Camping Heartache

I don't know why but she told me that her Dad had forgotten their sleeping bags. Perhaps she knew I would help, perhaps kids that grow up alone, know the human spirit of those concerned enough to take action.
With three days of steady rain already, I was certain she would not go to bed in a damp tent without bedding. How can a Father be such a careless, selfish fool?
I gave her an extra sleeping bag, and wool blanket, I was sure to inform her to tell her Dad the sleeping bag was for her, he being a grown man could freeze his ass off.
So off she went.
The next day she came by during breakfast, pancakes, although she said she had eaten I set an extra plate and she ate whole heartedly.
At twelve her tall frame was nothing but a rack of shivering bones.
Today, I asked about her Mother. "She's coming," she said.
The next day, no Mother, but it was sunny so off to the beach we went. I invited her along, though thought I should check with her father first. We walked to her campsite together.
There he sat, asleep in the lawn chair late into the afternoon. I asked him if she could go to the beach with us, he didn't even raise an eye brow, but simply said yes, nothing more.
A few more days went by, she now became a regular part of our camping family. For meals, visits, outings, and campfire roasts.
Hugging us tightly before she walked away for the night. Each day saying her Mother was coming.
One night it rained, poured, the lightning and thunder shaking the ground. I awoke late that morning, and there on the picnic table was soaking wet sleeping bag wrapped neatly, and a small flashlight I had lent her.
I had a terrible day that day. I felt a loss, a kind of unsettling.
She was gone, and as I walked with the kids to her site there was nothing but cold wet ground.
No, she was not my child, but she was there and we were there, and so that is how it was, even if her Mother was coming.