by Bill H Myers
She looked at Abby. “Which one of you has the key to Kat's motorhome?”
Abby had the keys. All of them. She looked at me to see if I wanted to say anything. I didn't, but she did. “Why do you need to know who has a key?”
The deputy frowned, then said, “Because we don't want anyone getting into to Kat’s motorhome until we secure the drugs. Give me your keys and I'll make sure to get them back to Kat when this thing is over.”
She held out her hand and waited for the keys.
Abby dug in her pocket and pulled out the key with the Ford logo, the one she'd pulled off the ring and we had used to unlock the passenger side door. Before giving it up, she turned to me and said, “Get your phone. Take a picture of me doing this.”
I grabbed my phone, hit the camera icon and snapped three photos. Each one clearly showed Abby holding the key over the deputy's open palm.
I showed her the photos and she reluctantly dropped the key into the deputy's hand.
She looked at it and asked, “This the only key you have?”
I knew it wasn't. I knew Abby still had keys to the side door and the outdoor storage compartments, but I wasn't going to say anything. It was up to her to decide how to answer.
She decided to lie. She said, “That's the only key I have. The one to the front door.”
The deputy looked at me. “What about you? You have any keys?”
I shook my head. “No. They didn't give me any keys.”
She seemed satisfied with my answer and changed the subject. She pointed at the wall behind the couch and asked, “Do you bring the slide in before you unhook or after?”
She was obviously in a hurry to get us out of the park, and I didn't blame her. She had a major drug dealer in her sights and didn't want us to foul things up.
I stood and pressed the button to bring the slide in. It slowly closed the wall, making the motorhome feel a lot smaller inside. When it jolted to a stop, I released the button and pointed to the door. “I need to unhook from shore power.”
The deputy followed me outside and watched as I unhooked the power cable, rolled it up and put it in the utility compartment.
Back inside, Abby put everything away and raised the blinds to make it easier for me to drive in the dark.
I made sure the bathroom door was secure and then sat in the driver's seat and started the motor. The deputy watched while I was doing this, like she was making sure I didn't try anything funny. After the motor was started, she turned to Abby. “You driving the Jeep?”
Abby held up her key ring. “Yep.”
“Good. The Walmart parking lot is just over the hill. Follow me, and I'll lead the way.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Sixteen minutes later, having left the crystal mine campground and taken the motorhome on the winding, unlit road to the highway, we pulled into the Walmart parking lot. Exactly one hour after midnight.
Walmart was still open, but there weren't many cars in the lot. There were three RVs parked on the north side near a wooded ravine and it looked like they were in for the night.
Figuring that was where Walmart wanted overnight RV'ers to park, I pulled in near them, leaving plenty of space between my motorhome and the others. I didn't want to invade their privacy and didn't want them invading ours.
Abby pulled her Jeep into the empty parking spot next to mine and got out.
The deputy, who had led us to Walmart in her faded gray GMC Jimmy, pulled up near Abby and rolled down her window. She motioned her to come closer so they could talk. She spoke a few words, handed Abby something and drove off. I wasn't able to get outside fast enough to hear what she had said or see what she had given her.
Bob had come up from the back, making noises about how we'd interrupted his beauty sleep. He meowed several times to show his displeasure then turned and trotted back to the bedroom where he hoped to resume his nap. I was hoping to be doing the same soon.
Abby tapped on the side door, letting me know she was coming in. I'd explained to her earlier that anytime one of us was outside and wanted in, we needed to tap the door so the person inside could make sure Bob wasn't sleeping in the foot well.
If he was there and the door was suddenly opened, he might panic and run out into the parking lot or, worse, into traffic. Either way, it wouldn't be good. He could get lost, get hit by a car or just disappear into the wild. It was something I didn't want to risk, so we had set up the tap routine.
