Chapter 9 #2
Tristen nods in agreement and opens the front door to hop in, leaving me to crawl in the back seat. The new car fragrance confirms my suspicions.
“We’ll be there in a jiffy,” Gary says and pulls out like the police are hot on our tail.
“Oh, shoot,” Tristen mutters, grabbing the handle above the window.
“Sorry, folks. This baby has some pick-up-and-go. I’m still getting used to her.”
“Her, huh?” Tristen turns to him. “Mine is too. A reliable but moody gal.”
The boys make small talk upfront while I text Des, enjoying the fact that I’ll probably be waking him up on his day off at six in the morning. He should suffer with us too.
Hey, it’s your favorite sister. We have arrived safely in Texas. Crazy Gary is driving us to the RV park to see your motorhome now. This better be worth it.
It’s a few minutes before I see the dots appear next to his name.
Des
Huh? What? And who is “we”?
Your babysitter you sent with me. Tristen.
He came with you? I thought he planned a weekend camping trip.
He’s definitely in the front seat with his new bestie sharing truck stories. You might be replaced soon.
Three dots pop up on the screen as he types.
Des
Tristen is too loyal for that. Honestly, I’m glad you’re not alone. Just be nice to him, okay?
Me? What about him?
There’s been something going on with him.
Like moonlighting as an audio narrator?
Des
Plus I know how the two of you can get. Sometimes you both go for the jugular.
Or he flat out kisses me. I brush two fingers across my lower lip in memory.
I’m nice. I only elbowed him once.
Des
Remember he’s there to help. Send me pictures when you get to the camper.
I will.
And thanks for doing this for me. I owe you one. Love you.
A slow smile stretches across my face. It’s rare that he admits anything sentimental. Maya’s really worked wonders on him.
I won’t say no to another free meal or two. Love you too.
I had gone almost thirty minutes without thinking about that kiss. But it’s back at the forefront of my mind, and I stare lazily out the window, secretly replaying every second of it.
It could be my little secret that Tristen doesn’t have to know about. What might have been a joke for him is something a bit magical for me. I brush my finger across my lips, reveling in the realization that I wanted to kiss anyone again.
Here I thought my ex-boyfriend had broken me. Burns was the bad-boy tattooed troublemaker that other girls would lustfully stare at from across the room. A rock star wannabe, he cared more about the fun lifestyle than the work required to actually get a record label.
And I was this clueless girl from the mountains who fell for all his stupid lies. How he told me nobody cared about me but him. That Des was just jealous that we were out having fun without him. He was the wall between who I was before and who I wanted to be, trapping me so I never left his side.
He showed his “love” by placing shot after shot into my hand until the night was only a blur of pulsing music and strobe lights.
When I passed out at Cliffys one evening and woke up in my bed with no memory of the previous evening, I realized I had a problem.
I sat in the bathtub and let hot water spray over me while I cried.
And I prayed . . . for the first time since Granny died . . . for help.
That was the first time I left him. But he came back for me, as charming as ever.
No matter how many times I left him, he always came back.
I wasn’t brave or strong like I am now. I was .
. . ashamed and foolishly optimistic that I could fix everything on my own.
Then nobody would know how deep of a hole I’d dug for myself.
The club music was no longer beats to dance to but the background to a horror movie I couldn’t escape.
When he forced me to get a tattoo on my shoulder, a brand to mark me as his forever, I finally escaped back home to Des.
I didn’t deserve his forgiveness for the way I treated him or the way I abandoned him to grieve alone. But he did anyway.
Piece by piece, I started to put my life together. But Burns surprised me one last time and demanded I leave with him. With every inch of my life I fought him, even with a budding concussion. Who knows what would have happened if Tristen hadn’t saved me?
I rub my finger across my lips, barely noticing the sparse trees we pass. How different Burns’s kisses were compared to Tristen’s . . . even if it was a joke.
“Reese?”
“Hmm?” I blink, resurfacing from my memories to see Tristen eyeing me over his shoulder.
“You okay? You’re a little too quiet.”
“Just tired.” I glance back out the window, hating how even the thought of Burns still sent me spiraling down a black hole.
“We’ll be there soon, okay? I’ll get you the biggest cup of coffee.”
“Okay.”
We pull off the highway at Fort Amarillo RV Park, slowing down to almost a crawl as we drive down a narrow road with monster-sized campers on either side.
The early morning sun peeks up over the rows of campers, filling the sky with a golden orange.
Then there at the end of the road is the small vintage motorhome Des had shown me.
“Ain’t she a beaut?” Gary says, pulling into the site.
“She’s something all right,” Tristen says and hops out of the car, opening the back door for me.
I mentally shake the last of my dark thoughts away, knowing I need to focus. This is one of the main reasons I came—to give the motorhome a thorough inspection.
Once, it might have been a pristine white, but time has yellowed it with age, especially the over-cab sleeping area.
A few dings to the fiberglass siding, but nothing a new paint job can’t cover.
The teal decal swishes across the sides are cracked and peeling from sun damage.
Suspicious dark stains drip beneath the windows, and the seal flakes like dust at my touch.
Tires are original from the factory, but amazingly still in good condition like the previous owner barely took this thing out on the road at all.
Overall, it’s in pretty good shape. Not perfect, but I didn’t expect that with its age.
But as I’ve learned the hard way, just because I can’t see a problem doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. It just hasn’t reared its ugly head yet.
