The Happy Camper

by Melody Carlson

  It was past six by the time she’d removed all the doors and hardware and, hoping that Margot wasn’t already concocting some sort of health meal, she decided to call it quits. She knew Grandpa would prefer some real food. Plus, she didn’t want him to think she was too distracted with her little Oasis to help him anymore. That would be a sorry sort of thank-you.

  Before going into the house, Dillon stopped to survey the lavender field. The young plants were set into neat rows and evenly spaced apart. Even though it wasn’t really her project, she felt a sense of pleasure to know she’d helped. And it was reassuring to see the soil still moist from the drip lines.

  Grandpa called out a greeting as he strolled over from the barn. “Looks pretty good, don’t it?” He squatted down to pinch the damp soil.

  “Yeah, I was just thinking that.” Dillon glanced over to the section where Grandpa had been working today. “How’s your pumpkin patch coming?”

  “Well, I just finished tilling a bunch of old steer manure in. To beef up the soil.” He chuckled as he slapped dirt off his hands. “Steer . . . beef. Get it?”

  “Uh-huh.” She smiled. “Very funny.”

  “Tomorrow I’ll make planting mounds. Pumpkins like to be a little elevated so they can grow downward. After that’s done, I’ll move irrigation pipes into place. And hopefully my seed will be here by Monday. Not a moment too soon.”

  “I’ll bet you’re hungry.”

  “I put some T-bones in the fridge to thaw last night. Thought we could throw them on the barbecue. How’s that sound?”

  “Delicious. I’ll get the rest of supper going if you want to grill the steaks.” She glanced toward the house. “Hopefully Margot won’t freak over the smell of charred meat.”

  “Well, she did complain about cooking those hamburgers for the boys today.” Grandpa chuckled. “But when she saw how appreciative they were, I think she got over it.”

  It wasn’t long before the steaks were done. And since Margot did voice her opinion against the “carnivores,” Dillon and Grandpa opted to eat outside, leaving the kitchen to Margot. As they ate, Dillon told Grandpa about all her plans for her trailer, and he made some suggestions and offered the use of some tools and things in the barn. “Sounds like you got your work cut out for you.” He picked up the bone from his steak and chewed on it.

  Dillon laughed. “You might call it work, but I call it fun. I can hardly wait to get back at it.”

  “Well, you’ve got electricity hooked up, so you’ve got lights. I suppose you can fuss with it this evening if you like.” He set down the bone and slapped his midsection. “That was just what the doctor ordered.”

  Dillon grinned as she gathered the plates. “Don’t let Margot hear you saying that.”

  “I know. She’ll lecture me on my cholesterol again.”

  As Dillon carried the dishes into the kitchen, she smiled at Margot. “I didn’t say anything before, but your lavender field looks spectacular. You must be proud.”

  Margot’s face lit up. “You think so?”

  “Absolutely. Those boys did a great job. And it’ll be fun to see those plants in bloom.” She rinsed the dishes, loading them into the dishwasher. “It really was a great idea to grow lavender.”

  “Well, thank you.” Margot sighed. “It’s nice to hear some appreciation.”

  Dillon made a bit more pleasant small talk while cleaning the kitchen, then headed for the back door.

  “Where you going?” Margot asked.

  “Just outside.”

  “To look at my lavender field?”

  “Uh, no . . . well, I guess.”

  “Then I’ll come with you.”

  Dillon wanted to make an excuse—find some way to ditch her mother. “I, uh, I thought I’d take a little walk too . . .”

  “Oh, good. I could use a walk. And it’s such a lovely evening.”

  And so with Margot by her side, Dillon walked around the farm, making more pleasant small talk and trying to think of a way to part from Margot and go work on her trailer, but as they came around the back of the barn, Margot noticed Dillon’s car.

  “Why’s your car parked way over here?” Margot asked.

  “I, uh, I just thought it was a good spot.”

  “What is that by your car?” Margot continued walking toward the loafing shed, and now the vintage trailer was in full view.

  “Just an old trailer.” Dillon grimaced.

  “I didn’t know Dad had a camp trailer.”

