The night I decided to talk
to her she sat in front of glowing campfire. We'd been camping neighbors at
Sugar Point Campgrounds for two nights, she in her tent along with her golden retriever,
me in my truck camper, alone.
I hadn't seen her during the
day, only at night as she sat in front of a fire in a folding chair, her dog
lying by her side.
I'd spent my daytime hours on the lake fishing, getting up
at sunrise—she was still sleeping in her tent—returning just before dusk, then
cleaning fish, making supper in my camper, and hitting the sack early.
What did she do all day? Why
was she alone except for her dog? I mean, she was a very attractive blond-haired
lady of perhaps forty—my age. The license plates on her mini van indicated she
was from the same county in the eastern part of the state as I was. Did we live
in the same city?
On the third night,
curiosity getting the best of me, sucking in a deep breath, not knowing what to
expect—she might think me a predator—I approached her campsite, coffee pot and
two Styrofoam cups in hand.
"Hi," I said, as
she looked up from her chair. "Great fire. Nice cool night." I gazed
up at the oblong moon surrounded by a zillion stars, then at her. "Thought
you might like a cup of coffee. Decaffeinated, so it won't keep you up all
night."
Her dog rose to a sitting
position, wagging its tail. "Lady, stay," she said. Then to me,
"I'd love a cup of coffee. It's the one thing I forgot to pack."
I set the cups on the picnic
table, poured, and handed her one. "I've got sugar—"
"This'll be fine—I
don't have another chair."
"No problem," I said.
"Name's Chad Arnold. Attorney, from Lewistown."
"Dawn Davidson.
Principal, Roosevelt Junior High. New Liberty. Just down the road."
That info pleasing me, we
shook hands. Then I sat at the picnic table, and she smiled.
That's all it took to start
us off talking. As the oblong moon drifted across the sky and crickets started
singing, she told me she was a widow. Her husband had died two years ago. When
everyone was younger, the family camped every summer. She was alone now. Her
boys had married and moved away. "I did this last year," she said.
"Just Lady and me, camping. It's a way to stay in touch with some of my
fondest memories."
"I agree—keeping
memories alive is important." Then I felt obliged to tell her my story. Divorced
five years ago. No kids. Camped and fished with my mom and dad when I was young.
Started camping and fishing last year by myself to get away and relax.
She smiled again in the
firelight—I loved her smile. Her eyes appeared to be blue. "We didn't
fish," she said. "Hiking, waterskiing, swimming, and cooking over a
campfire—that was our thing. Lots of singing around the fire, too. My husband
played the guitar."
I thought of asking her to
go fishing with me in the morning, but since she'd probably never fished
before—and I guessed she liked to sleep in—I tossed the idea. She thanked me
for the coffee, and we said goodnight. Climbing into my camper, I chided myself
for not asking her if she liked to eat fish—we could have a fish fry tomorrow
night. But maybe she'd think I was coming on too strong. What to do?
When I came in early from
fishing the next afternoon, she and Lady had left in her mini van. The tent was
still there, though—she hadn't gone home. I still had a chance. Shortly after I
cleaned my fish and showered, she returned. Setting three bags of groceries on
her picnic table, she then shuffled over to my campsite, Lady beside her, tail
wagging.
She looked flushed, pink
rising in her cheeks. Nervous maybe. "Um...I was wondering"—her eyes
were definitely blue—"um...if you'd like to eat a campfire supper with me
tonight. Hot dogs. Bratwurst."
I swear, my heart jumped
into my throat, and it took a moment before I could find my voice. "This
is so weird," I said. "I was going to ask you to eat fish with
me."
Another smile. A big one
that made those blue eyes sparkle. "I asked you first," she said.
"I know. And I can't
believe it. Hot dogs and bratwurst it is! You ever been crappie fishing?"
"Uh-uh. You ever been
blueberry picking?"
"Nope."
We both smiled this time.
And when she said, "I think we've got a lot to talk about," I pictured
both of us perhaps making a new set of memories.
The End
Enjoy Reality! Contemporaty YA fiction with an impact. Don't wait! Visit: http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_1?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=jon+ripslinger
Enjoy Reality! Contemporaty YA fiction with an impact. Don't wait! Visit: http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_1?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=jon+ripslinger
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