The Happy Camper

by Melody Carlson

  He shrugged. “Yeah, I almost didn’t come. Is, uh, is your mom here?”

  She shook her head. “No, she didn’t want to come.”

  “Oh. So are you here by yourself then?”

  “No. I’m with friends. They’re dancing.”

  “Mind if I join you for a bit?”

  “Not at all.”

  His brow creased as he sat down. “So . . . well, how is Margot doing?”

  Dillon gave him a lowdown on the lavender project, not going into detail about how much she and Grandpa had helped Margot to get it going. “The little plants are doing well. Getting bigger every day.”

  “Oh, that’s nice.” He nodded. “That should make her happy.”

  Dillon frowned as she pulled on her denim jacket.

  He leaned forward. “So, is she happy?”

  “To be honest, I don’t think so.”

  “Mind if I ask why?”

  “I’m not really sure why. But she’s been in a mood this past week.”

  “Well, she can be moody.”

  “Believe me, I know. But she seems more down than normal.” She peered closely at Don, taking in his long gray hair which, as usual, was pulled back in a ponytail. He’d always reminded her of Willie Nelson. “I think she secretly misses you.”

  He brightened. “Really?”

  “It’s just a suspicion. But she acts kind of lost to me.”

  “Do you think there’s a chance she’ll come back to me?”

  Dillon sighed. “I honestly don’t know. She can be pretty stubborn.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “But I think living on the farm’s getting old for her.”

  “She’s never struck me as the get-your-hands-dirty kind of girl.”

  Dillon laughed. “You got that right.”

  “So, do you have any suggestions? Any thoughts on how I might win her back? I know I won’t make any points by getting down on one knee.”

  “That’s for sure. I still don’t know why she’s so opposed to marriage.”

  “It’s too conventional for her. She thinks she’s a free spirit. You know.”

  “Yeah . . . but sometimes I wonder. I mean, it could be an act.”

  “So, seriously, is there anything you can think of that I could do? You probably know Margot as well as anyone.”

  “I’m not so sure about that.” Just the same, Dillon thought hard. “I know she likes feeling needed. And if you happened to like her health food concoctions, well, that could go a long way.” She explained about how she and Grandpa had been rebelling in the kitchen.

  Don grinned. “I know how that goes. You can only take so much kale.”

  “But if you acted like you missed her cooking and if perhaps your health was in some sort of peril . . . that might get her attention. I think she wants to be appreciated.”

  “Yeah. That makes sense.”

  “What about just asking her out on a date? Her life looks pretty bleak to me. She might enjoy getting off the farm.”

  “Good idea.” He nodded. “I didn’t even think of that.”

  “The worst she can do is say no.” Dillon noticed Don watching something behind her.

  “Hey, Jordan.” Don stood and was now shaking Jordan’s hand. “How’s it going, bud?”

  “Okay.” Jordan politely greeted both of them.

  “Dillon’s just giving me some romantic advice.”

  Jordan’s brows arched. “Romantic advice?”

  Don chuckled. “You know, for her mother.”

  Jordan nodded. “Of course.”

  “But if you came over to ask Dillon to dance, don’t let me stand in your way.” Don beamed at Dillon. “I assume you two know each other, but if you don’t, I can give a hearty recommendation for Mr. Jordan Atwood here. He’s one of the good guys.”

  “We’ve met,” Dillon told him.

  “Then you kids should get out there and dance,” Don urged.

  “How about it?” Jordan asked Dillon.

  “Sure.” She tried not to sound nervous. “Sounds good.”

  Dillon began to relax some as they began to dance. Like Brandon, Jordan was a pretty good dancer. Before long, she was actually having fun—and when Jordan asked her for a second dance, she gladly said yes. But as they were dancing, she noticed that Brandon, still dancing with Chelsea, had his eyes fixed on her. And when the second dance ended, he swept in, suggesting they trade partners.