  “His buddy Jack left it to him,” Dillon said.

  “That was real nice,” Margot said with sarcasm. “Probably cheaper than taking it to a wrecking yard.”

  “It’s actually a vintage trailer,” Dillon said defensively.

  “Nowadays anything old is vintage.” Margot picked off a piece of flaking paint. “What a mess.”

  “Well, it happens to be my mess.” With hands on hips, Dillon faced her mother. “And I happen to like her.”

  “Her?”

  “Whatever.” Dillon stood protectively in front of the trailer. “I didn’t expect you to understand.”

  “You’re right. I don’t understand. Why are you saying this is your mess?” Margot peeked inside Dillon’s packed car. “And what is all that? Looks like you went on some huge shopping spree.”

  Dillon really did not want to explain, but knew she had no choice. And so she quickly told about how Grandpa had given her the trailer and her plans to restore it.

  “Why?”

  “Because I want to.” Dillon sighed.

  “What’s it look like inside?” Margot tried to peer in the window. “Hopefully better than the outside.”

  Dillon unlocked the door, stepping aside. “Go ahead and look around.” She waited while Margot went in, trying not to listen to all the negative comments.

  “Well, it’s interesting,” Margot said as she stepped out. “But it’s a mess.”

  “I know it’s a mess . . . now. But it’s going to be fabulous when I’m done restoring it.”

  Margot laughed. “What on earth do you know about restoring trailers?”

  “I’ll learn as I go.” Dillon held up her phone. “And I can always google how-to videos.”

  “Well, you’ve got your work cut out for you.” Margot looked amused.

  “Yes, I know.” Dillon nodded. “And I’m going to work on it right now.”

  “Can’t say I envy you,” Margot teased. “But whatever floats your boat.”

  “Uh-huh.” Dillon forced a cheesy smile. “See you later, alligator.” And then she firmly closed the door. “Don’t take it personally,” she patted the dinette table. “Margot doesn’t understand your potential, but I do.” And then she tuned her phone to some lively music and set to work sanding the wood surfaces that she planned to paint tomorrow.

  Dillon got up extra early on Saturday. Partly because the sofa was so uncomfortable, but mostly because she couldn’t wait to get to her trailer. Seeing that coffee was already made and dishes were in the sink, she guessed that Grandpa had gotten up even earlier. When she went outside, she spotted him out on his small tractor making his pumpkin mounds.

  She went straight to work on the trailer. Using sawhorses from the barn, she laid out all the cabinet doors and drawers and began to paint. After that, she set to work painting the inside of the trailer. Barely breaking for lunch, Dillon had all the painting completed by the end of the day. And, although she was an exhausted, paint-speckled mess, she couldn’t have been happier with the results as she locked the trailer’s door and headed for the house.

  The next day, after going to early church with Grandpa, Dillon was back in her trailer. After touching up the paint from yesterday, putting the cabinet doors and drawers back into place, and giving it another cleaning, she stood back to admire her work. The trailer was so much improved! Having the turquoise cabinets next to the orange appliances was bright and fun and cheerful. Now if she could just unearth her grandma’s old Singer sewing machine.


  Up in the old craft room, Dillon pretended she was on a treasure hunt. And after finding a few items she could use for the trailer, she realized it really was a treasure hunt. It started when she discovered some old paint-by-number pictures that she and Grandma had painted one Christmas. They were outdoor scenes, and the colors were perfect for her trailer. She found a few other charming items and eventually spotted the olive-green case of the old Singer machine, as well as Grandma’s old sewing basket. Perfect.

  Realizing this room was too crowded to set up the machine, Dillon decided to take it back to the trailer and sew down there. Hopefully, she would remember how to operate it. And hopefully she wouldn’t cross paths with Margot on her way out there. She just did not want to be questioned—or mocked—again.

  She gathered everything she needed to start sewing, then locked herself in the trailer. She wasn’t able to recall how to thread the old sewing machine, so she googled it on her phone. Not only did she find instructions, she found some helpful sewing tips and even watched a few tutorials for making curtains. And then she set to work, measuring and marking and cutting and pinning . . . and finally sewing. By noon, she had one window outfitted with its new curtain. And, okay, maybe the hem was a tad uneven, but all in all it was beautiful.

