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same way that I would likely be messing up this camp, her family, and the quietly buried past … all for an old woman’s satisfaction.
    I smiled at Dot on my way out, gestured her in, and nodded, in answer to her raised eyebrows and look at the bed and occupant beyond and behind me. She and Cheeko, a sweet and mellow dog, went in to let the old woman smell wet dog, receive loving dog kisses, hear the thwacking of a glad tail, and rub happy ears and belly. There are worse ways to spend a Sunday mid-morning, especially if it may be among your last. We were all basking in Cheeko’s love and kisses when the rest of the Crocker clan ( at least those up visiting Topsail, and previously off at church ) crunched down the gravel drive, and Kitty shooed us out to go and say hello while she got ready for lunch.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Camp Topsail, Upper Saranac Lake, 7/14/2013, 1:26 p.m.
     
    It was awkward/difficult/tense at first, and only their deep-seated WASPiness kept my entry into their regular Sunday schedule from causing an angry mob, albeit a small one, from raising my head on a pike outside the ornamental gate that separated Camp Topsail from the road ( and the rest of the world … and the present day ). When all was said and done, however, Kitty was the queen of Camp Topsail, and what she said was law. The family arrived home from church in two cars, a Saab and a Subaru. From out of the Saab climbed the older generation: a fit and hard looking man, possibly in his sixties or seventies, and a soft and smiling woman, looking 15 or more years his junior. A toddler in a pretty church dress boiled out of the Subaru and ran over to Dorothy and Cheeko, with an au pair in tow, followed less quickly by the girl’s tired looking parents. Thinking back to the table settings, I guessed that Anthony must be taking his meals with the Crockers ( I didn’t know if it was open-minded or practical to have the lawyer eating with the family, and decided probably a bit of both ), which left one person/place-setting unaccounted for … I spend time on things like this.
    Cheeko was a big hit with the toddler, and it was obvious that the adults were all familiar with Dorothy ( she had told me on our way over with Cheeko this morning that the Crockers were large and long term supporters of the TLAS, and had held a benefit at Camp Topsail a few years previously, which raised a few thousand dollars to support TLAS programs ). I was, as I generally am, content to smile and nod in the background ( with a friendly dog and happy 2.5 year-old, it’s a pretty easy thing to do ). Everyone talked and milled around for a few minutes, until Dorothy started edging towards my Element, and the Crocker tribe started drifting towards the main lodge for drinks and to check in with Kitty and possibly lunch for the kid; I was left stranded in the middle, and was forced to define my role.
    “Hello, folks, I’m Tyler Cunningham, a friend of Kitty’s, and she’s asked me to stay for lunch.” Dead silence … except from little Deirdre, who wandered over, and held out her hand, possibly hoping for more treats for Cheeko, who she obviously wanted to become her big brother ( I handed her a few treats, which made both her and Cheeko happy ). I could tell that while the Crockers appreciated Cheeko for his calm demeanor, they were more of an AKC registered purebred kind of family, so little Deirdre was destined to be disappointed in the long run ( but aren’t we all ).
    I wished that I could have scripted this portion of the day ( I am scared of nothing so much as new or unexpected or unscripted social situations, as I’m horrible at handling/managing them ), so that we could have avoided the awkward stretch that came next … Dorothy looked at me goggle-eyed, and said, “But Cheeko and I have to go Tyler. How will you get home?”
    I have been watching/studying people since I realized that I was fundamentally different ( at age four ), and noted