Running Into A Brick Wall

by Jacqueline DeGroot

  A picture of Jared and I posing for the camera after saying our vows opened on the screen—filling it. I focused on the starry-eyed ingénue looking back at me. I looked so happy. Then I stared at Jared, he had been so handsome, so perfect. I had felt as lucky as any bride that I was standing beside him walking down the aisle as his wife. What had happened? Shaking my head, I unconsciously scrolled down and a second picture opened on screen. I jumped back from the disgusting sight. A much beaten up Jared, sat naked in a chair his hand gripping his erect penis. Even though his jaw was wired, he’d managed to leer for the camera. And heaven help me, I stupidly scrolled further down to see a mock up picture of me, kneeling at his feet, my head bent, appearing as if I was getting ready to suck his penis. I recognized the picture as one taken at the reception when I’d been placing my garter on his thigh. It had been a playful gesture then, it was a vile one now, but what made the picture so evil was the look on his face. He had the light of a demented entity in his eyes—a fiend gone mad. My husband, the man I had vowed to cherish and love forever, had absolutely lost his mind. Nothing could make it any clearer and I had to wonder at the stupidity of him giving me this much ammunition. My attorney would be getting a big fat pay check for a job that would now consist of not much more than filling out some papers for the court.

  With the amount of money involved, and no pre-nup, I had been advised to hire a team of attorneys; a local firm that specialized in representing wealthy socialites in the D.C. area had actually come to my hospital room at my father’s request. Instead, budgetary reasons not withstanding, I chose a husband and wife team who specialized in divorce cases for battered spouses. I had read about them years ago in the Washington Post Magazine, never dreaming I’d ever need them, but impressed, I remembered their names.

  I sighed and closed my email program and shut my computer down. I would deal with all this tomorrow. In the meantime, I thought I would add a little more wine to make my melancholy complete. After another glass of merlot I decided to call my drinking buddy in Pahrump, Nevada.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  “Not too many people can track me down at the tables, honey,” Craig said. I could hear the noise of the casino in the background. “I don’t answer this phone for anybody when I got a stack of chips runnin’ through ma fingers. But you know you’re special,” his gruff voice softened, “what’s up?”

  Just hearing his Texas drawl cheered me, but still my voice came out on a sob, “I needed to hear your voice.”

  “That’s nice to hear. Thought you’d forgotten all about me.”

  “Never. You’re the unforgettable type.”

  “Wish I’d been the weddible type. What’s that I hear in your voice, you cryin’?”

  “No not really. Or at least not yet.”

  I could hear the background noise lessening as if he was either shielding the phone or walking away from the action.

  “How ‘bout you tell me what’s botherin’ ya. I’ll get me a box of chocolates and a jug o’wine and it’ll be just like ol’ times. We’ll talk into the night.”

  And that’s exactly what we did. Around four o’clock we signed off, promising to keep in touch more often and agreeing that we’d hook up on my return trip. I did not tell him why I was going to Oregon. I didn’t need another man trying to talk me out of things I wanted to do, and Craig, as protective as he was of me, would surely have a fit if he knew what I was planning.

  Ever since he and his chauffeur rescued me when my RV overheated in Death Valley he’d been a good friend. He wanted to be more, but understood that it wasn’t what I wanted. He was the epitome of a gentleman, and more fun than wallowing in the mud. We’d actually watched a porn move together in one of the rooms in the hotel he owned in Pahrump and had laughed ourselves silly while polishing off vintage bottles of wine. I trusted him like a brother.

  I fell asleep and for the first time ever, almost didn’t make checkout time. I pulled up by the office and “stole” their wireless connection long enough to send a message to my attorneys, forwarding the pictures Jared had sent to both them and to Brick.

  I shouldn’t have been surprised when not an hour later, while I was making my way through Medicine Bow National Forest, my cell phone rang.

  “What a pretty little bride you were. Shame you married such a jerk.”

  “I was kinda cute, wasn’t I?”

  “You were gorgeous, still are.”

