RV There Yet? (26 page)

The Rocky Mountain National Park is a stone's throw away from the camp. As we inch upward, John Denver's voice croons the lyrics of “Rocky Mountain High” over the radio, and we all bellow along.

“I can't believe we're finally here,” I say, looking at familiar sights I haven't seen in years.

“Me either,” Lydia says. Silence takes over the motor home as we make our way toward Aspen Creek in awe. Up ahead two tree logs stand parallel, and one log is stretched horizontally on top of them, forming the entrance that's marked Aspen Creek Bible Camp. Millie hops out and goes to work with her camera.

Upon seeing a shady nook a short distance away, I remember Lydia and Greg carved their initials on one of those logs and got suspended from the activities one night for defacing property.

“Do you remember—”

“Don't remind me,” Lydia says. “I missed out on the Nerd Dance thanks to Greg's bright idea,” she says, pulling into the parking lot near the camp's office and shutting off the engine.

“Aspen Creek. It seems like we've only blinked, and now here we are all these years later,” Millie says.

“Something about being at this place makes me want to pull out my bell-bottom jeans and psychedelic tees,” I say.

Millie laughs. “Oh my goodness, you wore some of the craziest concoctions, DeDe.”

My nose lifts in defiance. “Fashion, Millie. It's called fashion.”

“Yeah, well, I think you made up your own
fashions
as you went along.”

Lydia turns around and looks at us. “You know, with it being a little cooler up here in the mountains, I think we could get by opening the windows. What do you think?”

“Sounds good to me,” I say.

The three of us quickly slide open the windows, and once we're finished, Lydia turns to us with a smile. “Well, are we ready to go?”

We nod, and she leads the way through the door. Gravel grinds and twigs snap beneath our shoes as we walk toward the office. My palms feel moist, and my heart is racing with the reality of where I am.

“Do you smell that?” I ask after taking a deep breath. Lydia inhales.

“What are you two doing?” Millie asks.

“Taking a whiff of our youth,” I say.

“Eew,” Millie says. “Don't you remember how the guys smelled after a day of hiking?”

“Thanks for the reminder, Millie,” I say.

We step through the office door into a rustic setting where three desks flank the room. I smile at the young receptionist. “Hello, we're here to see—”

“DeDe, Millie, Lydia!” a voice squeals, and soon Beverly Hamilton comes running with arms outstretched. Before I can take a breath, she pulls me into a hard squeeze. “How are you?” She gives me no time to answer and moves on to hug Millie and Lydia. “Oh my goodness, how long has it been?” She barely pauses to catch her breath. “We are going to have such fun.” She releases her hug and claps her hands together. “I can hardly wait. It's so great to see you.” Her jawline is all but nonexistent, and her chubby cheeks radiate a happy shade of pink while fine lines gather at the sides of her sparkling blue eyes. Still, Beverly has never looked more endearing than right at this moment.

“It's been too long,” Lydia says. “Same sweet, smiling Beverly.”

“And why shouldn't I smile? I'm having a good life,” she says, and we all know that's not true. She lost her husband to an aneurysm three years ago, and she has to be worried about the camp. It's closed this year, and we can only hope it will open again one day. But Beverly is not one to complain. Ever. Well, all except for that time Carolyn Newfeld shorted her bedsheets. Beverly tried to get into her sheets for a good half hour before she finally gave up.

“So are there very many alumni here?” Millie asks.

A shadow flitters across Beverly's plump face. “It turns out more have had to back out than I anticipated. Work problems, health issues, family trouble.” She tips her head and smiles. “But it's okay. We've received lots of donations, and we have a few people coming. Plus the Aspen Creek Community Church ladies are helping out.” She shrugs. “I figure this camp is in the Lord's hands. It's up to Him if it survives or not.”

“So have you heard from Tony—”

Millie cuts me off. “George, David, Ralph?” She grins, embarrassing me.

The light of remembrance comes to Beverly's eyes, then she frowns. “I'm sorry, DeDe, none of them can make it. But they sent their best wishes along with photos of their families. Let me just say things turned out for the better.” She walks over to her desk.

