Chapter Twelve #2
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 my apprehension. 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.”
“Fine by me. This place is giving me the creeps. Not to mention that Uncle Ted is going to kill me for taking an extra day off.”
I cringe. “Lewis will be the same way, maybe more so since I borrowed his tools without asking.” I slam the door a little too hard when I hop out. This trip isn’t going as planned.
It takes a few tries, but Tristen is able to back in semi-straight.
As he sets up everything outside, I work on getting everything into place on the inside.
Once we have power, I plug in the coffee maker and pour us both a mug.
For his, I add in a splash of almond milk as a surprise and bring it out to him.
He swipes an arm across his brow as he frowns at the sewage hose. His eyes meet mine and he sighs in delight at the steaming mug in my hand. “It’s like you read my mind.”
Lifting the mug up to his lips, he blows on the surface before taking a sip. His head jerks back, his nose scrunching. “Good gracious. What’s in this?”
“Coffee and almond milk, like you said. Do you want sugar or something else?”
“Almond milk?” His lips twist before he stiffens. “Oooh. Almond milk. Yes. Thank you.” He takes another tiny sip, gagging as he forces it down.
I cross my arms. “You don’t seem to like it.”
“Nope. It’s delicious.” He winces through another sip.
“Tris.” I grab the mug from his hand and dump it on the ground. “If it’s gross, don’t drink it. I’ll make you another.”
He glances away. “I mean, if you want to.”
Shaking my head at him, I go inside and make him a fresh cup of black coffee. “You know you have to explain the almond milk thing, right? Why would you say you drink it if you don’t?”
“You put me on the spot before. I didn’t know what to say.”
I hand him a new cup, careful not to spill it. “How about the truth?”
“Hmm.” He blows on the dark liquid. “About what?”
“The almond milk. Why did you lie about it?”
“Because I didn’t really need groceries.”
“Then why were you going into Denver? Audiobook stuff?”
“Well, um, there wasn’t a reason.”
I blink at him, confused. “Is this a thing? Joyrides to Denver?”
“No, I . . . I wanted to take you to the bus station. To spend time with you.”
My heart skips a beat as I meet his heated gaze. The attraction between us grips me like a hook, and I can’t stop myself from stepping closer.
“I don’t know what happened between us, but we used to be friends.
Good friends. The more time passes, the more we drift further apart.
I don’t understand it. I thought maybe if we spent time together, I could fix us .
. . but it’s like no matter what I say, I upset you. Is there something I’ve done?”
I suck in a breath through my teeth, hating the answer. “No, it’s me. I’m a walking disaster that destroys everything.”
“That’s not true. You’ve had a hard time—”
“I don’t need excuses.”
“Maybe that’s the problem. You’re trying to do this alone. When is the last time you’ve prayed about it?”
Pinching my lips, I turn around, not liking where this is heading.
“Reese?” He places a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t block me out.”
“Des has already grilled me about this. You’re wasting your time.”
“You are never a waste of my time.” Slowly, he turns me around. “Did you ever think that you’re bristling because of conviction? It’s okay to ask for help. From me and especially from God. You’re not meant to handle everything on your own.”
He tilts my chin up and brushes a finger along my jaw, freezing my reply. “Sometimes I can feel God guiding me in one direction, but I fight it, kicking and screaming because I want to do it my way and on my timeline. But we have to let Him have control.”
I take a step back. “No. I need my control. I’m fine, okay?”
His eyes soften into something close to pity.
“I mean it. I’m fine.” My voice trembles despite my resolve. “I’ve made it this far on my own.”
“Have you been on your own?”
“Tristen . . . I don’t want to do this right now.” My heart beats wildly in my chest, and I glance up at the rain cloud rolling in that matches my mood.
“I don’t mean to upset you. The opposite, actually—I care about you.”
He reaches a hand for me, and I step away so he grasps at air.
“If you really cared, you’d stop pressuring me. Let me figure this out when I’m ready.”
Nodding, he steps back, his mouth curled downward.
The face of disappointment. No matter what I do, all my choices always lead to this. Why do I even try to better myself?
I never cared what other people thought when I was drinking. It was easy that way, only worrying about what I wanted and what would please me. In fact, having a beer right now would take a lot of pressure off of me. I’m going to fail anyway . . .
No. No. No. I won’t listen to the stupid voice in my head. My hands start to tremble, and I walk backward, averting my eyes.
“I’m going to take a quick shower,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around myself. The urge to scrub the dark thoughts from my mind consumes me.
“Of course.” He opens his mouth then shuts it a few times. “I’ll light the pilot light for you so the water can start warming up. Gary said you have maybe five minutes of hot water.”
Stepping into the shower, hot water rushes over my body, almost too painful to handle.
I lather up my hands and scrub my skin and scalp until it’s almost raw.
Doubts from my past and memories of my granny bounce in my head.
I rest my forehead against the shower wall, analyzing each thought and emotion.
Were all these feelings because of what Tristen said?
Did lowering my wall allow his words to pierce me?
Why was this time so much more painful than before?
The water cools too soon, almost icy, but still I don’t move. Will I ever be clean enough? If Granny and her perfect life led to death, what hope is there for me? Or am I destined to always be a worthless drunk like my mother?
My shoulders shake, begging for that last one not to be true.
I don’t want these dark thoughts anymore.
I don’t want the weight of my failures always hanging around my neck.
I don’t want to lose my faith on top of everything else.
Maybe Tristen is right—I do need to ask for help.
Sniffling, I’m not sure when my own tears started to stream down my face to mix with the shower. The salty droplets rush over my lips as a battle wages inside of me.
“Reese?” Tristen’s soothing voice whispers from the other side of the cream-colored shower curtain. “Please don’t cry.”