The Happy Camper

by Melody Carlson

  Dillon stopped at a taco cart before going home. As she sat at a shady table to eat, she processed the fact that Jordan Atwood was not a bachelor. Then, as she drove home, she wondered why on earth she’d jumped to that conclusion in the first place. Yes, she’d noticed his bare left-hand ring finger, but that wasn’t real proof. Lots of men didn’t like wearing rings. Especially guys who worked with their hands. But besides the missing ring, what about the way he’d spoken to her . . . the way he’d looked at her? The feeling she’d gotten when their eyes had met? He had not acted like a married man. Perhaps he was divorced. That would make sense.

  Except that, in her opinion, it made no difference. Dillon had no desire to be involved with a divorced guy. Especially with children involved. And Janelle seemed like a genuinely nice person. No, that was not for Dillon. And why was she still thinking about it?

  Whatever it was, it was not her problem. “Not my monkey, not my circus,” she said aloud as she turned onto the farm road. Of course, it was irritating to remember that was one of Brandon’s favorite sayings—his way of backing off from responsibilities he didn’t want. And thinking of Brandon was just another reminder of how Dillon had never ever been a good judge of men. Not as a teen, not in college, not in Colorado. What made her think she’d magically gotten better at it here in Silverdale?

  Well, at least she had her trailer. That was enough to occupy her thoughts and energies. Who needed a man anyway? Certainly not her. As she parked her car by the trailer, she suddenly remembered all the treasures she’d unloaded last night. Maybe it was time to play house. That would certainly distract her from moping over Jordan.

  Once inside the trailer, after admiring the first stages of transformation, Dillon knew she needed to finish her sewing and upholstery projects before she unpacked her trailer treasures. Otherwise, she might never go back to the old Singer.

  So with fresh motivation, she studied another online tutorial. A “simple” how-to on upholstering dinette benches. She watched it several times. Then, feeling relatively confident, she started to measure—and re-measure—the foam seat. Next she marked the measurements on the tweedy upholstery fabric, and praying she’d done it right, she held her breath and cut. Hoping it would fit, she laid the fabric piece on the dinette table, setting the foam bench on top, and like the tutorial showed, she folded the corners of the fabric. Then she refolded—again and again.

  Finally, convinced that the corner looked right, she pulled out the staple gun and secured the fabric to the wooden board underneath. It felt empowering to hear the staple going into the wood. She continued with the rest of the stapling, unsure what she’d discover when she flipped it over. But to her surprise, the results were amazing. It was smooth and neat. Just like in the tutorial. As Dillon surveyed her work, she wondered if she’d just found her calling. And did upholsterers get paid more than swimming instructors?

  Of course, thinking about this morning’s swim lessons only reminded her of Jordan again . . . and those fractious twin girls, Emma and Chloe. She still felt aggravated at how their dad had flown off the handle at Dillon’s attempts to get Chloe more comfortable in the water. Well, hopefully Jordan would stick to his guns and take his girls out of her class. Good riddance to all of them!

  Grateful for the distraction of her trailer, she blocked the Atwood family from her mind, focusing all her energy and effort back on the upholstery project. She was just finishing it up when she heard someone knocking on the trailer door.

  She opened it to see Grandpa and his wheelbarrow, which had a large square box in it. “Special delivery for Dillon Michaels,” he told her.

  She stared at the large box then suddenly remembered. “My bed!”

  “Bed?” He frowned at the box. “Must not be very big.”

  “It gets bigger.” She went out, picking up the bulky box and hoping it would fit through the door.

  “This I gotta see.” He followed her inside, then, pulling out his pocketknife, he helped her open the box. She removed a square plastic-covered thing from the box. “Is that your bed?” he asked.

  “It says to open it carefully.” She read the directions. “And to stand back.”

  Grandpa chuckled as she followed the instructions to free the mattress. Then they both jumped back as it magically grew before their eyes.

  “Well, I’ll be.” Grandpa just shook his head. “Never saw anything like that before.”

  She wrestled the mattress into place on the bed, then flopped down on it and grinned. “It’s really comfortable.”

  “Better than my old sofa?”

