Page 10 of Grown-Up Second Chance

Kathleen. What had I heard about her and Michael? They’d been high school sweethearts, and their marriage had seemed solid. Had Liz said something? Or was there something on a social media site an old friend had posted that made me suspicious?

My normally fastidious mind was failing me.

Where was that dumpster?

I stopped in my tracks and looked around. As I did so, a pickup truck with a fifth-wheel behind it came roaring out of one of the rows. I barely made it off the pavement before the truck could hit me.

“Watch where you’re going!” the driver yelled from the open window. “I coulda hit you!”

My hands on my hips and my mouth open, I stared as he continued his mad dash to the exit, ignoring the posted signs for a speed limit of ten point one miles an hour—cute but obviously not effective.

Jerks were everywhere these days. We weren’t going to escape them in an RV park.

And from what I’d read online about visitors to Yellowstone, we weren’t going to escape them there, either.

“We’re not all like that,” a man said as he washed the huge windows in the front of his motorhome. “I knew as soon as he got here, he was going to be like that. You can tell by the way people get into their site. Newbies are hesitant. Couples who’ve been on the road too long yell at each other. Jerks spin gravel as they run their rig back and forth to make sure they’re in the optimum place.”

“We’re newbies.”

“Yeah,” he said with a grin. “I kinda got that the third time you guys went around the loop.”

It didn’t look like we were going to live that down.

“Don’t worry. You’ll get the hang of it.” He waved and went back to his window.

I continued my walk. Where was that damn dumpster? Were the O’Sullivan sisters going to be condemned to go around this loop forever?

There it was.

As I walked toward it, I realized there was a man standing in front of it. He was absolutely still, as if caught in a trance. He must have heard me because as I got closer, he turned.

Twenty-seven years had passed since I’d last seen him, but there was no doubt who he was. To paraphrase an old movie.

Of all the dumpsters in all the towns in all the world, he’s staring at mine.

“Joe Kelly,” I said. “What are you doing here?”

Chapter Four

“Diane O’Sullivan,” Joe said, his voice rich with wonder. “How wonderful to see you. It’s as if I conjured up the best thing that could have happened to me simply by wishing on a lucky charm.”

Wow. Just wow. Who says something like that? And why did it feel so good?

Then I remembered where we were.

“Garbage is your lucky charm?” I asked.

“Treasure can be found in the oddest places.”

I gazed at the rusted blue container, brimming over with plastic bags, boxes from Amazon, and large boxes used to lug home groceries from warehouse stores. The box nearest to us had been used to contain four gallon jars of bread and butter pickles.

Who needed that many pickles?

Joe grinned and began to recite:

“There once was a pile of trash

Made all campers dash

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