The Happy Camper

by Melody Carlson

  “That’d be fantastic.”

  “Need any help moving it over there?” Grandpa’s expression suggested he knew she would.

  “Well, being that I don’t have a clue as to how to hook the trailer to the pickup . . . although I could probably go online and find a tutorial—”

  “I think you could use a human for this. And I’m happy to help.”

  As they walked to the barn, Grandpa mentioned Brandon. “I noticed he was hovering pretty close to the dessert table, but I’ll bet he wasn’t just there for the apple pie.”

  She sighed. “Yeah, he hasn’t given up yet. The weird thing is that he’s being awfully nice. It almost makes me wonder if he’s really turned over a new leaf.”

  “Stranger things happen.”

  “Fortunately he should be on his way back to Colorado soon.”

  “Uh-huh.” Grandpa nodded. “Think you’ll still feel the same once he’s gone? You know what they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

  She shrugged. “I’m pretty sure of my feelings.”

  “I saw Jordan at the picnic . . . We chatted a bit.”

  “Yeah. I saw him too. But I was with Brandon.” She shook her head. “I think Jordan got the wrong message.”

  Grandpa chuckled. “Or maybe he got the right message, Dillon. Maybe he’s getting the jealous bug after all.”

  Before Dillon could think of a response, Grandpa told her to get the pickup. “Back it up to the hitch, but keep your eyes on me.” He explained how he’d use his hands to show her how far to back up when it got down to inches. And before long, she was backing up, stepping on the brakes as his hands clapped together. She hopped out and went to watch as he showed her how to adjust the hitch height and then drop it onto the trailer ball. “This is how you clamp it,” he explained.

  “And that’s all it takes to hold the trailer secure?” She hated the idea of her beautiful trailer breaking free of the pickup and careening over a cliff.

  “Well, if you were towing a distance you’d want to use these safety chains.” He pointed to a couple of rusty chains draped beneath the trailer. Then he showed her how to connect the lights to the pickup. “You obviously don’t need them now, but if you were on a road, you have to hook ’em up.”

  “And what do they do exactly?”

  “They’re synchronized with your pickup. You use your turn signal and the trailer does too.”

  “Cool.” She nodded.

  “I’ll check ’em out for you when you pull out. Test the signals and brake lights.”

  “So that’s it? Ready to roll?”

  “Not yet.” Grandpa knelt down, pointing beneath the trailer. “First you gotta take out those stabilizing jacks.”

  “Huh?”

  Grandpa pointed out some metal things beneath the trailer. “You gotta get a little dirty.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “Get down there, lay on your side, then crank those handles counterclockwise to lower them.”

  “Okay.” She got down and tried. “I can’t seem to move them.”

  “You probably need a little WD-40. I’ll be right back.”

  As she lay on the ground beneath her trailer, she wondered if she’d bitten off more than she could chew. It was one thing to make the trailer all cute and cozy, but would she ever be able to remember—or do—all this stuff and take it on the road? By herself?

  “Here you go.” Grandpa bent down to hand her a spray can. “Just give ’em a good squirt.”

  After a few squirts, she was finally able to get the jacks lowered. “What do I do with them?”

  “For now just put ’em in the back of your pickup. There’s a hold that Jack would keep ’em in.” He pointed to a small exterior door. “That’s what the little brass key on your trailer key ring is for.”

  “Oh.” She nodded. “Good to know. So, are we ready to do this?”

  “As soon as we check your lights.” He nodded to the cab. “Go ahead.”

  “Anything I should know before I start the engine?”

  “Nah. Just crank ’er up. We’ll check the lights and then I’ll ride over to the pond with you.”

  “Okay.” She felt a little uneasy as she started the engine, but she followed Grandpa’s instructions. He confirmed the lights worked fine, then got into the passenger’s seat.

  “So far so good.” Grandpa nodded, pointing to the dirt road. “Now just head that way. Circle around and then we’ll back her up so that your door will open out toward the pond.”

  “Sounds good.” Dillon tried to look more confident as she drove over the bumpy road.