We all laugh, but I can't deny the twinge of disappointment I feel.

Beverly walks back to us and shows us pictures of the guys. “Oh my,” I say upon seeing Tony's family.

“Yeah, that's what I thought. Tony didn't strike me as the type to want twelve kids,” Beverly says.

“That could have been you, Dee,” Lydia says.

I feel as though I've barely escaped death.

Photos of George, Ralph, and David follow. Let me just say I'm happy in my singleness.

Just then the door shoves open behind us, and we turn to see who it is.

Beverly squeals again and scoots past us to pull the guy into her trademark bear hug. He towers over her five-foot-two-inch frame. He's dressed in chinos and a crisp, blue, freshly laundered button-down shirt that's open at the neck. His muscular arms enfold Beverly in a friendly hug, and finally she turns to us.

“You remember who this is?” she asks, eyes shining.

Millie and Lydia nod, but it's all I can do to close my mouth short of drooling.

“You don't remember me, do you, DeDe?” he asks, his keen blue eyes glistening. Gray strands work through his thick dark hair, giving it a light frost. He stares into my eyes, causing my heart to give a little leap. Okay, it leaps as though I've just been goosed.

“I'm sorry. I'm terrible with names.” But how could I forget those eyes?

“I thought maybe you'd remember the nerd who took you to camp prom. You didn't care what other people said; you allowed me to take you anyway.” His gaze stays glued to mine. There's a definite zip in my adrenaline here. Reality hits me like a splash of cold water, causing my jaw to drop.

“Steve Knight?” My voice cracks as I remember the night I got mad at the guys in the camp for fighting over me, so I opted to go with Steve instead. Let me just say here and now that this man in no way, shape, or form resembles the gangly, ruddy-faced kid who took me to prom.

“That's me,” he says almost sheepishly.

“You've really, um, changed,” I say, resisting the urge to squeeze his biceps.

“I hope that's good.”

“It's good,” I blurt before he can blink. My heart is banging against my chest like a woman shoving her way to a blue-light special. That's it. No more caffeine.

He shrugs. “I've been working out a little to shake that nerd image.”

Oh, trust me, you've shaken it way off
.

His eyes twinkle. “Anyway, it's great to see you again. And I'm glad you remember me.”

“I remember.” Wish I had put on my other jeans. The ones I'm wearing make my hips look too big. I tell myself not to squirm or mess with my hair. My hair! The wind has wreaked havoc with it. It's probably standing up like the crest of a cockatoo.
Don't touch
it. Whatever you do, don't touch it right now.

A smile lifts the corners of Millie's mouth ever so slightly. What's that all about?

“Well, change looks good on you,” Beverly says in her happy-go-lucky voice, breaking the tension. Without any hesitation whatsoever, she claps her hands again. “Shall we tour the camp?” She turns to the door, and we follow close behind her.

Steve looks away, and my fingers quickly work through my hair, smoothing down the strays, making sure I'm not a total slob. A quick pinch of my cheeks should help with the pasty look of death too. I mean, hello, everyone wants to look their best when they see old friends, right?

Harley engines vroom outside, causing us all to look up. It's Eric Melton and his entourage. They pull into the parking lot and climb off their metal horses. Millie, Lydia, and I lock eyes. Lydia will have some explaining to do.

“Well, Beverly, how are you?” Before Beverly can answer, Eric scans the crowd and his eyes stop at Lydia. He walks over to us. “You mean my little speech was so convincing, you decided to come after all?” He exchanges a glance with his cronies and nods as if to say, “I'm da man.”

“Excuse me. I believe it was
my
little speech that convinced them to come,” Beverly says, grabbing Lydia's arm to pull her away. She stops a moment and looks back at Eric. “By the way, who are you?” Suspicion sparks from her eyes as she holds Lydia's arm protectively.

Eric runs the palm of his hand above his ear to smooth his hair. All five of them. Okay, ten. Tops.