  Before Dillon could protest, Brandon had her by the hand and was leading her to the center of the floor. And so it went for the next hour. Dancing with Brandon . . . and then with Jordan. But Jordan wasn’t only dancing with Chelsea. He also danced with the owner of the Silver Slipper. And, unless Dillon was imagining it, Vivian and Jordan were thoroughly enjoying themselves. Although Dillon had liked Vivian . . . at first . . . she wasn’t sure how she felt about her now. Not after seeing her with Jordan again. But, she reminded herself, Jordan had every right to be with whomever he wished. After all, she’d been warned he was a confirmed bachelor.

  Adding to Dillon’s dismay, Chelsea had also managed to find new dance partners as well. And this meant Dillon was stuck with Brandon—for dance after dance. “I think I need a break,” she finally told him. And without waiting for him to concede, she headed back to their table.

  It wasn’t long before Chelsea and several others, including Jordan, joined them. Apparently Vivian was dancing with someone else. And, hoping to keep Jordan from bolting like she expected he might—probably to dance with Vivian again—Dillon attempted to engage him in conversation by telling him about her towing lessons with Grandpa and how she was now “camping” in the aspens by the irrigation pond. “It’s really pretty there.”

  “So you think you can hitch and pull your own trailer now?” Jordan asked with a skeptical expression.

  “Sure,” she said with more confidence than she really felt. “Grandpa taught me all the steps and I even wrote them down just in case.”

  “Impressive.”

  “Hey, that’s one of my favorite songs.” She grabbed Jordan’s hand. “How about it?”

  He nodded. “Sure.”

  Before Brandon could protest, they hurried out to the dance floor again. “I really like this song too,” Jordan said as they began to dance.

  “So when do they start the fireworks?” Dillon asked him. “It’s pretty dark now.”

  He checked his watch. “Should be anytime now.”

  “Oh, good.”

  “I know a good spot to watch from,” he said. “If you want, we could get over there and get a spot before the fireworks start.”

  “Sure.” She nodded.

  As he led her through a back exit from the tennis court, she asked if they still used the Preston Ranch to shoot the fireworks from.

  “Yep. But now they keep a bunch of fire trucks nearby. I guess they had a grass fire that nearly got to the trees a few years ago.”

  “I always wondered if that could happen.” They were at the edge of town now, where the ranch was in open view.

  “I parked my pickup here so I could get a good seat.” He opened the tailgate, helping her to get into it. “And I just happened to bring a spare camp chair with me.” He unfolded two chairs. “As well as some popcorn and sodas.”

  “Wow.” She sat down. “I’m impressed. It’s almost like you were expecting company.”

  “Maybe hoping.” And then, just like clockwork, the amplified sound of the national anthem began to boom from the park area, and then the first of the fireworks were shot off.

  As they sat there, watching and commenting over the bright and colorful display, Dillon wondered if she’d ever experienced such a perfectly romantic evening. But she also wondered, had Jordan planned it to be like this—specifically with her? Or did she just happen to be at the right place at the right time? What if he’d been dancing with Vivian right before the fireworks show? Would she be sitting here now?

  When the fireworks ended, Jordan suggested the
y return to the dance. “Chelsea and Brandon must be wondering about your whereabouts.”

  “I don’t know about Chelsea, but Brandon probably is.”

  “I was surprised to see him still here today.”

  “I thought he’d have gone home by now too,” she admitted as they walked down Main Street.

  “He appears to like our little town.”

  “Yes. But not enough to permanently locate here. I’m sure of that.”

  “Seemed like he enjoyed McLaughlin’s . . .”

  Dillon weighed his words, surprised he’d mention it again. Was he really bothered by this? Or was she just hoping?

  “Can I ask you something, Dillon?” He paused beneath a streetlamp.

  “Of course. Anything.” She looked up at him.

  “Are you sure you’re really finished with that relationship? You act a little uncertain to me.”

  “I’m not uncertain,” she insisted. “It’s just that Brandon is so persistent.”

  “Some women enjoy being pursued like that.” He studied her.

