“We got held up by the construction on Route 5,” I said, setting the metal tent poles on the gravel.
Emily ignored me and knelt beside Noah. She reached into her deep pocket and pulled out a small plastic package, sliding a pair of bright yellow swim trunks across the log.
“I bought these at the outfitters down the highway,” Emily said, looking up at me. “They had a sale. I thought Noah could use them for the creek.”
I looked at the cheap nylon, the color of a caution sign. A sudden chill settled between my shoulder blades, though the afternoon temperature was nearly eighty degrees.
“We didn’t plan on swimming,” I said. “The runoff is still high.”
“He is six, Amanda,” Emily said, her laugh small and tight. “Children play in the water. You cannot keep him in a sterile clinic forever.”
She patted Noah on the head, her fingers lingering near his temple before she stood up.
“Mother is waiting by the fire,” Emily said. “She wants to see the boy before the dampness sets in.”
Thomas watched her go, then turned back to the wagon. He reached for the green canvas folding chairs, aligning them carefully beside the tent flaps. He was always planning for structural stability, even in a temporary camp. I stood on the gravel, holding the bright yellow fabric of the swim trunks. They felt incredibly light, almost weightless, but the yellow dye was so bright it seemed to hum against the dark green of the forest floor.
“We should head over,” Thomas said, his voice quiet. “She will not tolerate us being late for the first meal.”
“I need to put these in the tent first,” I said, but Noah had already grabbed my shirt.
“Can we go to the water, Mama?” Noah asked, his small fingers sticky from the juice box he had finished in the car. “Emily said we could see the big fish.”
