Page 1 of Campfires & Canines
1. Coffee & Car Rides
Hazel
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I fling my phone onto the passenger seat where it thuds between a bag of cheese puffs and my purse. Without cell service, it might as well be a brick.
Leaning into the curve of the mountain road, I scour for any sign of civilization. Uncle Heath’s place should be about twenty minutes ahead, but without GPS, there’s no chance of finding the private road.
I remember a blip of a settlement on the map. With any luck, I can find some Wi-Fi or at least beg a local for directions.
There! I brake and swerve onto the off ramp. The road curves around through some sparse trees until I’m cruising through a minuscule town. Does it qualify as a town if it’s only about a dozenbuildings?
There’s a gas station so old it might be considered retro and a dusty grocery store. My best bet for internet? A coffee shop in a crumbling brick building nestled between the grocery store and the forest's edge.
My car grazes the curb as I park. It’s another reminder of things I’ve let atrophy. Jeremy insisted on driving me to work in whatever expensive vehicle he had that season. He’d be embarrassed if I showed up in my rusted old car. Despite his manipulations, I never let him replace it. It’s one of the few belongings I have from my dad.
I chew the inside of my cheek. How many things did I change because of Jeremy? It’s a long list - everything from my highlighted hair to delaying grad school to work at his family’s firm.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
Head pressed into the headrest and eyes squeezed shut, I exhale slowly. I’m done beating myself up. This last month has been tough enough without piling guilt on top.
That’s also the reason I’m not home with my mother. If she’s sober, she’ll subtly blame me for everything that happened while sounding like a concerned parent. If she’s not sober, well, it won’t be so subtle. So I didn’t call her, and Aurora didn’t mention anything about Mom when we last spoke.
My sister always hated Jeremy, but she’s not a big fan of Mom either. You could call Aurora aggressive, but I prefer fiery. Unfortunately, she’s living with five roommates in a two-bedroom apartment in San Diego, so staying with her isn’t an option.
And that is how I ended up driving through the middle of nowhere.
The hand-painted sign above the sun-bleached brick archway reads Birch and Brew. Wildflowers sprout up among the weeds lining the sidewalk. Please, please, please have Wi-fi inside!
Battered copper equipment gleams behind a stretch of stained butcher block. Floating shelves cover one wall with rows of coffee beans in shiny black bags, labeled things like Evergreen Espresso and Summit Sunrise Roast.
A smile tugs at my lips. The menu is all mountain-themed puns.
“What can I get you?” The teenage barista has green hair and about twenty-three piercings.
“Um, do you guys have Wi-Fi?”
Their heavy-lidded stare twists my stomach.
“Sorry, can I get a…” I scan the menu in a panic. Why is it so hard to order on the spot? “Cabin Fever Cappuccino?”
“Sure,” they say dryly. “Anything else?” I shake my head. After running my debit card, they point towards a framed sign perched beside the glass bakery case. The network and password are printed in huge, bold text.
My cheeks tinge. I would have ordered something regardless. When the barista plunks my coffee on the counter, I awkwardly avoid their gaze and slink into a café chair.
The first sip is good, probably. I’m not a huge coffee drinker, but I started drinking it occasionally after I moved in with – nope! Not going there.
My chipped emerald manicure makes a clicking noise against my phone screen as I enter the password. The loading notification blinks endlessly and when I’m just about to give up, it finallyconnects. The map appears and I zoom in. The private road probably won’t have signage, but maybe I can recognize it from the nearby mile markers.
Squeezing my temples, I try to push down my frustration. After two days in my dented Corolla, my hips and back ache, but before I can relax, I have to figure out how to navigate there.
I can’t keep couch surfing between friends. My interviews have been rejection after cordial rejection and I know it’s my fault. My confidence is shot – being fired from your ex-fiancé’s family business will do that to a girl. To be fair, the dickweasel didn’t become my ex until after I was fired.
A week or two with Uncle Heath is exactly what I need – naps, hiking, maybe a book or two. Figure out what to do with my life.
Besides, I’ve never visited my dad’s childhood home. It might be just a cabin in the woods, but it’s been on my bucket list since I was ten. Uncle Heath always came to us in California. We were never invited to visit him. I guess it seemed mysterious and magical, especially the pictures of my dad and Heath with towering pine trees all around them.
I had to promise to stay out of the way and listen to everything Heath says, but in the end, he agreed. Now, if I can figure out this map, I’ll finally get to see where my dad grew up.