  By the end of the day she’d finished most of the curtains and could hardly believe how charming the trailer was starting to look. The one thing she was unsure about was how to refinish the floor. At first she thought she’d just leave it as is, but the old linoleum tiles were loose, and after poking around with a screwdriver, she discovered that they popped off easily.

  She got out the cute trailer book she’d found at the Silver Slipper and looked at the clever photos for some inspiration, but she still wasn’t sure. With the colorful cabinets, appliances, and curtains, she thought maybe she needed something less busy than the checkerboards she was looking at in the book. Finally, she remembered what Vivian had told her about neutral tones. Perhaps that was what her floor needed.

  As much as she would’ve liked to continue working out here, it was getting dusky outside, which meant it was late. And tomorrow morning, she was expected at the pool to teach swimming lessons. Of course, this meant she needed to don a swimsuit—not a task she was looking forward to. Hopefully she’d be able to dig one out of the bags of clothing she’d stashed in a storage closet. But first she wanted to unload her car. She carefully took load after load into the trailer, piling things onto the bunks and on the dinette . . . and controlling herself from opening up the items and “playing house” like she wanted to do. That would come in due time. Tomorrow—after swim lessons.

  When Dillon finally went to bed—on the sagging sofa—she was not looking forward to morning. And if she hadn’t promised to work at the pool, she would’ve gladly bailed. But, she reminded herself, Chelsea was her friend. Besides that, Dillon needed the income. She had a trailer to support! And for all she knew, baby needed new shoes—tires. At least that was something she’d read today in her trailer book. Most vintage trailers required new tires and bearings and a number of other mechanical things that she knew nothing about but sounded costly. But her trailer project was an investment—an investment in happiness.

  CHAPTER

  10

  On Monday morning, Dillon tried to look bright and cheery as she reported to Chelsea for work, but the idea of getting into the water with a bunch of wily kids was not enticing.

  “Your first class is probably in the dressing room right now,” Chelsea said as Dillon filled out the paperwork. “And I think I mentioned your last class will end at one.”

  “And then I get the whole afternoon to myself.” Dillon wanted to add “with my sweet trailer,” but she knew that sounded fanatical.

  “And here’s your roster.” Chelsea handed her a clipboard. “Good luck.” She grinned. “Not that you’ll need it.” She glanced down at Dillon’s swimsuit, partially covered by an oversized denim shirt. “Is that your old team suit?”

  Dillon shrugged. “It was the only one I could find. Does it matter?”

  “Not at all. I just can’t believe you still fit into it.”

  Dillon laughed. “I just wish I had a little tan to go with it.”

  “Well, your classes are with the little ones. I remember how good you were with them. So you’ll be outside in the shallow pool. Maybe you can work on your tan out there.”

  Dillon picked up her duffel bag and, bracing herself for a lot of squealing and splashing, she headed for the shallow pool. It wasn’t that she didn’t like preschoolers. In fact, she did. But they did take a lot of patience and energy. Pulling her hair into a ponytail, she greeted the mothers and children already waiting on the deck. She briefly introduced herself, explaining the expectations of the class, and then, getting the children to hold hands “like a long dragon,” she led them down the steps and into the shallow water.

  It was amazing how it all came back to her. Getting the kids comfortable in the water. Playing ring-around-the-rosy, blowing bubbles, imitating ducklings, and so on, until it was finally her last class. By now the sun was high in the sky and the air was warm. She greeted her last set of parents, went over the routine, and was about to take the kids into the water when a nicely dressed and attractive mother pulled her aside. She introduced herself as Janelle and the mother of the twin blonde girls. “I don’t like to be a helicopter mommy, but I need to warn you that Emma and Chloe have a slight phobia of water. I realize they’re older than the other kids in this class, but this is their first swimming lesson experience and I’m—”

  “Don’t worry.” Dillon smiled. “I’m sure they’ll be just fine,” she assured Janelle.