  “Thank you. Any other comments?”

  “I like the position you were in on the last one, just not your focal point. He’s going to a lot of trouble to impress. Can’t help but wonder what his game is. Hey, is he bigger than me, kinda looks it from this angle.”

  I had to laugh. With everything we were dealing with, his concern was that I might be comparing and finding him lacking. “Trust me, McCoy is the perfect size. I like all of your parts better than any of his, especially your mind. I think he’s lost it—one too many blows to the head. I wonder if he realizes how easy he’s making all the legal stuff for me.”

  “Yeah, his attorney is going to have a fit when he

  sees this.”

  “I already sent it to mine.”

  “Sending porn on the Internet? I could have you arrested you know . . .”

  “It’s not kiddie porn, so no, you cannot.”

  “Speaking of which, I have to skedaddle. I’m on in twenty minutes and I need another cup of coffee to smooth out my voice. I think I woke up with a cold.”

  “It’s probably just Washington allergies, I sure don’t miss them.”

  “Travel safe. Next time send me a picture of you naked. My memory is fadin’.”

  “Not a chance. You can refresh your memory in a few weeks.”

  “Good-bye sexy.”

  “Take care of McCoy.”

  “I always do.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  After a desperate search for a much needed latte, I finally pulled into a parking lot that bordered a McDonald’s. I didn’t do fast food often, but for some reason a Quarter Pounder and a vanilla latte appealed to me. It was time for a break and I needed to start planning a campground for tonight. I had made Evanston okay, now my goal was Ogden, in Utah.

  I consulted one of my campground directories and decided on East Canyon Resort, just south of Henefer because it was away from the highway and according to my atlas, East Canyon was a state park. I was ready for something lovely to look at after Laramie. So, latte in hand, I climbed back into my RV and followed the directions after plugging in the address on my G.P.S. unit. I called her Gypsy because she was quite the wanderer; I’d learned that she was not always prone to picking the most direct route. But she was company on an otherwise tedious trip. Sometimes I changed her voice and made her British when American Gypsy began to annoy me.

  It was lovely, rocky outcroppings everywhere, sheer walls of amber rock placed by the hand of God as if he’d been on hands and knees playing a game, moving them about for esthetic appeal. Despite the general impression of a desert, there were plenty of trees, cedar in particular, and lots of green shrubbery scattered here and there. The mountains reminded me of a backdrop for a western and I could just picture cowboys on fleet-footed roans. I happily pulled in and began setting up house. I had no idea I was in dirt bike and ATV heaven until dinnertime.

  It seemed as if on cue, scores of bikes revved up and sped away. Their engines could be heard for many miles as they chased each other back and forth and up and down making dusty paths.

  Thankfully, as dusk settled in they all came home to roost and I could hear myself think again. I sat outside enjoying the noises of the night until I felt the bugs zeroing in, then I went inside to watch some TV. I loved watching nature shows that featured this part of the country. I was very eager to learn about each area I was in. Utah, I knew was particularly beautiful, especially in the area that skirts around the Great Salt Lake. I was surprised that there was a Dolphin Island at the northern end, which I wouldn’t be go
ing anywhere near. At 4200 feet above sea level, the lake was an oddity. Due to the shallowness the total area fluctuated between a low of 950 square miles to a high of 3300. I wondered how they figured the setbacks for building in this area.

  I was nodding off during the late news so I took myself off to bed with the hopes of sleeping in the next morning and having a nice leisurely breakfast before getting back on the road. This morning’s harried tear down had not started my day off in the best way. Of course, the wine from the night before could have had a bit to do with that, too, I told myself as I washed my face, slipped on a nightgown and fell between the sheets.