  She sighed. “Way better. In fact, I might just move myself out here now.”

  “Not a bad idea.” Grandpa looked around the trailer, letting out a low whistle. “You’ve really transformed this thing, Dillon.” He ran a hand over a freshly painted cabinet door, then examined the upholstery she’d just finished. “Nice work. I had no idea this old thing could look this great.”

  She stood up and smiled. “Thank you. I love doing this. In fact, I was just wishing I could do this kind of thing for a living.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe you can.” He knelt down to look at the floor. “What’re you going to put down here?”

  “I’d like to get some stick-down vinyl tiles. Nothing fancy. Just clean and light.”

  “The hardware store probably has some.”

  She grimaced, unsure she wanted to go back there and risk running into Jordan Atwood again. Now Grandpa inquired about swimming lessons and, not wanting to mention Jordan and the twins, she told him a sweetened-condensed version of her morning. “But it’s just a summer job,” she said. “And I didn’t commit for more than the first session, which ends in mid-July.”

  Grandpa touched her bare shoulder. “Looks like you got a little sunburn.”

  She frowned. “Yeah, guess I’ll have to be more careful.”

  “Fortunately you’ve got your grandmother’s coloring.” He tweaked her auburn hair. “You’ll be tan by the end of the week.” He reached for the door. “I better get back to my pumpkin patch.”

  “How’s it coming?”

  “Got it about half planted. Want to finish before sundown and get the irrigation going on it. And, oh yeah, Margot told me to tell you she’s fixing dinner tonight—and she doesn’t want to hear us whining for red meat.”

  “Oh, delightful.” Dillon rolled her eyes, then thanked him for delivering her wonderful bed. Suddenly excited over the prospect of sleeping out here, she went to work sewing the last two sets of curtains. When she was finally hanging the last curtains on the window next to her new bed, she wondered why it felt so satisfying to get these little tasks completed. Just a few weeks ago, she would’ve had absolutely no interest in something like this. She probably would’ve laughed if someone had told her she’d be rehabbing an old trailer and thrilled about the prospect of inhabiting it. Was she losing it? If she was, she wasn’t sure she cared.

  CHAPTER

  11

  Although her first classes had gone well, Dillon was not looking forward to her last class of little swimmers. And although she felt guilty for it, she hoped and prayed those blonde twins would be a no-show. It wasn’t that she didn’t want them to learn to swim. She felt everyone should learn to swim. She just wanted them to learn from someone else.

  But apparently Jordan’s disapproval hadn’t discouraged his wife, because Janelle, once again looking stylishly chic, showed up with the two girls. “I hear they gave you a bad time yesterday,” she told Dillon. “I gave them a stern talk.” She bent down to help her girls get their sandals off. “You two are going to do your best, right?” Janelle pointed at who Dillon assumed was Chloe since she had on the pink-striped suit again. “And you need to go into the water with Emma. Understand?”

  Chloe nodded. “Okay, Mommy.”

  “And if I don’t get a good report, there’ll be no ice cream treat afterward.”

  Dillon forced a smile, then organizing the water dragon, she led t
he kids into the pool. Emma was trying a bit more, but Chloe was holding back, unwilling to go down the steps. “Go ahead and sit down here,” Dillon told Chloe. “You can watch the others.” Chloe sat down and Dillon, hoping to use some reverse psychology, tried to make their water games look as fun as possible. Even though Emma was dragging her heels, she was trying. Meanwhile, Chloe glowered from her position on the top step. Janelle came down to the pool and Dillon thought she was about to intervene, but instead she held up her phone. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to go do another showing again. A client is certain they’ve found a great house.” She shook her finger at Chloe. “You better get in there with your sister.”

  Chloe inched down to the next step, sitting waist deep in the water, but as soon as her mother left, she returned to the top step. After a few more games, where the other children were making nice progress of holding their breath and blowing bubbles, Dillon had the class move to the edge and practice kicking. Determined to get Chloe into the water, she went over and took the girl’s hands. “Come and play a game with me.”

  “I don’t wanna.” Chloe leaned back, but Dillon continued to pull her into the water.

