Page 18 of Grown-Up Second Chance

It seemed to me we had, but the memory was vague, as if the event was a natural outcoming rather than a momentous event.

But there had been a kiss, hadn’t there?

No, no. The only kiss had been the disastrous one on our last night together after prom.

“Don’t forget to turn,” Kathleen said as I idled at a light in West Yellowstone.

I flipped on the turn signal.

“Other way,” Liz said from behind me.

“Fumes must have gotten to her,” Kathleen commented.

“Or the blow to her rear end reverberated in her brain.”

I ignored them. My head wasn’t in a space to play verbal badminton.

But I did pay more attention to where we were going.

Once we returned to the RV and cleaned up the lunch debris, Liz gathered her art papers and paints and departed to a solitary spot she’d found to try to capture the colors she’d seen on paper. Kathleen dug out a book and parked herself in one of the camp chairs.

I sat inside the camper, grateful for some time alone, but unsure what to do with myself. During my marriage, I’d either been doing everything I could to build the business, tending to the basics of living, or trying to figure out the right glue to finally stick our marriage together permanently. Occasionally, Larry and I traveled to see his relatives in Nevada, or up to see mine in Montana. We tried cruises, camping, and cities, but both of us had been more homebodies than travelers.

This trip was totally out of character for me.

But in the two years since I’d been divorced, I’d realized I’d spent my adult years being responsible. Larry did the minimum when we traveled, but the planning and details fell to me, mainly because I was good at it. I’d lost any sense of my needs or wants, or even the possibility of who I could become if set free.

No wonder I couldn’t remember the details of my walks with Joe.

I picked up my phone to look at the pictures I’d taken during our day trip. I was glad Liz had gotten going to the mud pots out of her system, but I really wanted an early morning outing to the Lamar Valley, sometime before the hordes of people arrived and the big animals were still foraging for breakfast.

But as I looked at the pictures on my phone, my spirit deflated. They were okay, and some even better than that low bar, but they lacked the vision I’d seen in my mind’s eye. I’d never be able to capture what I wanted with a simple phone.

A better camera was required.

The same excuses and resistance came up. I wasn’t a photographer. I didn’t deserve such fancy equipment. The phone would capture the animals well enough.

And good enough was fine for me.

Putting the phone down, I lay my head back on the headrest.

~~~

“I can’t figure out how to light your campfire thingamajig,” Kathleen complained as she woke me up.

“What?”

“The campfire in a can,” she said. “It doesn’t make sense to me. Why can’t we just light a fire.”

“First, because it keeps the smoke down.” I ticked off the reasons I’d already recited a dozen times. “Second, it insures the fire is contained. Third, it’s easier to clean. Fourth—”

“I got it,” she said. “But you need to light it.”

“Why?” I was comfortable right where I was. Maybe I could find some news on the television. See what was going on in the world.

“It’s cocktail hour. And cocktail hour requires tradition.”

“We’ve only been here a few days.”

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