“This was my sister’s place. She’s gettin’ up in age and ain’t able to take it out like she used to. Too much stress on her knees since the surgery.” He unlocks the driver’s side door and leans in, and the hood pops open.
“Go ahead and give it a gander,” Gary says to Tristen and slams the door.
“Oh, I wouldn’t know much about that.” He points his thumb to me. “That’s why she’s here.”
“Is that so?” His bushy eyebrows rise past the brim of his ball cap.
“Yeah. She’s a really good mechanic,” Tristen says.
I try not to let the compliment go to my head. Diving under the hood, I poke around for any obvious issues and wear and tear. There’s a few shiny pieces mixed with the old, and I check the fluid levels.
“Can we turn it on? I want to verify the transmission fluid too.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He tosses me the keys, and I catch them in one hand.
After checking that and the undercarriage, the only concerning problem I discover is the suspension.
Not that I’m surprised. Based on the motorhome’s nose-down position from the sale pictures, I came prepared with a few extra things in my suitcase.
Lewis will be impressed I caught the suspension issue just from the picture .
. . I mean, after I make Des refund him for the supplies.
All in all, it will be an easy fix before we head out on the road.
“It looks like she took good care of it,” I say and hand back the keys.
“She parked it inside of her barn when she wasn’t using it. Wanna see inside?”
The scent of musty mothballs slaps me in the face as soon as I enter.
And if that hadn’t been strong enough to make my eyes water, the cat decor would.
Crochet pillows, blankets, figurines on the counter, dish towels, pot mitts, soap dispenser, driver and passenger seat covers, and even a little paw print runner from the kitchen to the back room.
The framed “I’m feline good today” sign on the wall seems like overkill.
“She must have loved cats,” Tristen says, stating the obvious.
“That she did. A shame she never owned one though since she was allergic. But it didn’t stop her from feeding every stray she met. All the decor is included at no extra cost.”
Oh boy. I get to keep the cat stuff too.
“Is that the shower?” Tristen asks suddenly, his eyes almost bulging out of his head. “In the hallway?”
“Haha, yep. Be thankful the commode has a door. No lock though. All right, let me wait outside so I’m not hovering over y’all’s shoulders.” He heads out the door, his footsteps clonking down the metal steps.
“What do you think? You’re more of a builder than I am.”
Tristen shrugs. “I’ve never built a camper, but it looks okay. I don’t think she used it much.”
Through the main entry, on our right the overhead bunk is unfolded, complete with cat-themed bedding.
On our left is a small kitchen. The couch is across from us and the broken dinette is next to it, the table concerningly snapped in half.
All the way down is the single bedroom with, shockingly, more cat bedding on a queen-size mattress.
My hand rubs against the soft fabric of the bedding longingly. I’m running on complete fumes right now, and I’d donate a kidney to get eight hours of sleep.
“I wish I could find someone who looks at me like how you are looking at that bed right now,” Tristen mutters from the open bedroom door.
I chuckle despite myself, and he takes it as an invitation to walk in. The two of us are cramped, shoulder to shoulder in the small bedroom. We stare at the hand-sewn cat curtain in silence.
“I’m tempted to leave all the cat stuff for Des,” I say, crossing my arms.
“Seems fair since he didn’t come pick it up himself.”
“I guess planning a wedding takes all his free time.”
“Pfft. Maya is doing all the work. He just hates leaving her.”
I stick out my tongue and gag. “The two of them are too much.”
“You say that now, but one day you’ll find someone to annoy—I mean love—all the time too,” he says with a forced laugh and heads back into the living room.
With one last longing glance at the bed, I follow him into the main living space.
“You know, if we paint the oak cabinets white, it might lighten it up in here. It’s a gloomy cat shrine right now, but I see the potential.”
He nods. “Really, it’s not bad. No soft spots in the floors. Air conditioning, water, and electricity all work. The fridge too. There’s some cold water in there.”
“I guess Des did his due diligence. The only thing we need to work on is the dinette.”
We both sit on the couch at the same time and nearly sink to the floor, the inner springs nonexistent. I grab for him as he reaches for me, and I bump my head into his chin.
“I think we need a new couch,” he says, his arms still around me.
“Yeah, that felt like a free fall into quicksand.”
It takes teamwork, but we both climb out. Tristen’s hand lingers for a second on my hip before he steps away, spotting the ancient box TV. The heat print of his hand lingers distractingly.
Gary opens the door. “Hey, folks. What do y’all think?”
“I think it’s exactly what my brother wanted,” I say.
“Wonderful. Come on outside, and y’all can sign the documents.”
Gary’s smile is about the same size as the motorhome when he adds the last flourish of his signature next to where his sister had signed.
“And there ya go. I booked the campsite for the evening, so if y’all find anything or have any questions, just come a hollerin’, all right?
” He points out the tiny kitchen window.
“I’m a few sites down the road behind you.
I left a sheet of paper with instructions on setup and takedown.
Simple stuff. If my sister could do it, so can y’all. ”
I try not to panic when Gary peels away, leaving a sandstorm of dirt in his wake.
Coughing, we fan the air around us.
“Well, you’re the proud owner of a gloomy cat shrine motorhome for two days. Happy?” Tristen asks, throwing an arm around my shoulder as we stare at the daunting project before us.
“I am.” The peaceful moment of unity lasts for a second before I glance up at him with a smirk. “I call dibs on the queen bed.”