Abby had been good about sticking to it. She tapped on the door, and I checked for Bob. With him safe in the back, I opened it and she came in. She plopped down on the couch and said, “The deputy said not to go back to the campground. She said, no matter what Kat says, don't let her leave the Surrender mine. Not until they get the Dylan thing settled.”
It sounded like good advice to me. But even if it weren't, I was too sleepy to care much about what the deputy said. I just wanted sleep.
The night before, Abby had claimed the bed as her own, leaving me the couch. I preferred the bed but was too tired to try to reclaim it. I grabbed a pillow from the overhead bin, folded out the couch and lay down, hoping to sleep.
A few moments after I closed my eyes, I felt Abby's lips brush my cheek as she kissed me good night. She whispered, “Sleep well.”
The next thing I remembered was being woken by the sound of the outside door opening. I looked up just in time to see Abby walking in carrying a bag of food from Burger King. It was daylight outside, meaning I'd slept a few hours. It didn't feel like I’d slept hours; but if it was daylight, I had.
She saw me open my eyes and said, “Morning sunshine. You hungry?”
I was. I sat up, ran my fingers through my hair and nodded. “You went out? I didn't hear you leave.”
She smiled. “I tried my best not to wake you. It looked like you needed sleep, so I let you be. I figured that when you woke, you'd be hungry, so I went to Burger King and got us breakfast. Hope you like their sausage and egg croissants.”
She put the food on the kitchen table, got a carton of orange juice from the fridge and poured two glasses.
I was still sitting on the couch, trying to wake up, when she came over and rubbed my head. She said, “Come on. It's time to get up. We've got a lot of things to do today, and we need to get on the road.
“I called Kat's father and filled him in on what we learned. He said to call him as soon as we talk to his daughter. I also called Grace and let her know we made it back from Crystal Mountain. She was worried about us going up there and was happy to hear we made it back.
“I didn't tell her about the deputy or about us spending the night in at Walmart. But I did tell her we were moving over to the Fish Village campground. I didn't want her to go back to our old site at the crystal mine looking for us and possibly running into Dylan.”
She pointed at the food on the table. “Get up. Come eat with me.”
I sighed and pointed to the bathroom. “I'll be right back.”
I headed to the back and took care of morning business. I combed my hair, washed my hands and splashed water on my face. On my way back up front, I peeked into the bedroom and saw that Abby had made up the bed and Bob had found his favorite spot in the middle of it, lying in the warmth of a sunbeam.
As I walked by, he looked up and mouthed a soft meow. Then he closed his eyes and went back to sleep. Lucky him.
Up front, Abby had finished her croissant and was cleaning her side of the table. When she was done, she stood and said, “I called the campground, and they had a site available. I went ahead and reserved it.
“The lady said the best way to get there would be to go north on 7 and turn west on 298. She said we'll miss all the Hot Springs traffic going that way.”
While Abby was telling me this, I sat down at the table, unwrapped the croissant and took a bite. It was still warm and tasty. Being hungry, it didn't take me long to finish it. I washed it down with orange juice while Abby stood at the kitchen counter watching as I ate. When
I finished, I cleaned the table and took my empty glass over to the sink. Like a gentleman.
She made a face as I put the glass away and said, “You need to shower and shave. While you’re doing that, I'm going to Walmart to get a few things. You need anything?”
The day before, we'd stopped at the same Walmart. Before we'd gone in, she'd asked me the same question. I hadn't needed anything then, and nothing had changed. I said, “No, I'm fine. I've got everything I need. Except a few hours of sleep.”
I dug into my pocket and fished out the motorhome keys. “You'll need these when you get back.”
She took the keys and headed out. I locked the door behind her and sat back down on the couch. I didn't think I needed a shower. I'd taken a quick one the night before. But I'd been pepper sprayed and handcuffed since then and hadn’t cleaned up. I hadn’t shaved since leaving Florida.
Since Abby and I were living in close quarters and since she'd said I needed to shower and shave, I decided I probably should. I turned on the hot water heater and went back to the bedroom to get some clean clothes. I gave Bob a few pets and then went over to the bathroom. I stripped off and stepped into the shower stall.
