Page 7 of Grown-Up Second Chance

“Oh, she’s harmless,” Liz said, standing and putting a hand on the man’s arm. “It’s so nice to meet you. We have an extra chair. Why don’t you sit for a bit?” She led him to the chair and pried the lighter fluid from his hand, putting it on the picnic table.

“Where are you from, Henry?” she asked as she resumed her own seat.

“Oklahoma. Went up to Casper to work the oil fields there for a bit. I wanted to see the park before I drove home. Wonder of the world, you know. There weren’t any sites south of here. Got one up here last minute. But I’ll be headed home soon. The wife misses me.”

“I bet she does,” Liz said.

I rolled my eyes as I went back to work on the fire.

Soon the fire blazed and was almost smokeless.

“Well, I’ll be darned,” Henry said, and some of my testiness thawed. He’d meant well.

Proudly, I handed out the marshmallow sticks I’d also purchased and produced the bag of marshmallows. There was even a stick for Henry. I’d bought the large package in hopes we’d have guests. One of the things I’d hoped to do on this trip was make new friends.

In spite of living in one of the most vibrant areas of the country for the last two decades, my world had been shrinking every year, but had rapidly accelerated in the last ten. Because Larry and I had never had children, I’d never developed a clique of mommy-friends that lasted well beyond the kids leaving home. Building my accounting business meant spending time working, and my employees were the only circle of friends I had.

When I’d down-sized the business, my friends had downsized too.

After Larry retired, he demanded more of my time. I was constantly running errands, making meals, or doing laundry while he had to be reminded to take out the trash and arrange to have the lawn mowed.

And there were always the comments. Even though we’d done a few fertility tests before Larry said he wanted to stop, he took every chance he got to remind me that I wasn’t a complete woman.

After a few years of therapy and the discovery of some papers Larry had hidden, I went directly to the sharpest divorce attorney in town, and she got me everything I’d asked for.

I left Larry his television.

“Your marshmallow is burning!” Liz said.

I yanked it from the flame and blew it out.

“I like it this way,” I lied.

“No you don’t,” Kathleen said flatly.

I contemplated eating it anyway; I’d been raised on “waste not, want not.”

“Don’t you dare,” Liz said, a fierce look in her eye. “It’s one marshmallow.”

It was a struggle, but I used a napkin to pull it off the stick and put on a fresh one. Then I returned it to the flames, keeping a good eye on it this time.

~~~

After two marshmallows, the cloying sweetness got to me. “I’m going for a walk,” I announced in a tone that indicated I was doing it alone.

I walked away from the main part of the RV park, away from the lights and the people. This is what I’d missed most after I’d left Montana: the ability to quickly get away from civilization and breathe in the sweet air of nature. Above me, stars twinkled clearly, and the Milky Way scattered solar systems like so much pixie dust. If only I could feel as mentally unencumbered as the animals that must be nearby. My mind was constantly beset by worry. What if there isn’t enough? Enough water? Enough time? Enough laughter?

Enough money?

I’d always been excellent at saving for a rainy day, quite sure one would come someday. But what would life be like if I could let go of that sense of emergency always nipping at my heels? Wonderful? Or terrifying?

I shook my head free of wonderings and turned back toward the camp. As I did so, I caught site of a man sitting by his Airstream RV, leaning back and staring at the sky much as I had done. He must have sensed my presence, because he looked over.

Something about the way he moved was familiar.

Nah, just my tired imagination working overtime.

I gave him a friendly wave and turned away.

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