  “The truth is I once wanted him to pursue me like that,” she confessed.

  “And now?”

  “Now it’s just frustrating.” She sighed. “I can’t wait for him to go home Friday.”

  “You’re sure he’s leaving?”

  “His flight is booked.”

  Jordan smiled. “Well, sorry to be so nosy . . . but I’ve been wondering.” He started to walk again. “And you have to admit, from my perspective, it looks like you guys are on-again, off-again.”

  “I can see how it might look like that. But, believe me, I’ve made myself clear to Brandon.” They reentered the park where the music was playing loudly and the crowd was lively.

  “Looks like the older generation and kids have cleared out,” Dillon observed as they went back to the table they’d been occupying earlier. Although she was hoping he’d invite her to dance, they sat down and for a bit no one said anything. She followed Jordan’s gaze out to the dance floor and, unless it was her imagination, his eyes were fixed on Vivian. She was dancing with a guy Dillon didn’t recognize. And then Brandon and Chelsea came over to join them.

  “Whew . . . I’m ready for a break,” Chelsea announced as she sat down.

  “Not me.” Brandon reached for Dillon’s hand. “And I believe you owe me a dance or two. Remember our agreement?”

  “Agreement?” But he was pulling her to her feet and tugging her out to the dance floor. “What agreement?” She paused on the sidelines.

  “You and Chelsea were supposed to take turns dancing with me. But I’ve only been dancing with Chelsea—where were you anyway?” He scowled in Jordan’s direction.

  “Just watching the fireworks from a better location.”

  “With Jordan?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  “Come on.” He wrapped an arm around her, clasping her hand. “Let’s dance.”

  Not wanting to make a scene, she let him lead her to the floor. Fortunately the music was too loud and lively for conversation, but she was determined to excuse herself when the song ended.

  She was just trying to peel herself away from Brandon when she noticed that Jordan was on the dance floor—with Vivian again. And when the next song started, feeling disappointed, she turned to Brandon. “Another?”

  He grinned. “You bet.”

  Okay, she knew she was being juvenile, but it was like she couldn’t help herself—she pretended to be having a good time with Brandon, smiling and dancing with enthusiasm. And seeing that Jordan was still dancing with Vivian—for the last song of the evening—Dillon smiled at Brandon . . . and again they were dancing. This time to a slower number.

  “Thanks for giving me the last dance,” Brandon said above the music. “I really appreciate it, Dillon.”

  She immediately recognized that look in his eyes . . . hopefulness and expectations. What had she done? As the song was ending, Brandon moved them to the sidelines of the dancers, and then, pulling her close—and holding her tight—he landed her with a kiss. A rather long and passionate kiss. And although it almost stirred some of the old feelings she used to have for him, she knew it was wrong. And she was aggravated. She pulled away as the music stopped. “Why did you do that?”

  “Because I love you, Dillon.”

  More lights were coming on now and Dillon suddenly felt like everyone was looking at them, although most people were making their way out. “We need to talk,” she said firmly and, seeing the back exit that Jordan had taken her through earlier, she led Brandon that way. Outside of the tennis court and away from curious onlookers, she told Brandon what she’d essentially told him over and over. “You’re a good guy, Brandon, but you’re not the guy for me. I want you to accept this. Once and for all.” She looked into his eyes. “Can you, please, do that?”

  He let out a disappointed sigh. “Guess I don’t have much choice.” He shrugged. “Can’t say I didn’t give it my best shot.”

  “You certainly did.” She smiled in relief. “Now I’ll bet Chelsea is looking for me. She’s my ride.”

  “I can take you home,” he said.

  “No thanks.” She headed back through the now nearly vacated tennis court, spying Chelsea on the other side. “Here I am,” she called out. “Ready to go?”

  “Yep.” Chelsea studied Dillon. “You’re sure into vanishing acts tonight.”

