Chapter 5
Chapter Five
REESE
Des drops his bombshell as I’m taking my first bite.
“You bought a what?” I cough, nearly inhaling a crinkle fry.
“A motorhome.”
“Where?”
“The owner is in Texas.” He takes a bite of his burger, leisurely chewing like everyone buys a recreational vehicle out of state.
“Without even looking at it? Have I taught you nothing?”
“I saw pictures of it, and he’s giving me an amazing deal.”
“That’s not the same. You’re supposed to be the smart one.” I toss my fork on my plate. “You could be buying a junker for all you know.”
“What is with you? You’ve been a grouch since you got here. Are you—”
I point a finger at him. “If you ask me if I’m on my period, I will jump you like the time you stole my diary. Fair warning.”
“Gross, Reese. No.” He throws his hands up in horror. “I was asking if it had something to do with Tristen. You two don’t hang out as much anymore.”
“Are you spying on me?”
His eyebrows lower. “No, I got a call from the unofficial neighborhood watch asking why they saw you running out of his car.”
I knew those little old ladies were keeping a sharp eye on me.
“It’s Tristen. When am I not running from him?”
“So that’s all that’s going on?” He takes a swig of his soda.
“Yeah, that’s it. We’re fine now,” I lie. Stalling for time, I bite into my burger, chewing carefully as I dab the excess mayo from the corner of my mouth with a napkin.
“Oh, really? Good. I’m glad you two were able to patch things up.”
Still chewing, I give him a thumbs up.
“Now back to the motorhome.” He pulls out some paper and slides it toward me. “I want to hire you.”
“Hire me? What is this?”
“The motorhome is Maya’s honeymoon present. She hates flying, so I thought I could drive her around instead. Go see as many landmarks and libraries as we can in my two-week vacation.”
“Two weeks?! What about the library and school?”
“It’s our fall break one week, and a substitute is covering for me for the other. Mr. Sherman volunteered to keep an eye on the library. But you’ll need to be on call if he has a problem with the tablets again.”
“Ha. Okay, I can do that. But I don’t see why you need to hire me.”
He taps the papers again. “I need to make sure it’s not going to break down on us.”
“Aw, but it would be kinda romantic. Like recreating how you two met.”
He blinks, unamused. “I don’t need help in the romance department. Just tell me how much it’s going to cost for parts and labor so it will be ready for the honeymoon. I’ve run the numbers myself, but I want a second opinion.”
“You’re the numbers guy. I’m not sure what I can do.” After wiping off my greasy hands, I pick up the pages and scan through them.
It’s older than I expected, a 1998 Winnebago Class C Motorhome.
It’s missing some modern-day conveniences, but it will still be better than camping in a tent.
This thing has a full kitchen, a full bathroom, and a slide-out that opens up to create a roomy interior.
The oak cabinets are a bit dated, but a little white paint could brighten the inside nicely.
I could also replace the old relic TV/VCR combo with a fancy flat-screen.
The dinette is noted as broken, but that’s another easy fix.
All in all, it’s better than my apartment.
“On paper, it seems in excellent condition. They’ve added a new water pump, tires, and kept up with the yearly maintenance, but it’s hard to tell without inspecting it in person.”
His overzealous smile has me leaning back in my seat.
“Funny you should mention that,” he says.
“You’re making me nervous.”
“Since this is a surprise . . . I was wondering if you’d pick this up for me.
Maya would suspect something if I canceled our holiday weekend plans.
Plus, you can give it that thorough inspection before you buy it for me.
I’ll give you the cashier’s check to pay for it and reimburse you for any repairs or upgrades you think it will need—within reason.
Remember, I’m working with a teacher’s salary. ”
“I . . .”
Memories flood through my mind, drowning out my doubts.
My brother, the only family I had left, and all the sacrifices he made for me.
The little boy who made me peanut butter sandwiches and held my hand as we walked a mile to school.
Coloring with me as a distraction when Granny was scolding Mom for stumbling home and stinking of liquor.
Standing by my side at Mom’s funeral and again at Granny’s.
The days he stayed by my side during my detox.
After everything he’s done for me, why am I hesitating?
“Okay. I’ll do it.”
Des nearly shoots out of his seat. “Really?”
“I’ve never worked on a camper before, but I’m willing to figure it out. For you and Maya. But I want it documented that I said this is a crazy idea.”
“Thank you, Reese. I know it’s a lot to ask of you.”
“And you’re sure there isn’t a camper closer to us so I don’t have to go all the way to Texas?”
“Not at the deal this guy is selling his at.” My brother smiles proudly. “Ten thousand is a steal with the number of miles that are on it. Originally, I had planned to book our honeymoon at The Broadmoor, but it would have practically cost the same thing.”
“The luxury resort in Colorado Springs? We used to dream about visiting places like that.”
“Maya will appreciate the thoughtfulness over luxury.” His smile softens. “I really want it to be special for her.”
“It will be. I don’t have anything planned for tomorrow, so I’ll start researching right away.”
“Speaking of tomorrow, do you think you’ll be joining us at church? I always save you a spot on the pew.”
I lift a shoulder and tap a cold fry on my plate. There’s always a lecture when I come over. It just wasn’t the one I was expecting.
“I know Nova would want you there too.”
“Don’t pressure me. I’ll let you know when I’m ready,” I say, holding his stare.
