Page 60 of Grown-Up Second Chance

“It would be a start.” Everything about me ached. That was ridiculous. I’d been walking—a lot—since I’d returned to Montana.

But Liz’s hike had a purpose. She was determined to see the Grand Prismatic Spring at the height of its color which meant hiking in the heat of the afternoon. And Liz didn’t understand the concept of walking at a nice, leisurely pace.

“Oh, stop complaining,” Liz said, flipping through her phone at the pictures she’d taken. “It was beautiful.”

“It was.” If I were truthful, I would have to admit that one of the reasons I was in a bit of a snit was that it was so beautiful. And I couldn’t get the picture I imagined in my head. The phone didn’t have the kind of resolution I needed to capture all the subtlety of color.

“Liz, I think you owe us something for going on this hike with you,” I said as Kathleen returned with the cold pitcher and some glasses.

“How’s that?” Liz asked.

“I want to see the pictures you create,” I said, sitting up straight to look at her.

“Me, too,” Kathleen said. “It’s about time, Liz. I have no idea what you think you’re protecting us from.”

“We’ve both had sex,” I pointed out.

“And at our age, discussion of bowel movements is almost mandatory,” Kathleen added. “So is making it to a bathroom in time. You two don’t know what you’ve missed not having kids. Those little buggers do a number on your body.”

Liz looked down at her sketchpad.

“Maybe it’s so abstract she doesn’t think we’ll recognize what we’re seeing,” I suggested.

“You two stop,” Liz said. “I’ll think about it, okay?”

“What if we return with the witch’s broomstick? What then, oh great and powerful Oz?” Kathleen asked.

“I’ll think about it. But I may have to return you both to Kansas.”

“Toto too?” I asked.

“Toto too,” she replied, attempting and failing to imitate the voice of Billie Burke who played the good witch.

“There is entirely too much levity at this site,” Joe said as he ambled toward us, a beer in his hand.

Around us, other people were strolling with their dogs and drinks, smiling and chattering in small groups. RV cocktail hour had begun.

“Liz tried to kill us today,” I told him, forcing myself to stay in my seat, despite the urge to greet him with a hug and kiss.

“May I?” he asked, gesturing toward the picnic table.

“Of course,” Kathleen said. “I almost feel like you’re one of us, you’re here so often.”

“Don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

“Never happen,” Liz said. “Di enjoys you too much.”

“And we enjoy watching Di with you,” Kathleen added.

“Sisters,” I said to Joe. “Ignore them.”

“I’ll try,” Joe said, perching on the picnic bench. “But it’s a little difficult. They are strong personalities.”

“Overbearing,” I said.

“Says the bossiest of all,” Kathleen said.

“Pot,” I shot back.

---