  I woke with a start sitting bolt upright, grabbing the sheets to my chest and turning my head this way and that trying to figure out where all the noise was coming from. It was as if I was in the center of a wagon train being circled by Indians on dirt bikes. I looked at the digital clock velcroed to my nightstand. Six a.m. I moaned and fell back on the bed. The denizens on dirt bikes and ATVs were at it again. No sooner had the sun made itself known than these guys came out to chase it. Vvvrroom, vrrooom, rawrr, and raaawrr, pop-pop-pop-pop-pop filled the air as engines strained, throated down and then backfired. Over and over again. I heard each bike cycle, wheeze, sputter and then catch and soar as their riders raced and teased each other. I threw the sheets off my body. No way was I sleeping with all this noise. And no way was I going to even try to have a leisurely breakfast thinking home-home-on-the-range thoughts. I dressed and got my own little bike off the back and went looking for a nice place to have breakfast.

  With the help of two elderly gentlemen I found on a street corner, I found Ruth’s Diner, founded in 1930 and serving what the locals considered the best breakfast to be found. I had Ruth’s Frittata, a fresh egg omelet with basil tomato and feta and a sliver of the Banana Walnut French Toast I ordered to take home to reheat later. I was careful to only put butter and cinnamon sugar on the part I was going to eat now so the rest didn’t get soggy. I smiled and chatted up to the locals while I stuffed my face full of great food. Sadly, I did not end up having much French toast to take back with me, which turned out all right as I discovered I had no way to get it home on the bike anyway.

  I groaned as I made my way out to the parking lot. I could not remember the last time I had eaten so much. It was actually an effort to get my leg over the bike so I could straddle it. I knew as soon as I got back to the campground I was going to have to run or walk this off, either that or succumb to carbohydrate overload and crash.

  Back at the ranch—gosh I always wanted to say that, and this was the most appropriate place by far—the cowboys and Indians were still at it so I joined in and followed a few on my little Vespa until I realized how filthy I was getting. Back at the ranch--that is just so cool—I grabbed my collapsible hamper filled with dirty laundry before deciding I should add what I was wearing to the pile. I walked to the bathhouse to shower and change. Then it was off to do the weekly washing.

  I jogged around the area until it was time to move things from the washer to the dryer then I sat reading my book until it was time to fold everything. I went back to my RV and as the cowboys say, broke camp. I did the final policing of my campsite before getting behind the wheel and pulling out. I would surely put Utah behind me today and begin traversing the lower quadrant of Idaho on my way to Oregon.

  I still had a few days to spare, and thought maybe I would treat myself to a day off from driving tomorrow. That was if I found a nice, quiet campground tonight. Boise looked promising, maybe even Sun Valley, although that was a bit out of the way. I wanted to stay in a nice place tonight and I was ready to say to hell with the budget and pay double if I had to.

  The skies were a soft pale blue with streaks of spun cotton stretching out across the horizon. Against the backdrop of the mountains and the barren plains it was postcard perfect. After my huge breakfast, it wasn’t likely that I’d need to stop to eat until late this afternoon so Gypsy and I finished listening to my book on CD while marveling at the scenery as it whipped past the windows.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  I finished my book on CD and listened to some music for a while, then turned to talk radio. I was antsy. Tired of driving, but barely past Twin Falls. I needed coffee if I was going to continue on, and wireless Internet. I needed to check out a few campgrounds and this time I was going to check out RV Reviews and see what they recommended.

  In Gooding I found a nice coffee shop although I had to park quite a bit away and walk to it. But once inside, I was enveloped with the wonderful smell of roasting coffee and cinnamon buns. I got my skinny latte, this time with hazelnut shots and took my laptop to a table in the corner. While I waited for it to boot up I sipped my latte and looked around. This appeared to be moose country for sure. I imagined that in the winter this was either one very empty place or the life of the city.

  A man in jogging clothes came in, nodded to the barista, and smiled at me. I smiled back. He was young and athletic looking, and what any girl in her right mind would call cute, but he didn’t appeal to me, not at all. I realized then that I had a one-item list of criteria for men now: hunky/sexy/cop, and that only Brick could fit that bill for me. It was as if I didn’t even need to bother to look anymore. I watched the jogger bend over the counter to flirt with the girl at the register. Nice tight buns in spandex. Okay, I still needed to look.

