Page 113 of Grown-Up Second Chance

It was long after the movie ended, and my sisters had gone to bed that I forced myself to open the envelope.

Dear Di,

I know I said I wouldn’t contact you, but I found as soon as I got on the road, that was going to be impossible.

I care about you too much. Until I saw you again, I hadn’t realized how much I’d buried it all my life. I loved Patti, but you were my first love. Nothing compares to that. And to get a second chance at that?

A miracle.

I can’t wait a whole year to see you again, but I don’t want to dishonor your trip with your sisters either.

Can you spare some time for us? To talk more and figure out where we go from here?

I’m here in the Black Hills for only a week, but then I’m spending three weeks in the Badlands. I know, prairie in the summer. Insane!

But I know I can get some quality writing done there. The national park is vast, but not home. I think you could find some good uses for your new camera. (You did buy one didn’t you?)

The park has small cabins. I’d love to rent one for you.

Will you come? For a little while?

Please?

Joe

I reread it three times. And I was no clearer on what to do than I was before I opened the envelope.

Chapter Thirty-Two

We arrived at the RV park near Jackson Hole, Wyoming four hours after leaving West Yellowstone. Driving the RV along winding mountain roads took a lot longer than navigating the same distance in a car. Sometimes the road would angle in such a way that I could see a long line of cars following us like ducklings. Whenever we hit a straight-away with a dotted line, several would zoom past.

A lot of them regarded double yellow lines as a suggestion.

“Idiots,” Kathleen would mutter every time a near miss would occur.

The terror of the road kept me from focusing on Joe’s letter.

Kathleen parked without incident. This time there was a man in a cart to guide us and instruct Kathleen on the hookups.

She took that guidance as well as possible, and the man escaped.

It took another hour or so to set everything up.

We were settling down in our chairs with cocktails and books when the inquisition began.

“What’s in the letter?” Kathleen asked.

“I don’t want to discuss it.”

“It’s from Joe, isn’t it?” Liz asked leaning forward.

I pretended to read my book.

“Oh! I knew it!” Liz said, clapping her hands together.

“I didn’t say it was from Joe,” I said.

“That’s how I knew it was,” Liz replied.

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