  “I won’t let go of you,” Dillon assured her. “See how nice it is in the water.”

  “I don’t wanna!” Chloe shouted. “Lemme go—lemme go.”

  “You’ll be okay.” Dillon continued talking quietly. “We’re just going over to Emma. Don’t you want to be with your sister?”

  “No! I don’t wanna swim. I want out.” Chloe’s screams grew louder and Dillon could see the other children, including Emma, getting worried. So she took Chloe back to the steps.

  “See, that wasn’t so bad.” She patted her head. “Next time I want you to do that with no screaming, okay?”

  Chloe said nothing, but her face was flushed and her arms were tightly folded in front of her. Dillon just smiled. “Someday you’re going to love the water, Chloe. You’ll be like a real mermaid.”

  “I won’t,” she seethed.

  As Dillon returned to the other children, she wondered if there was a reason Chloe hated the water so much, or if she was just a thoroughly unpleasant child. Instead of trying to figure it out, Dillon focused on the other children, trying harder than ever to make swimming look like the most fun in the world.

  Once again, when the class ended, Janelle was not back from her showing. “Let’s keep playing,” Dillon told Emma. “You’ve been doing so well.” She glanced over at Chloe. “Too bad your sister doesn’t want to play in the water with us.” She got a beach ball. “Let’s play catch.”

  “Okay.” Emma held up her hands, bouncing in the waist-high water.

  “I want Emma with me,” Chloe yelled. “She’s my sister.”

  Emma looked uneasy, but Dillon tossed her the ball anyway and they went back and forth a bit, laughing and jumping. “Now I’ll throw the ball to Chloe.” Dillon threw the ball, making sure it was just short of the steps. “Get it, Chloe,” she called out.

  “No! I don’t wanna. I hate you! I want my momma!” She stood up. “I wanna go home!”

  Naturally, now that Chloe was throwing another full-blown fit, Jordan walked in again. “Let’s get out,” Dillon told Emma. “Time to go home.”

  Jordan was already wrapping Chloe in a towel and looking perplexed. “What happened?” he asked Dillon with concern. “Why is she so upset again?”

  “Chloe has a serious aversion to the pool. Emma is making wonderful progress. But Chloe refuses to try.” Dillon reached for her bag, tugging out her beach towel.

  “Maybe she just needs encouragement.”

  “I’ve been trying to encourage her.” She wrapped her towel around her waist like a sarong. “To be honest, I’m not sure that it’s worthwhile for her to continue with lessons. And it’s possible Emma would do better if Chloe wasn’t—”

  “Janelle is determined that both girls will learn to swim this summer. She seems to think that a qualified instructor can handle it. But if you can’t . . .”

  “I can’t force a child to like the water.” Dillon didn’t conceal her frustration.

  “No, I’m not suggesting that. But can’t you do something to entice her?”

  “I’ve been trying, but I do have other children to teach. And I don’t want to traumatize Chloe.” She wanted to add she’d taught obstinate children before, but nothing like this one.

  “So you think it’s useless then?”

  Dillon glanced up at the clock with aggravation. What was wrong with this family? They were determined to torture her. “If you’ll excuse me.” She smiled stiffly. “That was my last class for the day.”

  “Yes, yes. I’m sorry for being late again,” he said quickly. “Janelle didn’t know her clients were going to write up an offer, and I got busy at the store.”

  “Please, tell Janelle I’m sorry that I can’t give a good report on Chloe. But Emma did her best.” Dillon grabbed up her bag, pulled on her swimsuit cover-up, and, feeling more than a little irritated, walked away. She didn’t want to be rude, but wasn’t her time as valuable as anyone’s?

  As she got into her car, she realized this might be a good opportunity to make a quick trip to the hardware store and check out their flooring options. Jordan would have his hands full with the twins. Probably getting them both ice cream despite Janelle’s ultimatum.

  Thanks to the limited flooring options, it didn’t take long to make a decision. She opted for squares the color of oatmeal. Hoping her math was right, she purchased three boxes of self-adhering tiles, which she thought was more than enough, as well as a couple of tools the salesperson recommended. To her relief, she paid for her purchases and was on her way home without having crossed paths with Mr. Atwood. Funny how just a few days ago, she’d tried to casually bump into him. Now she cringed to even think about him.