  “I hope you battened down the hatches in your trailer.”

  “Huh?” She slowed down.

  “Well, everything that’s loose inside will bounce around and—”

  “Oh no.” She stepped on the brakes. “I didn’t batten down anything.”

  “Oh . . . well, you might want to check.”

  She put the pickup into park and raced around to see that the interior of her sweet, tidy trailer was now a mess. “Oh no.” She started to pick up the pieces, relieved to see that nothing appeared broken. She carefully stowed the loose things here and there, hoping they would stay put until she parked it again.

  “How was it?” Grandpa asked as she got back in.

  “Not great, but nothing broke. And I suppose it was a good lesson. Before I tow the trailer, I must batten down the hatches.” She put the pickup into gear, wondering how she’d manage to remember all these things. Of course, she would write them in her handy notebook, but would that be enough?

  She finally looped around and, after a couple of tries, got the pickup and trailer positioned the way Grandpa had recommended. “Now I’ll get out and direct you,” he told her. “Just keep your eyes on me and back ’er up. It’s pretty tight in there, but I’m sure the trailer will fit.”

  She waited for Grandpa to get into place and motion her. Then she began to back it up. When he pointed to turn right, she did as told, but he held up his hands, yelling to stop. “Not like that,” he explained. “The steering wheel is opposite of the trailer.”

  “Oh.” She nodded, like she understood. “Okay.”

  But when she tried again, it quickly happened again. And Grandpa explained again, telling her to put her hand on the bottom of the steering wheel to help. But it didn’t help and this time she actually bumped her trailer into an aspen tree.

  Grandpa gave her another quick lesson and pep talk, but something in her brain just refused to listen. When he said turn right, she wanted to turn the pickup right. And he kept yelling “No!”

  Finally, on the verge of tears, she got out, begging him to back it up for her. And he climbed in and managed to do it—just like that. “See, it’s easy,” he said as he hopped out. “You just need to remember that left is right and right is left when you’re backing up a trailer.”

  “Right.” She went around to check where she’d bumped the aspen. The paint was slightly scuffed, but she figured she could touch it up.

  “So, what d’ya think?” Grandpa gazed over the pond. “These aspens should keep you shady in the afternoon and you can watch the sun rise over the pond in the morning.”

  She looked around and smiled. “It’s a beautiful place to camp, Grandpa. Thanks.” She wanted to add that she might never move her trailer from this spot—because of her concerns about backing up—but didn’t want to sound pathetic. “And thanks for helping me to get it over here. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  “We’re not done yet,” he told her. “We still need to put the jacks in place or you’ll be bouncing around in there. But we’ll have to get some boards to put under the jacks, then round up hoses and extension cords.”

  By the time they got the trailer all set up, Dillon was worn out—and filthy. In less than two hours, Chelsea would be here with a sundress to loan her, with the hope they were going to town to make a “splash.” But the only splash Dillon needed right now was a shower.


  After getting cleaned up, Dillon returned to her new campsite in the aspens. Feeling refreshed and energetic, she decided to set up her outdoor room. She set out the chairs and tables and lanterns and other cute campy things. And even though the sun was still out, she hung her string of camp lights. She even picked a fresh bouquet of flowers and, after putting them in an old mason jar, set them on the table. Finally, she sat down. Perfect. Absolutely perfect!

  As she sat there soaking in the sweet ambiance of her new digs and imagining how charming it would look in the evening with the lights and lanterns lit, she was tempted to back out on the dance and just stay put. After all, she knew how tonight would go. Brandon would monopolize her time at the dance and, if Jordan was there, he would probably keep a distance. And because Dillon had agreed to ride with Chelsea, there’d be no sneaking out early. She was tempted to call Chelsea and make an excuse. She could claim she was worn out . . . and on some levels she was tired. But, as badly as she wanted to remain home, she didn’t want to let her friend down.

