She nods, rubbing both temples for only a second before dropping her hands. It’s a habit that means she’s stressed. Probably about a million things other than Wendy attending a summer camp, but this is the stress right in front of her, so it’s what she’s focusing on.
“I still don’t know why Oakley volunteered to go,” she mutters.
“Because he loves Wendy,” I point out. “And nature.”
And I might have suckered him into it so I wouldn’t be alone during the trip, not that I admit that to my ex-wife.
She shakes her head a little, disapproval clear on her face. She’s never tried to stop Oakley from being close with Wendy. Not once. But she doesn’t understand it.
I think, mostly, she doesn’t understand me and him.
“We’ll be back Sunday evening,” I tell her, heading down the stairs.
“Lawson. Don’t do anything stupid.”
“Me?” I ask, turning back around to face her. “What would I possibly do?”
“With Oakley there, who knows.”
“He’s not a bad influence,” I say a touch hotly. “He’s just…”
Fun.
I don’t say the word, not wanting Laura to take it as me saying she’s not. Luckily, she simply gives me a wave, dismissing me, before calling out to Wendy. “Be safe! Love you.”
“Love you, too,” Wendy calls back, urging me on with her own wave forward.
I meet her at the truck, getting in the driver’s seat while Wendy buckles herself in. “Got your sunscreen?” I check.
“Yep.”
“Bug spray?”
“Yes.”
“Underwear?”
“Obviously,” she says in annoyance. “Come on. Let’s go.”
Chuckling, I pull out of the driveway and get us on the road. My bag is already packed and sitting in the back seat, camping gear taking up a portion of the bed. We drive straightaway to Oakley’s house, finding the front door open and the man himself preparing the last of his things.
“Hey,” he calls out, giving Wendy a wide smile as she exits the truck ahead of me. “Ready for some camping?”
“You got the marshmallows?” she asks.
Oakley puffs out an indignant breath. “Please. You gotta ask?”
Wendy grabs the box Oakley nudges her way, full of what looks like fireside snacks. Oakley locks his front door, a grin on his face as he meets my gaze.
“Been a long time since we’ve gone camping,” he notes.
The last time was a good five years back, a trip just the two of us took where Oakley proceeded to ply me with so much whiskey I ended up sleeping in the buff. I woke with a good few mosquito bites on my ass.
“No whiskey this time,” I say sternly, raising an eyebrow. “There’ll be kids.”
He huffs. “I’m well aware this is a PG trip. Here.”
I catch the rolled-up sleeping bag Oakley tosses me, carrying it down to the truck as Oakley follows with his hiking bag over his shoulder. We stuff all of it in the bed beneath the cover that will keep it dry.
