Page 78 of Chasing Sunsets

I give him a once-over. “Yeah, you’re not getting any younger.”

He tosses a cherry tomato at me, and I laugh.

“How do you know about all this stuff?” he asks.

I shrug, and he quirks a brow.

“You sure seem smart about a lot of different things. Gardening, wood restoration, wind-chime building, painting, writing. Were you a teacher in a past life?”

“No. Not a teacher.”

“What, then?” he asks. “Because you’re obviously not some uneducated drifter.”

I decide to let him in a little.

“I’ll have you know, I graduated high school early, I have a degree in political science from Northwestern, and I completed two semesters of law school before I threw it all away to become a vagabond,” I share.

He lets out a whistle. “Law school. Wow, fancy.”

“That’s me. Miss Fancy Pants,” I say ironically as I brush dirt from my hands.

“Why law school?”

“Both my parents are lawyers. So are both my older brothers and my older sister.”

“A family of litigators. Sounds fun,” he quips.

“Oh, yes, holidays are a blast,” I reply.

“What made you give it all up?”

“The truth? Mom and Dad didn’t make it look all that great. Everything in our house was a debate. From the dinner menu to the decor. Their careers made them wealthy and afforded us an easy lifestyle, but we were strangers living under one roof. The house was big with lots of rooms, but the rooms were cold and lonely.”

“Well, everything makes sense now.”

“What makes sense?”

“That you came here, looking for me,” he says. “And the fact that you’re so damn argumentative all the time. It’s the lawyer in you.”

This time, I toss a tomato at him.

When we finish filling our baskets, I take them inside to wash and cut the produce while Anson adds charcoal to one of the grills in the campground’s common area. The scent wafts through the open window as the coals begin to glow. I love the smell of charcoal. It reminds me of evenings at my grandparents’ house on Cape Cod. Grandpa was always grilling something.

Once I have the salad ready and dressing made, I join him outside. Pete and Freda wander over, their faces lighting up when they see us.

Freda pulls me into a quick hug while Pete and Anson chat.

“You two want to join us for dinner? We have plenty,” I say.

Pete and Freda have been more than just landlords to me. They’ve become family—the kind I never really had. They don’t ask too many questions about my past. They just accept me and love me, and I love them right back.

“We’d love to. I have a fresh apple pie cooling in the kitchen window. I’ll just pop over and get it,” Freda says.

Anson grills the chicken while I slice the squash and zucchini, adding onions and garlic cloves. I toss them in olive oil and herbs before wrapping them in foil. The fire crackles as the food sizzles on the grill, filling the air with the rich scent of roasting garlic and seared meat.

Pete pops the top off a beer and hands it to me with a wink. “You work too hard, kid. Sit down and relax.”

I take it, smiling. “Yes, sir.”

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