“Oh, fishing for mountain lion?” I question.
“That’s a good idea using Chihuahuas as bait. I really like your fishing reels.” Bonita and Bandito were currently deep under a bush looking for a lizard. All that was visible were the two thin black lines from their retractable leashes. We both start laughing and end up chatting for a few minutes until he wanders up the creek in search of a better fishing spot.
Suddenly I become aware of a burning pain on the back of my neck. I reach back to feel the tender hard lump of the mosquito bite. I remember I have some tea tree oil somewhere in the car and am happy to know my favorite ‘cure-all’ will come in handy.
We hop in the car to head for Brandon to find a place to stay and replenish the supplies—ice, juice, fruit, and a can of chicken for the dogs. I just ran out of the boiled chicken and brown rice mixture I have prepared for them for ten years.
All routines that I have created for at least the past ten years have been broken the moment I got in the car and left Ashland.
Chapter Two
The town of Brandon is more substantial in size than anything I have seen since leaving Ashland. I drive the entire length of it just to see what would be available to me thirty miles away from my new job. The mile-long strip of commercial buildings seems to have all the regular places to fulfill my needs—Safeway, Rite Aid, hardware store, motels, restaurants, thrift store, and drive-through coffee. I run into Safeway to get the few things I need at the moment, then head back to the motel called White Fences that I had spotted at the beginning of town, with a sign below that said, “Small pets welcome”.
It took me awhile to get to, and unload the few things I would want for the night. I find my tea tree oil and dab it on my neck, which really hurts. I feed the dogs and take them for a long walk through town. The sun is setting as I put the dogs back into the room and walk across the street to a restaurant for a nice dinner.
Upon returning to my room, I sit and count the money I have left from my original $400, which is $180. This is only my second night on the road! I’d never last! Let me think: gas—$80, campsite—$20, breakfast—$10, this room—$65, dinner—$20, Safeway—$25.
I pick up the phone to call Billy.
“Hi Billy, this is Denise. I’ve decided to take you up on the job offer.”
“Of course you have! I never thought that ya wouldn’t.” Billy replied matter-of-factly.
“Listen, Billy, I’m really just on a working vacation, so to speak. I can only promise you that I’ll stay for the summer. I’m headed south after that to be near my parents and family.”
“I understand and that’s fine. You just stay long enough so that Ray and I can take a vacation for the first time in seven years and we’ll all be happy.”
“Billy? There are only two things that could make me leave, because I am a woman of my word and a darn good hard worker. First, if my parents, who are in their eighties, get ill and need my help; and secondly, if I am no longer happy there. You see Billy; I really need to be happy right now.” I’m surprised at how easy the truth comes out of me when speaking to Billy.
“Oh you’ll be happy, I’ll see to it! You just come on by in the morning. I’ll give ya the keys—one to the fifth wheel, and one to the restroom. Even though the fifth wheel has a bathroom, we need to straighten out a few things in there first; it’s been sittin’ empty for a spell, so ya might need to use the facilities in the park for a day or so. You just get yourself settled in for the day and we’ll start to work day after tomorrow.” We each hang up the phone relieved.
By this time, Bonita and Bandito are both cozy under the covers. I think I’ve stressed them out a bit. I climb into bed myself and fall sound asleep.
After a nice long hot shower in the morning I pack up, walk the dogs, and head straight to the drive-thru coffee place to prepare for my drive back to Hacienda. With the pressure of being homeless lifted and the caffeine pumping through my veins, my eyes are opened and I am able to take in the beauty of the national park. “We’re going to have lots and lots of fun walks, you guys.” Bonita and Bandito are listening to every word. Bonita lets loose with a series of her loud piercing yelps that say, “We better, or I’ll make your life miserable!” She can be such a pushy little bitch at times. Bandito is ducking his head as if to say, “Please shut her up!”
Along the way to Hacienda we stop at yet another day use area and breathe in the wonders of nature. I feel so in my element. How often I have wanted to live in a serene and peaceful environment, letting my dogs run free without something around their neck to hold them back, working in my garden, collecting wood for my fire, and living where I could catch glimpses of wildlife. I realize that at fifty-one years of age, it is rather late in my life, and I can’t regret the choices or mistakes that have made me a hostage to myself. For now, here I am, and I’m going to make the most of the moment. Whatever happens after this day, this place in time, is not a concern. I can always worry later. For today, maybe just for this hour, I have no past. I have no future. I am ageless and free.
I carry this tranquil state of being as I get back on the highway towards Hacienda. The parking lot has several cars in front and three RVs have engines rumbling. Two are pulling out. I notice for the first time the billboard below the Hacienda sign, ‘Annual TRI-TIP dinner Friday 4PM.’ That’s tomorrow! Well, that blows my theory about an easy-going casual job. Am I cooking? Billy couldn’t really expect me to do that! There’s no way. I take a deep breath to stop my anxiety from ruining my morning of joy.
I park and walk up the stone steps. It’s a warm cloudless morning and feels as if it could even turn hot. The RV spaces look half full of guests. I hear the golf cart off in the distance somewhere. The trashcan is worse than yesterday, and now has a bad odor. If that doesn’t get emptied soon, I will do it myself. It makes the place look so trashy. I can smell the pancakes and bacon from out here. There are five people in line at the cash register, which is also the RV registration counter. Someone other than Billy is working behind the register. She is showing someone a map of the premises and handing them a key. That same roaring male voice I heard yesterday is now laughing loudly at something. The restaurant is full, and a few people are shopping in the aisles for supplies. A small lady about my age scurries from the restaurant to the register with a worried look on her face. I have never seen anyone walk that fast. She rings up a breakfast customer while the other lady checks-in a guest and then scurries back to the restaurant. It’s almost as if she has roller skates on, but she doesn’t. She better slow down.
I look over toward the kitchen and read Bubba’s special for the day: ‘DON’T KNOW WHAT IT IS. BUT IT’S ALL GRILLED UP WITH MUSKRAT GRAVY.’ As I gag in disgust, I hear that booming male voice yelling, “BETTY! ORDER UP!” I see the very top of the head of the lady with roller skate feet, zoom behind the glass-fronted meat counter that separates the kitchen from the restaurant, and pick up the order.
“Can I help you?” says the lady who was checking in the guest.
“Oh yes, hello. My name is Denise. I spoke with Billy about a job, and she had told me to come and pick up the key to the fifth wheel and a key to the restroom today. Is she here?” I gaze toward the doorway where Ray was standing yesterday, but no one appears.
“Yes, hello Denise. My name is Vi, and Billy told me all about you. Welcome! I’m kind of busy, but the keys are right here.”
Vi hands me the keys and at that moment I hear and feel the heavy steps of someone on the wood plank floor approaching the counter. I assume its Bubba. I turn around and see a large man in his late thirties with short dark cropped hair. He looks really strong and has a large beer belly that looks as tight as his