“It’s a present.”
Sullivan had found a 1968 Wind Searcher Pop-Up Pavilion. It was a miracle.
“How long did it take you to find it?”
“Long enough that I could have come up with the menus for all of next year. You’re welcome.”
Kia hugged Sullivan with her whole body, burying her softAfro into Sullivan’s chest, feeling its rise and fall. Kia pressed her cheek to Sullivan’s chest, catching the sound of her heartbeat as they embraced.
“This is so sweet. I don’t know what to say.”
Kia took Sullivan’s hand and pulled her under the Pop-Up Pavilion.
“It’s the original canopy, isn’t it? Did Opal tell you I was taking you camping?”
“She kept your secret.”
“She must like me. You don’t keep a secret for someone unless you like them.”
“Nina could come up with some exceptions,” Sullivan said, putting her arm around Kia. “But yes. Opal and Nina both like you. Do you want to take some pictures?” Sullivan asked. “We can reenact the moment.”
“No.” A thousand times no. Everything might come crashing down around her, but this happy memory belonged to her.
“Think about all the people who’ve sat under this.” Still holding Sullivan’s hand, Kia gazed at the string lights. “All their stories. Old couples and families with kids, teenagers who bitched the whole time and then later they realized it was one of their happiest memories. And us.”
She pulled Sullivan into a hug and swayed to imaginary music. And she kissed Sullivan, languid and slow and full of affection, and their kiss became part of the story. Like Sullivan had pointed out at the fair, things didn’t have to be perfect to be wonderful.
chapter 28
Not being eatenby bears was the number one reason to camp in an RV instead of a tent. The number two reason, Kia saw as soon as they pulled into the campground, was that tents hate people. And if you weren’t getting eaten alive by your own tent, camping consisted of making millions and millions of trips to your SUV while your children jumped off every dangerous thing they could find in hopes of breaking a leg, so you’d have to drive all the way back to civilization.
“Watch this,” Kia said as she eased her truck and the RV down the narrow paved road.
Campsite number twelve waited for them. An eight-point turn positioned Old Girl over the gray water drain, and the truck pointed toward the exit for whatever reason might necessitate a fast departure.
“Now we pop up the pavilion and drink a beer.”
Kia and Sullivan stepped out and stretched their legs. At the neighboring campsite, two women in rugby jerseys explained to a boy why he couldn’t use the camping mat as a raft while a girl of about the same age stole a second mat from their pile of camping supplies and raced toward the creek.
“August Chrysanthemum Lowell!” one of the women yelled when she saw the girl splash into the water.
Another pack of kids was playing a game that seemed to involve shaking cans of soda and spraying each other with Coke.Several teenagers sat on a log, earbuds in, heads down, typing frantically on their phones.
“I should probably help,” Sullivan said. “Can you get the pavilion up by yourself?”
“Sullivan.” Kia folded her arms and pretended to glare. “Out there”—she tipped her head toward the campground—“I fear everything.” She nodded at Old Girl. “Back there, I can flush the radiator, change a tire, and filter gray water. In. My. Pajamas.”
Sullivan rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.
“Okay, Miss Point Six Percent.”
“Is it sexy?” Kia asked, climbing halfway up the ladder on Old Girl’s side and hanging off casually.
“That you can filter gray water?”
“And change a tire and flush the radiator.” Kia swung herself onto the roof of the RV.
“Yes.” Sullivan looked up at Kia. “Yes. It is.” Then in a voice loud enough to reach the children, Sullivan called, “Anyone want to see a slug the size of your arm?”
