Fear of Frying

“We’ll show the film at four in the afternoon. You can use the time after lunch for anything you’d like. Hiking around and exploring, relaxing and reading, or just taking a nap. Then tomorrow evening, we’ll start some of the demonstrations of what we intend to provide. I’ll be doing an outdoor cooking lesson at the main campfire area. All this is typed up with a more detailed map than you got when you checked in. I’ll make sure you all have it before you leave the lodge tonight.“
    “Are we it? The whole group?“ Sam Claypool asked. He’d been eating his dinner in a picky, preoccupied manner, as if his mind were miles away.
    “No,“ Benson said. “A Mr. and Mrs. Flowers are coming. They called and said they’d had some car trouble, but should be here shortly. And the day after tomorrow the whole county’s been invited to participate in classes if they want. That’ll be the big day, with instructors and demonstrations. I’ve already got reservations for fifty for lunch, and there will be others—the ones who don’t believe in reservations,“ he added with a broad smile.
    “Liz Flowers?“ John Claypool asked. He’d shoveled down everything on his plate and was taking seconds. “Sold her a car once. Lady drives a hard bargain. Hope it’s not that car that’s broken down.“
    “Liz is the president of the school board,“ Bob Rycraft explained to Benson. “I gotta warn you, she’s expressed some doubts about this plan.”
    Benson nodded. “I thought so. She was pretty cool on the phone.”
    Jane realized for the first time that this was more than a vacation. She, like the rest of them, had a job to do. So far, she’d just accepted that a summer-school session here was a good idea. “What kind of doubts?“ she asked Bob.
    “Oh, real practical things. Liability insurance, transportation costs, the availability of medical help because of the isolation,“ Bob said. “Important to consider, of course, but I’m sure it can all be worked out. The important thing is to get the kids out of their easy, comfortable suburban life for a while. Away from drugs, rap music, television, video games—all of that. I really believe you can do any child a world of good by bringing them back to nature—the real world—if only for a week or two. Gives them a sense of their own history, their place in the whole scheme—“ He broke off and grinned. “Sorry. I’m lecturing.“
    “That’s okay,“ Shelley said. “It’s why we’re here. To share viewpoints, as well as learn about the facility.“
    “I think you’ve got something there,“ John Claypool said to Bob. “When Sam and I were kids, our folks sent us to camp for a couple summers and it was great!”
    Sam, precise and tidy in his blazer, tie, and city-neat hair, just cocked an eyebrow.
    John caught the look and said, “Yeah, I know you didn’t like it as well as I did, but you were always a brainy kid, more interested in schoolwork than a good tussle with the boys.“
    “The ‘boys’ were savages,“ Sam said coldly.
    Sam’s wife, Marge, leaped in to avert controversy, as if by long habit. “This camp plan isn’t just for boys, is it?“ she asked too brightly.
    Bob Rycraft answered. “We’re hoping for two sessions. Either one for boys and one for girls, or possibly two mixed sessions—depending on a lot of factors.“
    “Like what?“ Eileen Claypool said with a suggestion of a leer.
    “Like the room arrangements,“ Bob said, apparently missing the leer. “You can’t physically lock the kids up to keep the boys and girls apart. I’m sure there are fire regulations about that, and if there aren’t, there should be. If the boys and the girls came at the same time, we’d have to pay for extra staff just to make sure they weren’t sneaking out and meeting in the woods at night.“
    “On the other hand, how many of the girls are going to want to go camping if boys aren’t involved?“ Shelley asked.
    Jane was on the point of echoing this sentiment when she realized she’d somehow slopped some gravy on her sleeve when she passed it to John Claypool. Since she’d brought a minimum of clothes, she thought she’d better wash it out. “Where’s the rest room?“ she said quietly to Benson, who was sitting at her end of the table.
    “Next to the front desk,“ he replied.
    She excused herself and went to wash out the cuff of her blouse. When she returned through the main lobby area, she noticed an older woman