Beverly's eyes grow wide. She drops her hand from Lydia's arm. “Eric Melton?”

“One and the same,” he answers as big as you please. It's obvious to me that Eric doesn't mind in the least that his appearance has changed. He's comfortable in his skin. Actually, he's downright pleased with his skin. I think we'll just leave him in his delirium.

We make the necessary introductions, then Eric and the Biker Boys, er, uh, the Looney Tunes, join us on a tour of the camp.

Beverly turns around. “Oh, before I forget. I've set up a concert for us all. It's another way to generate more money. I don't know what kind of talent we have between us, but I know Eric and the boys play guitars, Steve and DeDe sing, I can play the keyboard, Millie plays the trumpet, and Lydia can provide refreshments.”

Whoa, rewind. Did she say, “Millie plays the trumpet”? I'm thinking that whole memory loss thing is catching.

She smiles here. “Whatever we lack, the Aspen Creek church ladies will help by gathering up their church's talented and bringing them over to join us. They will also provide us with instruments, so I was hoping each of you could work up a number or two.”

Hope sparkles in her eyes. How can we say no to that? We smile and nod.

“Great.” She claps her hands and turns to lead the way through the camp. I'm still thinking she might want to reconsider Millie's trumpet number, or we might have to refund some tickets.

“Oh, look!” Lydia points toward an open meadow where a herd of elk is grazing on sagebrush and bitterbrush.

Beverly lifts a proud smile as though she has something to do with it. “They come here often. I never get used to it.” Beverly turns toward the forest. “I don't know if you remember, but we have subalpine fir, aspen, and limber pines through the forests.”

I never could remember all the names, but I love the smell of pine circling us with the breeze. I look back toward the elk and notice the colorful wildflowers that dot the open meadow. I think the Colorado columbine is one of my favorite wildflowers.

“Oh, look!” I say, pointing toward a red squirrel that scurries across the road in front of us. “Isn't that a pine squirrel?”

“Yes, or a chickaree,” answers Millie, ever the librarian.

Watching the chickaree scamper up a tree, I remember why I loved this place as a kid.

Beverly smiles. “We have all kinds of critters around here. Let's see, the birds are Clark's nutcrackers, ruby-crowned kinglets, gray and Steller's jays. You might see a snowshoe hare and, yes, even a black bear.”

Behind me, Lydia gasps. “Don't remind me.”

“No need to worry, Lydia. As long as you're smart about keeping food picked up, they're not going to bother you.”

Lydia doesn't look convinced.

“As you can see, we have some trees down that need to be cleared out, underbrush that needs to be removed, that sort of thing. Over there are the dorms.” Beverly points in the direction of a couple of brown wooden buildings. “They are in a bad state. Leaky roofs, loose floorboards. They're too old. The church folks do what they can to volunteer their services, but, well, there's just so much work to do and so few workers. The good news is, we have updated our kitchen to meet the new state regulations, and we've added air-conditioning in the dining area,” she says, looking proud. “Still, as you can see, there's plenty to do.” She turns to the guys. “I sure hope you all know something about building repair.”

“I'm pretty good with a paintbrush, and I've been guilty of using a hammer and a saw,” Steve says with a grin.

The Biker Boys throw out their chests, nod, and grunt, assuring Beverly they know all about building repair. Eric tugs at his belt buckle, yanks his pants up, and lifts his chin. “I know about that stuff, Bev. You don't need to worry; we'll get it fixed up.” He glances at Lydia and winks.

Beverly just glows with his comment. 'Course, I could be wrong. She might be working up a sweat. I mentally calculate that she should be right around her early fifties, so I'm guessing she's doing that whole hot flash thing too.

We walk through the dorms, taking in the chipped and faded paint on the walls, rusty nails and door hinges, loose floorboards, and leak stains on the ceilings. We evaluate the needed work and continue on through the cafeteria and chapel. The work appears almost daunting, but the guys insist we can do it.

I don't mean to be a downer here, but with the amount of people who have turned up to help, I have my doubts.