The Leisure Seeker Read Online Free Page B

down. People live around here. Why don’t you get up and make it yourself? You’re not crippled.”
    “Maybe I will.”
    He won’t. I don’t think he really knows where anything is in the camper anymore. He just sits there stewing. This is the price I pay for him being sweet as pie all day long. Maybe it was just that he had something to do. We never usually drive this much. It seems to help when he has something to occupy him.
    “How about a cup of tea?” John says, like it’s a new idea that came to him just this second.
    “All right,” I say.
    I get up and make us both a cup of tea.
     
    It’s night and John is miraculously sleeping again. I, of course, can’t doze off to save my life. I’m not used to the camper yet, how closed in it is, like some rolling tan-and-brown striped recreational sarcophagus. The Leisure Seeker really is quite small. At the moment, I’m just across from the side rear door, sitting in our social area. It’s a little Formica table with a plaid cushioned bench on either side. This is where we eat or play cards (or sometimes sleep if you’re me). Across from here is my kitchen with a three-burner stove (which I never use), a tiny radar range, a sink about the size of a dishpan, and a little fridge. The bed where John is sleeping is at the very back just under the rear window. It’s a couch that folds out to a double bed. The world’s smallest bathroom is right nearby, which is helpful when you get up as much as we do in the middle of the night. There’s another sleeping space above the driver’s compartment that hasn’t been used in years, as well as various closets, storage spaces, and cubbyholes. At the very front are the captain’s chairs, big overstuffed adjustable seats for the driver and the passenger. They’re by far the most comfortable seats in the house.
    We got the Leisure Seeker a long time ago, so while the decor isn’t exactly current, it’s still pretty. It’s done in earth tones—wood-grain paneling; harvest gold and avocado green curtains; nubby gold, green, and brown plaid upholstery, all still in beautiful Scotchgarded condition. We take care of our things.
    I know some people don’t consider what we do to be camping, and I suppose it’s not particularly rustic, but I’ve always found it to be a happy medium between hotels and really roughing it. The only reason we ever really started was to save money. We had a little Apache pop-up camper that we hauled around for quite a few years. We could camp for about two dollars a night. It was cheap and fun and I always thought that the kids loved it. But neither Kevin nor Cindy camp now. They tell me now that when they were kids, they would have much preferred to stay in motels with pools and TV and restaurants. Oh well, tough titty.
    I pull myself up from the table, open the side door, step outside, and listen to the night. It’s quiet now and I can hear the semitrucks highballing down the freeway in the distance. That sound makes me yearn for something, but I don’t exactly know what. I used to find it soothing back when we had a camperful and would pull over to some trailer park next to a freeway, bone tired, but pleased over how much distance we’d covered.
    I decide that maybe a drink would help me get to sleep. I drag out the bottle of Canadian Club that I made sure we packed, and I mix myself a little highball with some 7UP. It goes without saying that I’m not supposed to drink, but hell, I’m on vacation. I settle back down at the table with my drink, listen to the faraway grind of the trucks, and start to feel more comfortable right away.
     
    I wake up at 6:40 with a headache and a bladderful. After I visit the bathroom, I fill our electric kettle and plug it in. Outside, it’s just getting light. I hear chickadees chattering over the sound of car doors slamming shut. John, still in bed, is a little restless. When he opens his eyes, he turns to me and speaks in a surprisingly matter-of-fact