  “Sorry about that.” Dillon linked arms with her. “But I’m here now. And I’m ready to go home.” As they walked to Chelsea’s car, Dillon attempted to fill her in on why she disappeared. But as she explained it, she knew it sounded flaky. Not for the first time, Dillon felt like she was messing up . . . she probably appeared fickle and inconsistent and unreliable. All characteristics she disliked. But wasn’t Jordan guilty of the same? One moment, he acted like he was pursuing her . . . and then his attention would shift to Vivian. What was up with that?

  CHAPTER

  24

  There was no denying that something was off with Margot the next morning, but when Dillon found her crying in the garden, she knew it was time to intervene. “Are you okay?” Dillon asked.

  “Oh.” Margot looked up from where she was sitting in the lawn swing. “I didn’t even hear you come in here.”

  “I oiled the squeaky gate a few days ago.” Dillon sat by her.

  “Am I in your way? Do you want to work in here or something?” Margot blew her nose.

  “Not really. I just weeded yesterday.”

  “I should probably be out weeding the lavender right now.” Margot sighed.

  “Maybe not right now,” Dillon said. “It’s pretty much the heat of the day out there. You don’t want to get heatstroke again.”

  “That’s true.”

  “So what’s troubling you?” Dillon asked. “I know you’ve been down lately.”

  “I don’t know exactly . . . maybe it’s depression again. You know I’ve struggled with it before. But I was usually better in the summer months. I think I had SAD.”

  “I didn’t actually know that. I mean, I knew you had your mood swings, but have you actually been treated for depression or SAD?”

  Margot nodded. “For about ten years. But I got off antidepressants last year. I took a natural, holistic approach instead.”

  “And that works?”

  “Yeah. But lately I’ve been kinda bummed. I feel sort of lost and maybe a bit useless.”

  “Oh.” Dillon absorbed this. “Do you think it’s related to breaking up with Don?”

  Margot shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “He spoke to me at the Fourth of July dance.”

  Margot’s brows arched. “Why?”

  “He just wanted to know how you were doing.”

  “And what did you tell him?”

  “Just what you’d been up to . . . about the lavender and things . . . and that you had seemed a little sad to me lately.”

  “You told him that?” Her eyes flashed.

&nb
sp; “Well, it’s the truth. You have seemed sad. And then I find you crying.”

  “Still, it’s none of his business. And you have no right to go around gossiping about my emotional health like that.”

  “It wasn’t gossip. It was my opinion. And it’s not like I’d repeat that to anyone else. But Don cares about you, Margot. I don’t see any reason not to be honest with him.”

  “Yeah, so he can gloat. He probably thinks I’m missing him.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “I don’t know. Not really. I don’t think that’s it. It feels like something bigger . . . or something chemical. I don’t know. But I should probably make an appointment with my shrink.” She frowned.

  “Or with God.”

  “God?” She scowled. “You know I don’t believe in all that.”

  “Maybe that’s your problem.” Dillon sighed. “I couldn’t live without God.”

  “Well, I suppose that’s because you’re weaker than I am. Weak people need to rely on religion.”

  “So you think your parents were weak too?”

  “I don’t know if I’d say that.”

  “But you are saying you don’t need God?”

  “That’s right.”

  Dillon considered this. It wasn’t that she’d expected a different answer from her mother. Margot had always taken a hard stance against God. “So, what about this earth, the air you breathe, the water you drink, the food you eat . . . do you need those things?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then you must need God too.”

  “I don’t get your reasoning.”

  “Well, God created all those things. If you need those things, you must need God.”

  “Well, that’s your opinion.”

  “That’s true.” Dillon tried to think. “What about when you were a baby, Margot, did you need your parents?”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you think you knew that?”

  “I don’t know . . . I doubt it.”

  “Maybe that’s like you right now. Maybe you really need God, but you just don’t know it.”

  Margot didn’t say anything.

  “And, just now, you were crying and saying you were depressed . . . that doesn’t exactly sound like the picture of strength to me. Yet, you say that I’m weak for believing in God. Does that make any sense to you?”