  “I would like to stay and watch, you know, to encourage the girls to cooperate with you, but I’m a Realtor and I have a showing in ten minutes.”

  “Some children do better without their parents observing,” Dillon said. “Really, don’t worry.”

  “Okay. I won’t.” Janelle held up her phone. “And you have my number . . . just in case.”

  Dillon nodded, waving to the worried mom as she led the line of children toward the water. The twins were the tail of the dragon, and based on their expressions, were not looking forward to this. “Our dragon is not your ordinary dragon,” Dillon said like she usually did. “Our dragon loves the water. He’s the best swimmer ever.” They were all in the pool—except Emma and Chloe, who were clinging to each other on the top step.

  Dillon trailed the “dragon” back over to the twins. “Come on, girls, you don’t want to miss out on the fun.” She held out her hand.

  “We don’t want to learn to swim,” the girl in the pink-and-white-striped suit declared with a frown.

  “But we’re going to play games.” Dillon smiled. “Which are you? Emma or Chloe?”

  “She’s Chloe,” the other girl said with a nervous smile. She had on an identical swimsuit, but with lavender-and-white stripes. “I’m Emma.”

  “Emma,” Dillon said as she reached for her hand, “you look like a brave girl. Are you ready to come play games with us?”

  Emma glanced at Chloe, who firmly shook her head, then looked back at Dillon. “I don’t know.”

  “Come on.” Dillon took Emma’s hand. “I’ll help you. And you’ll see how much fun it is.” She nodded toward the sky where the sun was shining brightly. “And it’s a great way to cool off.” She led Emma down one step, keeping her eyes on Chloe. “See how easy this is,” she told Chloe. “Your sister can do it.”

  Somehow, with a lot of coaxing and waiting, she got the twins into the water. But when it was time to play games, they clung to the side of the pool, unwilling to participate. Dillon made numerous attempts to get them to interact and finally decided that if Chloe could relax a bit, Emma would probably engage. Finally, it was one o’clock and Dillon was relieved to dismiss her class. But not seeing Janelle anywhere, she decided to capitalize on this time to work with the girls individually. “You sit here.” She lifted Chloe up
, setting her on the edge of the pool. “And watch what Emma can do.” Now she took Emma’s hand and did a few bobbles and jumps with her and even got her to blow some bubbles with her face in the water. “Very good,” she told Emma, keeping her eyes on Chloe. “You’re going to be a natural.”

  She led Emma back to the pool’s edge, and after setting her on the deck, she reached for Chloe. “Now, it’s your turn.” But as she lifted Chloe into the water, the little girl began to scream. “It’s okay,” Dillon reassured her, trying to be heard over the wailing. “I’m right here with you. Remember how Emma did this. You just need to hold onto my hands and—”

  “I want my momma!” Chloe howled, kicking wildly. “I hate you! I hate you!”

  “But we’re just going to—”

  “That’s enough,” a male voice said loudly from behind Dillon.

  She turned around to see Jordan Atwood wrapping a towel around Emma and scowling darkly. “Oh?” He blinked. “It’s you.”

  “And it’s you,” she said as she helped Chloe to the edge of the pool. Jordan wrapped her in a towel and she clung to him.

  “Janelle asked me to get the girls,” he told her. “She got waylaid.”

  “I was trying to use the time to help—”

  “I wanna go home,” Chloe cried pitifully. “I want my momma. I hate swimming lessons.”

  “Emma made some progress,” Dillon said meekly as Jordan quickly gathered up the girls’ things.

  “The twins have a fear of water.” He looped a strap of their pink beach bag over his shoulder, keeping a girl on each side. “I warned Janelle that this could be a mistake. But she insisted it was the right thing.” He shook his head. “I’m not sure if they’ll be back again tomorrow or not.”

  Dillon just nodded. She actually hoped that they wouldn’t be back. She didn’t need that kind of stress in her life. And to see that Jordan Atwood was obviously a father with children and Janelle’s husband did not help matters either. Dillon emerged from the pool feeling waterlogged and defeated and wondering if the meager salary of swim instructor was worth it. But a deal was a deal. She’d made Chelsea a promise, and she intended to keep it.