  She considered the word home. Is that what this truly was? A funky old trailer parked by an irrigation pond? As weird as it was, it sure seemed like it. It felt good to know that her tiny home was all hers—with no one to tell her what to do or how to do it. Dillon suddenly realized she hadn’t felt this much at home in her entire adulthood. As she leaned back in her new Adirondack chair, she was grateful to God . . . and happy. She was truly a happy camper! Maybe it was just her imagination, but she thought she could live like this forever. And that felt good.

  For so many years, she’d been striving . . . working hard . . . performing . . . And for what? Where did it get her? In this moment, she realized that her efforts had been symptomatic of something much bigger. Something eternal. Dillon remembered when she’d made a commitment to God as a freshman in high school. During the following years, while living with her grandparents, she faithfully attended youth group and church. She lived the best life she thought possible. Far more orderly and disciplined than her chaotic childhood years spent with her mother. And she probably took some pride in that.

  Although she’d never backed away from that spiritual commitment, college had slowly eroded it. Not that she abandoned her faith, but she definitely placed God on the back burner. Then as she entered the workplace, she relied less and less on God . . . and more on herself. Her old resolve to trust God with every part of her life had been set aside. Now she wanted it back. A Scripture she’d tried to live by as a teen came to her, and surprised she could even remember it, she said it aloud.

  “Trust the Lord with your whole heart, don’t depend on your own knowledge and experience, include God in all you do, and he will direct you through life.” She paused, listening to the breeze rustling through the aspens. “That’s what I want now.” She took in a deep breath of fresh, clean air, then slowly exhaled. “Please, God, help me get back there.”

  She’d barely finished her short but heartfelt prayer when she heard a car coming down the driveway. She went beyond the aspen grove to spot Chelsea parking by the house. “I’m over here,” she called out, waving Chelsea’s car toward the barn and explaining about her new trailer location.

  “I want to see that trailer.” Chelsea opened the back of her SUV.

  “You look pretty,” Dillon said. She had on a blue-and-white sundress with a little flair in the skirt.

  Chelsea held up a garment. “And here’s your gown, Cinderella.”

  Dillon frowned at the creamy white sundress.

  “You don’t like it?” Chelsea sounded disappointed. “I thought it would look great against your tan.”

  Dillon didn’t want to rain on Chelsea’s parade, but she also didn’t want to show up at the dance in a white sundress trimmed in lace. It could probably serve as a bridal gown in certain circles. This just wasn’t her style. “I, uh, don’t know.”

  “Don’t make up your mind until you try it on,” Chelsea told her. “Where’s the dressing room?”

  “My trailer.”

  As they walked to the irrigation pond, Dillon was already planning a different outfit for the dance. She’d humor Chelsea by trying it on. But then she’d explain that she usually wore no-nonsense clothes and just wasn’t comfortable.

  “Oh, Dillon!” Chelsea exclaimed. “Your trailer is adorable. And the way it’s all set up—it’s fabulous.”

  “Thanks! Wait until you see it inside.” Dillon felt encouraged as she opened the door, smiling as Chelsea oohed and aahed over Dillon’s renovations.

  “No wonder you love it so much. I wish I had one of my own.” Chelsea held out the dress. “Now you slip this on and see if you hate it as much as you think you will.”

  As Dillon put on the dress, Chelsea continued to examine the trailer, commenting on every small detail. “Hey, you should wear some of this turquoise with the dress. It will look perfect. Where’d you get these pieces anyway? They look like vintage.”

  “My grandma,” Dillon said as she pulled up the zipper.

  Chelsea brought over a squash blossom necklace and looped it over Dillon’s head. “Very nice.” Now she added a turquoise and silver bracelet. “Even better.”

  Dillon felt uncertain. As much as she loved her grandma’s jewelry, she rarely wore it. And never two pieces at once. “I, uh, I don’t—”

  “And these too.” Chelsea picked up the cowboy boots Dillon had been wearing around the farm. Like the jewelry, they’d been her grandma’s too.

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes. That will look perfect.”

  Dillon slipped on the boots, then stood in front of the full-length mirror on the closet door. To her surprise, the ensemble didn’t look half bad. In fact, it looked pretty good. She turned to Chelsea. “What are you—a stylist?”