It was then that I remembered where I kept Bob's litter box—on the floor of the stall. It was the perfect spot for his box and one of the few places in the motorhome where it wasn't in the way. Behind the shower curtain, it was out of sight, yet easy for Bob to get to. The closed curtain gave him privacy and meant we didn't have to look at his never empty litter box every time we went into the bathroom.
As long as I remembered to move it before I stepped into the shower, all was well.
I had remembered to move it the night before when I took a shower to clean the mud off from Crystal Mountain. And I'd remembered to put it back after the shower.
But being sleepy and maybe in a hurry to comply with Abby's shower directive, I'd completely forgotten about the litter box. When I stepped into the shower, the box was still there and I stepped into the litter and onto the fresh deposits Bob had left in it overnight.
As soon as my foot squished into his droppings, I realized my mistake. But it was too late. His fresh poo was oozing up between my toes.
Not wanting to spread the mess onto the floor, I stepped out of the shower and stood on one leg while bracing myself on the bathroom vanity.
In the process of doing that, I bumped the bathroom door with my elbow, right on my funny bone, sending a shock wave through my body. Forgetting I was standing on one foot and bracing myself on the vanity, I reached around with my free arm to rub my elbow.
That caused me to lose my balance. To keep from falling, I hopped out the bathroom and into the hall. Normally, that wouldn't have been a problem. I live alone, and Bob would have been the only one who would have seen me standing naked in the hall hopping on one foot while using my free hand to rub my throbbing elbow.
But as it turned out, Abby had decided she really didn't need anything from Walmart and had come back to the motorhome. I didn't hear her when she tapped the door, nor did I hear her when she came in. Had I, I could have hopped into the bathroom, closed the door behind me and everything would have been fine. But it wasn’t.
When she walked in, I was naked and hopping on one foot while rubbing my elbow with my free hand. My other foot was covered with cat poo.
From behind me, I heard her ask, “Is this what you do when I leave? You get naked, smear poo on your body and do some kind of weird dance?”
Before I could answer, she said, “Say cheese.”
Instead of helping me, she was taking pictures. And laughing.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
I hopped back into the bathroom, closing the door behind me. I grabbed some toilet paper and used it to wipe the poo from my foot. Then I grabbed the litter box and set it on the toilet.
With the shower stall cleared, I turned on the water, stepped in and took a long, hot shower. After that, I shaved, not looking forward to seeing Abby and explaining why she'd seen me hopping around naked.
After shaving, I put the litter box back in the shower, put on clean clothes and headed out to face the music and laughter.
As it turned out, Abby had already figured out what had happened. Instead of asking me about it, all she said was, “The litter box? You forgot to move it, right?”
I nodded. “Yeah. I stepped right in it.”
She smiled. “You probably won't forget next time.”
She was right, I probably wouldn't forget to move the box in the future. And that was the end of the conversation.
She was sitting at the kitchen table with the road atlas opened in front of her. She tapped a page and said, “It's an easy drive from here. We go north on 7 for two miles. Turn left on 298 and stay on it until we get to the Fish Village sign. It’s about thirty miles from here. Probably take an hour.
“I'll go first in the Jeep and you follow me. I'm ready to leave whenever you are.”
I'd eaten breakfast, showered, shaved and taken care of my normal morning business. We'd boon-docked in the Walmart parking lot which meant no hookups to worry about, no slide room to bring in. All I needed was a bottle of water and I was ready to hit the road.
After grabbing a water, I took my place into the driver's seat and said, “I'm ready. Lead the way.”
Abby went out to her Jeep and let it warm up for about a minute, then gave me a thumbs up, signaling she was ready to go. I’d started the motorhome when she'd started the Jeep, and I was ready to roll.
Leaving the parking lot, we took a right and stayed on highway 7 north until we got to 298 where we took a left. It was a two-lane blacktop and in pretty good condition considering it ran through the backwoods of Arkansas.