  My laptop pinged and I was taken back to the cyber world. One of my attorneys had acknowledged my email and advised me of an impending court date where it would pretty much be show and tell so everyone could plan their strategy. He said ours was straightforward and that no judge would deny our motion. He said I should be divorced by the end of the year if not sooner. I thanked him for the work he and his wife were doing on my behalf and said I’d check in with him next week.

  I Googled the next big city I would come to on Route 84—Mountain Home, and added + RV campground, then hit return. I clicked on RV Park Reviews when it popped up then scrolled through the listings reading every single line. I sat back with a huge grin. Mountain Home RV Park had a 9, a 10, and another 10! I had hardly ever seen a park with one ten, and here was one rated with back-to-back tens! And as a bonus, it was a Good Sam’s Park so I could get a discount. All right, home sweet home . . . at least for tonight. I read everything written on their website then called and asked if they had a site available. I was in luck as it was still early in the day so they still had a few. I asked them to hold a site for me, told them where I was now and was told it would be an hour and half before I got there. I closed my laptop and hopped up with a smile for everyone. Joggerboy obviously thought I was smiling just for him and flashed me an all-knowing grin and winked. I think he was a bit surprised when I walked right past him. As far as I was concerned, I was already spoken for, but it was always nice to know I could still catch another man’s eye. I loved this life. The freedom to decide, the freedom to live each day as it came—to go, do, enjoy as things came up. Right now I was on my way to a campground that was rated a ten! After marginally enjoying several I would rate as a four or five—six at best—I was pumped.

  Sure enough, an hour and half later I pulled off Interstate 84 at exit 95 and just past the Wal-Mart I found Mountain Home RV Campground. I was immediately impressed as the immaculate park spread out before me. I was met by a friendly host who helped me select a site and checked me in. The spaces all seemed large and level which was a plus I could certainly appreciate now. The pull-throughs were concrete and had extra room to park your tow vehicle. They even had Buddy Pads so if you were traveling with friends your units could face each other. They were about the widest and longest lots I’d seen so far—I would actually be able to put out my awning if I wanted to. And there were a lot of grassy areas, along with a picnic table—which I was coming to learn, was not always a standard item.

  It looked like a very nice park, exceptional, from what I’d seen so far. I knew it was convenient to some stores and restaurants, as I’d seen the
m when I came off the highway. Children were riding bikes on the paved roads and there was a distinct smell of floribunda roses wafting on the summer air. I felt as if I’d lucked into an RV paradise.

  While I was hooking up and setting up my “front porch,” awning and all, I was privileged to be able to look up and see a flyover from Mountain Home AFB, a few miles away. They were doing training flights and the sight and sounds of the powerful jets flying directly overhead both thrilled and dismayed me. I thought of Connor and all the other servicemen and women laying it on the line so I could have the freedom to move as I pleased, to enjoy this beautiful country and all its bounty.

  Then as if everything else wasn’t enough, I took a nice long shower and was amazed at the water pressure, it felt great on my back and neck. For the first time ever, I attached my regulator, just in case. Water pressure this high was a rarity on the road.

  After dressing in shorts and a tank I flip-flopped my way around getting the lay of the land. I found the rose garden near the entrance that was responsible for the wonderful aroma. I peaked into the bathhouses and was surprised by the individual restrooms, each with its own shower, toilet, vanity sink and counter top. I practically swooned when I saw the laundry room and decided I’d have to strip the bed before I left just so I could try the sparkling machines out, it would be a shame to waste such a clean, modern laundromat. At the Library Exchange I saw a few books I might like to trade for before I left.

  I bought a few postcards at the office and began walking back to my RV to fill them out. I could hear the shriek of laughter coming from kids at the playground and my nose detected the unmistakable aroma of a steak covering incinerating charcoal. My tummy made appreciating noises and I patted it. I didn’t think it would settle for another PB & J sandwich or a frozen dinner. I had a skirt steak in the freezer I could thaw, and the rest of the ingredients for fajitas. I smiled as I made my way back, yeah, that’s the ticket.