  Chelsea laughed. “Well, not exactly, but I do pay attention to trends. And since you’re sort of a farm girl at heart, I think this suits you.” She reached for Dillon’s old denim jacket. “And when it gets cooler tonight, you can wear this.”

  “Really?” Dillon took the jacket, experimenting with it over the dress. “Hey, that actually looks pretty cool. Thanks, Chels.”

  “Ready to rock and roll?”

  Feeling a little strange—but good—Dillon nodded. She knew this evening could go totally sideways on her. Between Brandon’s obsessive attentions and Jordan’s casual disdain, this dance could be destined for disaster. But she patted her trailer as she closed the door—at least home sweet home would be waiting for her afterward. That was a comfort.

  CHAPTER

  23

  The park looked even more festive than it had earlier. The tennis court area, now doubling as the dance floor, was decorated with strings of red-white-and-blue lights. The band was already playing, and a few couples were dancing.

  “Let’s get something to drink and nab a table,” Chelsea suggested. “Then we can just wait and see how it goes.”

  “You mean, like whether we’ll be wallflowers or not?” Dillon teased as they went over to a food kiosk.

  Before long, they were seated on the sidelines, attempting to act nonchalant and taking in their surroundings. Dillon wondered if her prediction was right—maybe they really were destined to be wallflowers.

  “Where’s Brandon?” Chelsea asked.

  “I don’t know. He said he’s coming.” Dillon glanced toward the street, but she wasn’t really watching for Brandon. It was a certain vintage red pickup that she hoped to spot.

  “Speaking of your not-so-secret admirer . . .” Chelsea nudged her, and Dillon followed her gaze to see Brandon approaching. Once again, he was wearing his Western duds and not looking much like the buttoned-up Brandon she remembered from work.

  “Hello, ladies.” He actually tipped his cowboy hat to them. “Nice night for a dance. Mind if I join you?”

  “Please do.” Chelsea smiled up at him. “I think we were just starting to get bored with each other’s company.”

  Brandon chuckled as he
sat down. “I can assure you ladies, I won’t get bored with either of you.” He nodded in appreciation as he set his drink on the table. “And, if you don’t mind me saying, you two are the prettiest girls here tonight.”

  “Oh, do go on, sir,” Chelsea teased.

  “And I hope you girls wore your dancing shoes.” He glanced at Dillon’s feet. “Or should I say boots?”

  She shrugged. “I think these boots should be able to dance.”

  He reached for her hand. “Then why not give it a try?”

  Before she could protest, he pulled her to her feet and was leading her out to the dance floor, where a lively song was playing. “You really do look great,” he told her. “I never saw you looking prettier.”

  “Thanks.” She forced a smile. “But flattery will get you nowhere.”

  He grinned. “I didn’t expect it would.”

  Dillon hated to admit it, even to herself, but it was fun dancing with Brandon. And his open admiration did feel surprisingly nice. Did that mean she’d had a change of heart where he was concerned? Not even close. But what was the harm of spending some time with him? Still, when the song ended, she reminded him of the agreement they’d made.

  “I told Chelsea we were sharing you.” Now Dillon grabbed him by the hand and led him back to the table. “He’s all yours,” she told Chelsea. Then, as Brandon took a sip of his drink, she whispered into Chelsea’s ear, “And feel free to keep him out there as long as you like. If you can.”

  “Is that a challenge?” Chelsea’s eyes twinkled.

  “Maybe so.” Dillon winked and then sat down. Even if she ended up looking like a wallflower tonight, she thought that was preferable to being stuck with Brandon all night. As she sipped her drink, she gazed over the crowd that was steadily growing in the dusky evening light. People of all ages had come out tonight. She felt sad to think that Grandpa had insisted on hitting the hay early as usual, and that Margot had voiced she had no intention of coming.

  “Hello, Dillon.”

  She blinked to see an older man looking down at her, then realized it was Margot’s ex. “Hey, Don.” She smiled. “Fancy seeing you here tonight.”