It doesn’t take him long to warm up to Reese. More than I care to admit. Scowling, I sit at the picnic table, wishing I could be more useful. Half the stuff they say, I don’t understand.
“I see the new fuel line hose here. Did you do that?” Travis asks.
“Yeah, I installed it yesterday.”
“It looks good.”
“I know.”
At the sound of her laughter, I shoot up and peek under the motorhome.
“How’s it coming?” I ask.
Reese turns her head, a black smear mark on her cheek. “Good news. I think we figured it out. Travis said he can go fetch the replacement part and we can be out of here before noon.”
Four hundred and twenty-six dollars later, we’re loading the motorhome back up, ready to hit the road. Reese texts Des the update as I merge onto the interstate, almost comfortable behind the wheel.
“Where did you get those camping chairs?”
“Gary’s sister has a ton of stuff in the outside storage. You probably won’t believe me, but there’s even holiday cat decor in a storage bin. You’re set for year-round camping.”
She rolls her eyes, snorting a laugh. “We’re gonna have to clear it all out.”
A slow smile curls up one corner of my mouth at the word “we.” I’m glad she’s finally getting used to it.
When we cross the Colorado state line, we let out a whoop of excitement and high-five over the cup holders. Only three hours left if we drive straight through. The thought of sleeping in my bed has me pressing down the gas pedal.
But my bladder refuses to get on board, so we stop for a bathroom break, lunch, and to refuel. Maneuvering this beast next to a gas pump is a feat of its own, especially when I add in all the clueless pedestrians darting in front of me. While I fill it up, Reese checks the transmission fluid level, pleased it’s still the same. Then just before we hop into the motorhome, she leans her head back and groans dramatically.
“Are you kidding me?” She kicks the tire by her door.
“What is it?” I ask over the hood.Please don’t let there be another leak...
“The passenger tire is deflated. We can’t seem to catch a break with this hunk of junk.”
“Isn’t that usually an easy fix? We just need to top it offwith some air.”
Apparently I said the wrong thing. Her eyes flick up, narrowing in on me.
“This isn’t a little bit of air. It looks like it’s been leaking air for a while. Hopefully we don’t have to call another shop today.”
She tosses me the plastic bag with our subs and squats down to inspect the tire.
“See that piece in the tread? A nail wedged in at some point. Thank goodness we didn’t have a blowout. There might be a patch kit in my suitcase, or I can purchase one in the gas station. Let’s drive over to the air pump, then I’ll check my bag.”
It’s less crowded on this side of the gas station. I lean against the hood, inhaling my meatball sub as I wait for her.
With a victorious cry, she returns with the kit and pliers in her fist. “Lucky me, I remembered to pack them. If it holds, we’ll be on the road in no time.”
“You really have everything in that Mary Poppins suitcase, don’t you?”
“Who knows how long we’d have been stuck if I hadn’t?” She kneels by the tire and clamps the pliers on to the tiny nail, twisting and tugging to get it out. “You would have been sick of me.”
“I doubt that. It’s more like the other way around. For the last year, it felt like you bolted as soon as I walked into a room.”
Her hand stops mid-motion, her posture tense. “Because I did.”
My smile slowly slips from my face. I always had an inclination, but to hear her come out and say it hurts more than I expected.
