The sign on the only auto shop declares it closed for the holiday weekend. Desperate, I peer in through the darkenedglass, but nobody is around. For a split second, I consider driving to the next town, but after spotting a red puddle under the motorhome, I decide not to risk it.
“What does that mean?” Tristen asks when I relay the bad news.
“It means we won’t be able to have anyone look at it until at least Tuesday. I left them a message explaining our situation.”
“What do we do in the meantime?”
“I’ll search for the closest campground or hotel.” I pull out my phone and type it in. “Since we’re stuck here until this is fixed, we should stop by the Super Save Discount Food we passed and grab a few essentials. Who knows if we’ll see another grocery store in this town.”
It’s a tiny shop but still more than what’s offered in Rocosa. We divide and conquer and meet at the checkout. I do a double take when a coffee machine slides by on the conveyor belt.
“It’s worth it to keep the peace,” Tristen says and swipes his card before I can argue.
Starving, I munch on a bag of trail mix as we ease back onto the dirt road searching for a place to stay for the night. Tristen holds out a hand, his fingers wiggling expectantly. If it had been Des, I’d be irritated at sharing when he could have purchased his own snack. But I don’t think twice before offering the trail mix to Tristen.
I’m heaving another big handful in my mouth when he swerves at the faded campground sign.
“Look, Shady Trails Campground. That doesn’t sound so bad,” he says through a mouthful of food.
The turn signal clicks loudly as we turn into the empty parking lot. With a wide arc, he pulls into one of the oversized spots in front of the lone white building with a yellow registration sign.
“I’ll check us in. Can you update Des on our status?” I ask and grab my wallet.
“On it.”
The bell chimes over the door as I enter the small room. The short, disheveled woman behind the counter leaps out of her seat, surprised to see me. She flicks off her daytime soap opera, and the room fills with silence. Instead of greeting me, she slides the map of the campground across the counter and gestures for me to pick one and taps the price. Out of the forty campsites, I have my pick of thirty-seven. The problem is, I can’t tell why one would be better than another. Overwhelmed, I randomly select one of the larger spots on the far side of the map and hand her my peeling, well-loved credit card.
One day, I’ll replace it. For now, it serves as a reminder of how much money I’ve wasted on alcohol.
“It works,” I say when she inspects a curled corner. “It’s just been through the wringer.”
I laugh, but the woman is unamused, staring straight through me like a robot. She swipes my card and hands it back to me, then sits down to turn her show on.
“Okay?” I say, stretching out the word. “Am I good to go?”
She nods but doesn’t break eye contact with the tiny TV.
I take that as a yes and head back out the door to the motorhome.
“All good?” Tristen asks as I buckle in next to him.
“That had to be the weirdest experience. She didn’t say one word to me when I checked in.”
“Maybe she’s a quiet person.”
“I dunno.” I shake my head, trying to erase the odd encounter. “We are at site thirty-two. It’s all the way in the back.”
Each empty campsite we pass intensifies myapprehension. Row after row of cracked concrete slabs and weathered picnic tables. Dust swirls up along the ground, drifting like a cloud of smoke behind us.
Tristen shifts in his seat, surveying the area through the windows. “Where is everyone?”
“Not here obviously.”
Even the three other booked sites don’t have campers in them. We have the whole campground to ourselves.
“And where are all the trees? There’s not an inch of shade.”
“Maybe it’s supposed to be funny? It doesn’t matter. We are only here for a night or two at the most.”
