Page 33 of Even After Sunset

“Close by and nice to check out,” I finish for her. “I know. Green stickies - how could I forget? We’ve still got plenty of time, though. So let’s go.”

She sighs. “Sure. Maybe we’ll make a couple of stops.”

She says it like she’s doing me some huge favor or something and I can’t keep from rolling my eyes. I think she notices because she shakes her head again with this serious look, like the weight of the world is on her shoulders.

When we get close to the first stop, I start giving her more detailed directions to the off-road detour. She still hasn’t told me exactly what it is we’re going to check out, and I haven’t asked — I’m not exactly jonesing to open up thedialogue between us again and my guilt-induced charitable mood has worn off. Which is why I have no idea if I’m directing us to a giant rutabaga or a museum of linguini noodles or some other unfathomable American relic.

And then: “Oh my gosh! Look! There!” she points excitedly with one hand, barely keeping the camper on the road with the other. “See? Right up ahead!”

There’s no way Icouldn’tsee it.

It’s a massive orange fiberglass dinosaur, standing next to a row of condo buildings.

What is it with this girl and giant roadside dinosaur replicas?

She pulls the truck over to park alongside the weathered Palaeolithic monstrosity and jumps out. Then she jogs over and just stands there, beaming up at the thing like it’s a bloody masterpiece.

Believe me: it’s not.

She wants me to take a photo of her in front of it, so I climb out and walk over. Then she insists on getting a shot with the two of us in it, even though you can barely see the tops of our heads in the shot in order to fit in the rest of the twelve-foot kitschy beast.

“Wow… That was so cool,” Jackie says when we’re back in the camper. “Sosocool. And it’s a protected national landmark. Which is even cooler.”

My eyes widen. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Why would I kid about that?”

I don’t answer. I just keep my mouth shut while she spouts off super fun facts and a super fun backstory for the next fifteen minutes while she drives, because I’m hedging my bets on the fact that the detailed history of an orange fiberglass dinosaur will still be less painful to sit through than another one of her cheery playlists.

I learn that the tacky dino used to be part of a miniature golf course, along with a pile of other fiberglass animals which, lucky for me, are off rotting in a landfill somewhere. I miss the part where we find out what made Dino so worthy of being spared a similar fate, though.

I’m guessing size.

We make another couple of similar stops along Route 1 over the next two hours: the largest (fiberglass) cactus in Massachusetts, a sixteen-foot beach santa (also fiberglass), the grave of the Boston Strangler (sadly,notfiberglass), a submarine in a ditch, a cheese shop—shaped like cheese, and last but not least, the oldest fruit tree in North America.

I’m not even kidding.

By the time we approach Old Orchard Beach, it’s about seven-thirty and we’re both pretty wiped. I start directing her off the highway to the festival grounds, but she completely ignores me and takes a left instead of a right—because apparently there’s one more stop she wants to make that isn’t on her map.

I am one tacky roadside attraction away from losing my cool. I’ve been compliant all afternoon—taken pics for her,posedin pics with her, listened to background information that is just as inane as the actual attractions (possibly more), and most impressive: I’ve listened to another one of her playlists without making one snarky comment.

Okay, maybe a couple of comments. But still, I’m pretty sure I’m up for sainthood at this point.

Jackie must be able to tell I’m done, because she glances over at me anxiously.

“This stop is just ten minutes away from the fairgrounds. I swear.”

I have no idea what to expect from a stopover that didn’t even merit a stickie of any kind, but I keep my trap shut. I will humor her for another half-hour max, because I have been an ass to her, but then I’m tapping out.

A few minutes later we pull onto a narrow gravel road, then into a small parking lot surrounded by woods.

“We’re here!” she announces, still brimming with energy. But there’s no giant fiberglass fruit or plant or alien anywhere in sight. As if she senses my confusion, she calls to me as she hops out of the camper. “Come on. It’s just a short walk.”

“I’m good,” I tell her. “I’ll wait here.”

“You have to come; you’ll like it,” she insists. “Please… I promise it’ll be worth it.”

I roll my eyes but follow her. Maybe if I suck it up for one final photo-op, she’ll gift me a couple cans of beer tonight. Or apricot-melon coolers or whatever-the-hell fancy drinks a girl like her might have stashed away somewhere inside that giant banana-on-wheels. Because when it comes to liquor, I’m willing to suspend my aversion to Jackie’s handouts.

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