Page 24 of Bourbon Girl, part 1 of 6
"Here," Suzy said, carefully removing the photographs from their plastic sleeves. "Take these. They belong with you more than me."
I accepted the pictures with trembling hands, holding them as if they might dissolve. These fragments of my mother's lost happiness felt precious beyond measure, windows into a world I'd never known existed.
July 22, Tuesday
grain milla machine that grinds grains to the proper size for mashing
THE WOODENpicnic table was rough beneath my fingers as I spread out my notes and opened "The History of Kentucky Bourbon" to where I'd left off. The campground's morning quiet wrapped around me like a comfortable blanket, broken only by the distant sound of children's laughter and the rustle of leaves. The coffee from the camp store was bracingly strong, but the caffeine was exactly what I needed after yesterday's emotional journey to Cincinnati.
I'd been reading for maybe twenty minutes when voices drifted toward me from the nearby tent sites. A woman's voice, sharp with irritation, cut through the peaceful air.
"I still don't understand why we couldn't just get a hotel room like normal people, Linda. There are bugs in that tent."
"It's an adventure, Octavia," came the gentler response. "The kids love it."
"Aunt Octavia, look what I found!" It was a girl's voice, bright with excitement.
I glanced up to see a family approaching the picnic shelter. Two women who were clearly sisters despite their differences—one fair-haired, the other brunette. The blonde carried herself with casual grace, while the brunette moved with the barely contained impatience of someone who'd rather be anywhere else.
Behind them trailed two children. The boy, around nine, held the leash of an aged dog. The little girl, maybe five, bounced between them like a rubber ball, her pigtails flying asshe chattered nonstop. She was chubby and wore a tutu over a bathing suit. And a tiara.
"Mom, can we have pancakes for breakfast? The kind with blueberries? And can we make them over the fire like they do in the movies?" The girl spun in circles, her arms outstretched.
"Camping food isn't supposed to be fancy, Maggie," the boy, Jared, said seriously. "It's supposed to be simple. Like beans and hot dogs."
"But I want it to be fancy," Maggie protested, stopping mid-spin to face him. "I want camping to be like those pictures in the magazines, with the pretty white tents and the chandeliers hanging from the trees."
"Glamping," the brunette supplied. "And I agree. Sleeping in a pop-up tent and showering in flip-flops is for the birds."
I couldn't help but smile at their interaction. The family had claimed the picnic table next to mine, and their conversation provided a welcome distraction from the swirling thoughts about yesterday's discoveries.
"Sorry," the blonde offered. "I hope we're not disturbing you. The kids can get a little loud."
"Not at all," I assured her, closing my book.
The girl came out and curtsied. "I'm Maggie, do you like my tutu?"
"I do," I assured her.
"What's your name?"
"Bernadette."
She giggled. "That's a great name. That's my brother Jarrod, and Max. And that's my mom, Linda," she said, pointing to the blonde. "And that's my Aunt Octavia. She lives with us and she complains about everything, all the time."
"Hey," Octavia said with a frown. "I do not. And I was taking your side, Miss Priss."
Maggie ignored her, pointing to my book. "Whacha reading?"
I held it up so she could see the cover. "It's about bourbon. I'm a tour guide on the trail."
"What's bourbon?" Jared asked, settling onto the bench beside his mother.
"It's a type of whiskey," I explained. "Made right here in Kentucky. People come from all over the world to learn about how it's made."
"It goes well with vodka," Octavia offered.
Linda sent her a withering look.
