Page 14 of The Christmas Mittens
My head swung to the right so fast I nearly suffered whiplash. Tim Brittans? Who the hell was he? And how dare he be so bold as to invite my precious daughter to some camping trip all the way up to New York State?
We live twenty minutes from the border. It’s not like they go camping in Bangladesh. It’s literally twenty minutes away, Mitchell.
Shut up me. This was not the time for rational comments from the peanut gallery. I swallowed down the instinct to snarl at her. Instead, I flicked my attention back to the winding road that took us past empty campsite after empty campsite. The snow here was untouched except for a few tire tracks. How disappointed would we be if Anders wasn’t even here?
“Who is Tim Brittans?” I casually asked as the snow crunched under the Subaru’s tires.
“Oh, he’s one of the baseball players. He’s new. His parents are teachers at the high school.”
Hmm, I’d not heard of this boy. I’d have to drop a bug into the ears of the Woolverines to see what they knew of him and his family. “He’s okay. I’m not sure I’d want to go camping with him, though. He has an older sister who’s a real bitch.”
“Gilda.” I sighed. “We don’t use that word unless we’re talking about a female dog.”
“Well, she is, and I don’t want to be stuck in a tent with her for a long weekend.”
“Sensible,” I replied as the worry abated. We crept along in the tracks that someone else had cut through the new snow, rounding a sharp corner that opened up onto a small frozen pond. On the site closest to the water was a camper the likes of which I’d never seen before. It was a silver van but not just a plain old van. The roof had solar panels. An awning stood open, although I doubted Anders used it much in this weather. I gawked at the older Mercedes model van as well as the dark sedan parked behind it.
Two men in black suits were having a conversation with Anders, who was wearing nothing but jeans and a sweater. All three glanced my way, the two big men in suits frowning at meuntil Anders could be seen saying something. The meeting broke up. The two men piled into the sedan, backed up, and drove past us. I nodded. Gilda sat silently at my side, her blue eyes round. Just when I got one mystery cleared up, we now had more.
Anders waved at us, the stern expression he’d worn just a moment ago melting into a welcoming smile. I pulled up slowly and parked. When we exited the car, Della could be heard barking inside the van/camper.
“Hello!” Anders called as he jogged closer. He held his sweater closed. “What an unexpected surprise!”
“I hope we didn’t interrupt anything?” I asked as we shook hands. Gilda got a bow that she curtsied to with a giggle.
“No, no, that was nothing. What brings you out here?” He motioned us to the van, opening the sliding door on the side. Della leapt out into the snow. Gilda scooped the dog up to enjoy a thousand or so kisses.
“I have a gift for Della!” Gilda exclaimed and held up the red sweater.
“That is so cool! She will be so warm. Please come inside out of the cold, and we’ll get it on her. I just put a kettle on for tea. I have some cookies.” He stepped up into the van. I may have checked out his ass as he clambered in. It was a very nice ass.Verynice.
Gilda went next, holding Della. I followed and slid the door closed. The inside of the van was dripping with elegance. To the left was a bed, unmade, with rich brown sheets and a cream duvet. Above the bed was a wine rack built into the wall, filled with bottles of the grape. A small sink, a freezer, and three cupboards above the sink. An electric kettle sat on the slim counter bubbling away. There were plastic stackable boxes that held what seemed to be beads of a thousand colors, ribbons, and other bric-a-brac. A shallow tote lined with bubble wrap was full of large white goose eggs. Some were plain and some decorated.I longed to see them up close but didn’t want to appear to be nosy. Well, nosier, I suppose.
In one corner was a closet, door open, that held a tiny shower stall and a toilet. There wasn’t much room for three people, but we piled in. Gilda fell to the carpeted floor to snuggle Della while Anders and I sat in the two swiveling captain’s seats in the front.
“Your camper is really cool!” Gilda proclaimed.
“Thank you. I had it made especially for this trip to America,” he answered and rose to make tea for the three of us. He chatted about this and that as he prepared some chamomile and passed it out, the fine China cups on delicate saucers making me edgy. I had big hands. The handles on the cups looked like they would snap if I blinked. “It’s not as spacious as a motorhome, but it is far more earth-friendly.”
He sat back down in the seat behind the steering wheel, crossed one long leg over the other, and sipped his tea. Tactfully, pinkie raised. Gilda took her cookie, dunked it, and split it with the dog. I did my best not to look like a gorilla having tea.
“I’ve never seen such a well-appointed van. It’s a Mercedes?” I opted to talk cars or vans, I suppose, as that was safer than asking if he would like a cuddle.
“Mm, yes,” he replied only after swallowing his tea. “An older model, but it fit my needs. So, did you just come out to deliver a sweater?”
“Can I put it on her?” Gilda asked, ignoring her sweetened tea to fuss over the dog.
“Of course. If you like, you may take her for a walk around the pond.” Anders glanced at me for permission. I nodded. Della, hearing the word walk, began bouncing around the interior of the camper on her back legs. Gilda found that to be hilarious. Soon the dog was kitted out in her new sweater—whether she liked it or not wasn’t clear—and Gilda was snapping a thin pink leash to Della’s pink leather collar.
“I should have made it pink,” Gilda lamented before they slipped out the door, Della yipping in glee as they made their way to the pond. I swiveled my chair around to keep an eye on my daughter and the prancing dog. Anders nibbled on a cookie as we enjoyed the two gals strolling through the snow without a care in the world.
“I suspect you’ll have a pink sweater in a few days,” I said before glancing over my shoulder at him picking up Gilda’s cup of tea from the floor. “Oh, sorry, she’s usually better at picking up after herself. She’s too excited about the dog.”
“It’s fine. I’ve had to train myself to be tidier as I grew older.” He placed the tea on the black counter and sat down beside me, his cocoa eyes locking on me. “I would like to offer my condolences on the loss of your wife.”
“Thank you. It was a long time ago. We’re managing pretty well.” That was my standard reply. He bobbed his head, curls tumbling this way and that.
“I can see that. Gilda is a sweetheart. And such a beautiful name. Not one heard often anymore. Was it a family name?” He pivoted around to look at me, his seat sideways, his knee brushing mine.