Had I been driving a car, the rolling hills and sweeping curves through the semi-mountainous terrain would have been fun, but in a motorhome not so much. There were no shoulders, no passing lanes and no turn-offs.
The motorhome slowed at each hill, leaned to the side on each curve and just barely fit between the lines on the narrow road. It was a far cry from driving the flat and wide super highways of Florida.
Fortunately, there was no traffic. No cars stacking up behind me, no one trying to pass. Just Abby in front, in her green Jeep, and me bringing up the rear.
Forty minutes later, at the intersection of 298 and 27, we rolled up to a stop sign in the little town of Story, Arkansas. Population nine hundred fifty-seven. I counted five buildings,—two churches, a post office, a gas station and the Bluebell Cafe and Feed store.
According to the sign on the Bluebell, they had the best burgers around. I figured since they were the only place we'd seen where you could get a burger for thirty miles, their claim was probably legit. The number of cars in the parking lot attested to either the quality of their food or the lack of competition.
I was hoping that after we got set up at the campground we could come back and give their burgers a try.
Abby pulled away from the stop sign, took a left on highway 27 and I followed. Six miles later, after crossing the bridge over the Ouachita River, we saw the 27 Fish Village sign. Abby turned and followed it to where the road changed from pavement to gravel.
The gravel marked the entrance to the campground, a collection of rough cabins, mobile homes and camping sites for anglers wanting to try their luck on the nearby river. Since Abby was in front and in the smaller vehicle, she pulled up to the office and got out. Before going in, she waved me over to the far side of the narrow road, moving me out of the way of a pickup truck pulling a boat that had stopped behind me.
The driver of the truck waved as he went around and the two teenaged boys in the back, both wearing matching Arkansas Razorback ball caps, also waved as the truck passed.
My first impression was everyone at the Fish Village seemed pretty friendly. In a lot of places, no one waves, except maybe with a middle finger.
When Abby came out of the office, she was carrying a registration packet and signaled me to foll
ow her. She got into her Jeep, pulled away from the office, and headed down the road that led to the RV sites. Along the way, we passed a few mobile homes, five red plank cabins, and three grass-covered tent sites.
None of the sites were paved, but they looked level and were spaced well apart.
Near the end of the loop road, Abby pulled over to the right and stopped. I didn't see a campsite, but I figured she knew what she was doing and since I was behind her I stopped as well.
She walked to my window and said, “This is our site, between those trees over there. It's kind of narrow, so you'll have to be careful when you back in. I'll move my Jeep out of the way and guide you.”
Without waiting to see if I had any questions, she turned and went back to her Jeep. Had she waited, I could have asked if she was sure about our site because all I saw was a narrow, grass-covered gap between two large pine trees.
There was no marker saying it was a campsite, no number on a post, no tire tracks leading to a parking pad, just Abby's word that it was the site assigned to us.
I wasn't so sure she was right.
Rather than risk backing the motorhome into a tree or soft ground, I decided to get out and take a closer look. I killed the motor, stood up and headed for the door.
Abby was waiting for me outside. All smiles.
“Isn't this a great spot?”
I looked around, confused because I didn't see a campsite. Just trees. But since I didn't want to dampen her spirit, I said, “Show me.”
She smiled, took my hand and said, “Follow me.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Abby led me away from the spot where I thought we were supposed to camp and took me down a narrow path that went to the river. We passed a picnic bench and a fire ring on the way. When we got to the water's edge, she put her arm around my waist and said, “Isn't this nice?”
It was nice. We were standing on the bank of the Ouachita River, in the backwoods of Arkansas in the fall, surrounded by the blazing reds and yellows of the changing colors of the leaves. Cool, crisp air, untainted by smokestacks and chimneys. A long way from the sounds of civilization. No low-flying planes. No loud motorcycles, no boom, boom stereos.
