wouldn’t want you to be like this—a shell of a person. You’re miserable. You have to let go of that grief—for her. For yourself. God loves you. He grieves to see you in so much pain. Your parents hurt to see you like this.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I know you’re the girl who befriended my sister when no one else would today. I know you’re the girl who gave her the bottom bunk. So I think you must’ve been one amazing sister to your twin.”

Reaching Out
The tears free-flow down my cheeks. Dawson puts his arm around my shoulders and leads me to the pier beside Brittany.

“You’ve faced the water,” Dawson says. “And your sister isn’t here. But your guilt is. Let it go.” Brittany puts her hand in mine.

“Why are you crying?”

“I—I lost a sister. She died.” And I stopped living, too.

Brittany smiles. “But God picked her up. Just like that baby bird. He takes care of her.”

“If you’re ready,” Dawson says. “He wants to take care of you, too.” He pulls us into a circle and prays healing words.

I hear the water lapping beside us. Crickets serenading. Frogs calling into the night. And the sound of my heart opening. And receiving.

Healing.

Wholeness.

Love.

God, like the bird, I need You to pick me up. I’m ready for You to take care of me.

Dawson lifts his head. “Amen.” “Amen!” Brittany shouts. I stare at my two new friends. My mouth forms its first smile. Amen.

Jenny B. Jones is the author of The Charmed Life series, including the new book So Not Happening. Her book In Between won the ACFW Book of the Year award in YA. When not writing, she imparts wisdom to high school students in Arkansas. You can visit her at jennybjones.com and find more about her and her books.