“Do you think you’ll ever be ready?” he counters, not backing down.
“I don’t know.”
“What is there to know?”
“I just don’t understand how God can let bad things happen.”
“You have free will, Reese. Nobody made you raise that drink to your mouth.”
“I’m not talking about that,” I snap, slamming my palms on the table so hard that the vibrations hum through my bones. “I’m talking about Granny. How could someone so wonderful, so faithful, have been taken so suddenly? I don’t understand it.”
“We aren’t meant to live on earth forever.”
Unable to breathe with the onset of tears clamping my throat, I shoot to my feet. “That’s not a good enough answer for me. I loved her more than anything and now she’s gone.”
The deep ache throbs in my heart. A pain I’ve spent years trying to ignore.
“I miss her too.” He places his hand over mine and squeezes. We stay like that for a few minutes, grieving in the silence. “I didn’t mean to upset you by bringing it up.”
“I went to the cemetery today, so it’s still fresh.”
“Oh. Did you go in this time?”
“No.” I sigh.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?”
I shrug, hating to admit that I need his—or anyone’s—help. “Maybe. We could go when I get back from Texas.”
“Be honest. Are you sure I’m not asking too much of you with the RV?”
“No. I want to do it. Consider it my wedding gift—the labor and retrieval service is free. When do I need to leave?”
“How about this Friday? There’s a three-day weekend next week, so maybe Lewis won’t miss you.”
“You’re right. The auto shop is closed for Labor Day.”
“How does this sound—I’ll buy you a plane ticket down there and you drive the RV up.”
“Fly to Amarillo?” I pull out my phone and search next week’s plane fares. “Des . . . the tickets are a little pricey. Maybe I could take the bus down instead.” I compare the bus information, and my eyebrows shoot up at the difference in price. “Wow. It’s way cheaper.”
“The bus? That doesn’t sound safe.”
“People use it all the time. I’d be doing the same thing I would on a plane, sit until I reach my destination. How hard can it be? Plus, it’s crazy cheap. With the money you save on airfare, I can spruce up the RV’s interior and make it cozy and romantic.”
“Hmm, I do like the idea of saving money, and I know Maya would appreciate the new decor. Are you sure? That’s more work than I planned for.”
“It keeps me busy, and you know I love a good project.” When he hesitates, I whisper, “Trust me. I can do this.”
“I know you can. Ok, let’s book it. This works out perfectly. With everything on my plate with the wedding and midterms at school, removing any task, no matter the size, will help keep me sane.” He covers my hand with his. “Thank you, Reese.”
And for the first time in a while, it feels like I didn’t screw things up.
Friday arrives in record time. My suitcase has sat for three days by my door, packed and ready to go, mostly with extra spare parts I ordered should I need them.
It’s the first time I’ve left Colorado or been anywhere on my own.
My stomach buzzes with nerves, yet I can’t stop smiling at the adventure that lies ahead.
I check my notes for the umpteenth time. As long as the driver stays on schedule, the Greyhound bus will leave Denver Union Station at 8:10 p.m. and arrive in Amarillo, Texas, at 5:45 a.m. Gary Snead and his motorhome should be waiting for me in the parking lot.
A simple, foolproof plan.
I race down the stairs with my backpack slung over my shoulder and a thermos of hot coffee in hand.
None of that frou-frou nonsense—just straight up caffeine to keep me awake for the long ride.
No way am I taking the chance of falling asleep and missing my destination.
I also loaded Maya’s new favorite Evie Chandler audiobook to occupy my time, but I suspect I’ll be watching RV repair videos instead.
It’s eerily quiet in the garage, my footsteps echoing off the walls.
The darkened windows summon the blurred memories of the night Burns broke in and tried to “win me back” by forcing me into his car.
Goosebumps prickle down my arms. I try to avoid coming in here after dark, especially alone, since the attack.
I flick on a few more lights and instantly feel better, and I start searching the tool bench for a few extra tools and add them into my suitcase.
But before I zip out, I write Lewis a note to remind him, again, that I’ll be gone for the three-day weekend.
If it weren’t for me, Lewis wouldn’t remember what day it was.
He’s one heck of a mechanic and took me under his wing when he saw my potential in high school.
But that man can’t remember dates or appointments unless I tape them to his forehead.
He’s probably already forgotten about the holiday weekend.
Heading to the door, I hesitate and gnaw on my bottom lip. An unexplainable feeling washes over me, like something is about to happen.
The last time I left Rocosa, my ex-boyfriend Burns broke into a cabin near Breckenridge.
Younger me was an idiot, living in the moment and letting vodka cloud my better judgement.
The memories are a blur of drunken regrets, until eventually the sleazebag dropped me off at the entrance of the ER like a pile of garbage and drove off.
I should probably be thankful, because if he hadn’t, I would have died of alcohol poisoning.
And if that wasn’t enough to scare me—which it should have been—it was seeing my mother’s drunken reflection in the bathroom mirror that felt like a slap of reality.
I refused to be her.
That day I made the decision to quit drinking. Not because everyone told me so, but because I wanted to.
And I haven’t had a drop of alcohol since.
Pushing through the shop doors, I inhale deeply, forever appreciating my returned sense of smell. I lock the door behind me then skid to a stop at the man leaning against his truck.
You have got to be kidding me.
“Hey, Reese’s Cup.”