  After a quick lunch, Dillon went to work laying the floor tiles. As with everything in the trailer, she studied a couple of tutorials first. But really, it was relatively easy. And before dinnertime, her clean new floor was securely laid. Dillon was so pleased with herself that she did a stocking-foot happy dance.

  That evening, determined to take full occupancy of her trailer, Dillon began to open and unpack her treasures. With music playing on her phone, she began to put all her lovely things into place. It truly felt like Christmas in June. The kitchen, other than a few missing items, was set. The bathroom was mostly set. And after making her comfy bed up with the smooth, luxurious sheets, Dillon could hardly wait to try it out. She made several trips to the house, carrying back her clothes and personal items and neatly stowing them away.

  The only thing missing was a shower. But since she’d spent the whole morning in the pool, she wasn’t too concerned. And before long, feeling happy as a clam in her sweet little shell, she had on her summer PJs and was about to get into bed when she heard a knock on the door.

  “Are you still out here?” Margot called through the open window.

  Dillon cracked open the door. “Yes. This is where I live now.”

  “What?” Margot frowned. “You’re staying in this nasty little trailer?”

  “It’s not nasty.” She opened the door wider. “Take a look if you don’t believe me.” She looked at Margot’s feet. “But please remove your shoes.”

  “Why?” Margot came up the steps and glanced inside. “Oh, wow.” She kicked off her sandals and came in. “What happened?”

  Dillon couldn’t help but laugh. “I renovated it.”

  “Dilly-Dilly.” Margot walked around with wide eyes. “This is gorgeous.”

  “Really?” Dillon felt hopeful. “You like it?”

  “It’s fabulous.” Margot opened a kitchen cabinet. “And you’ve got dishes and everything.”

  “Go ahead and look around.” Dillon nodded. “It’s like a tiny home.”

  Margot examined everything, exclaiming about how nice it all was. “I had no idea my daughter was so talented. This is really nice.”

 
Dillon thanked her. “It was a lot of work, but it’s worth it.” She pointed to the bed. “That is so comfortable. My back will be grateful in the morning.”

  “And Dad gave you this trailer?” Margot asked her. “Yours to keep?”

  “Yes. Remember, I told you.”

  “Well, I wasn’t sure if it was for keeps . . . or just to use for now.”

  Dillon felt a rush of concern. Had she misunderstood? “I’m pretty sure he said it was all mine.”

  Margot frowned. “Well, then I’m jealous.”

  “But you hated this trailer. You made fun of it. Remember?”

  “I don’t hate it now. I could actually imagine living here. For someone my age, jobless and virtually homeless, well, something like this makes a lot of sense. Maybe you’d like your own bedroom back.”

  Dillon was perplexed. Did her mom plan to swap? To move in and take over? “Tell you what, Margot, you find yourself an old trailer and I’ll help you fix it up.”

  Margot wrinkled her nose. “Thanks a lot, but I’ve got my hands full with the lavender.”

  “Really? Why’s that? I thought it just needed water and sunshine.”

  “According to Dad, it needs weeding too. And then I’ve got to plan for what I’ll do once I start harvesting. It’ll be quite a job.”

  “Oh.” Dillon suppressed a yawn. “Well, it’s kinda late. I have to get up—”

  “Yeah, I don’t want to keep you up. I know you have work tomorrow. I was just curious.” She looked around one more time. “This really is nice, Dillon.”

  “Thanks.” She watched as Margot tugged her sandals back on, and then told her mother good night. But as Dillon closed the door, she felt worried. Did Margot feel she had some right to this trailer? Hadn’t Grandpa given it to Dillon—free and clear? Surely, she hadn’t misheard him. She was tempted to run into the house and ask him to set her straight, but knowing he went to bed with the chickens, she knew he’d be asleep. Still, as she climbed into her delightfully comfortable bed, some of her earlier joy was diminished a bit. What if Margot really wanted this trailer now? What if she felt it was unfair that Grandpa had given it to Dillon? What then?