In the brief quiet that follows, I jump out in front of the window and growl. “Get out of here!”
Loud, throaty screams of terror fly out of all three, as they spin on their heels and run off toward a pile of fallen bikes across the yard.
Damn kids.
The hell kind of movies do they watch these days that they can talk about eating brains and eyeballs like gummies?
With a shake of my head, I yank on my pants and boots, and head out toward the campground I searched on Marcelle’s phone. It’s a ten-minute drive up the road, and I park my car alongside a perimeter fence off the main dirt road, beneath a stretch of trees. Gathering up my bag and toiletries feels a little too familiar to me, and I think back to the first time Russ brought me to one of these places. I was twelve. Rattled and shaken. Nervous to have been driven miles away from my home, with a man I didn’t know. Had never met. One who had a more abrasive edge than what little I could remember of my own father. I took off inside that park and sought out an old couple, begging them to help me.
Russ found me, of course. He managed to convince the couple not to call the police. Told them I wasn’t right in the head. Lucky for them, sending me off with him was the right thing, because all throughout the years that followed, as many times as I tried to run, Russ always found me and brought me back.
And after a while, it began to feel like he was bringing me home each time.
Bag in hand, I hop out of the truck and jog toward the chain-link fence. After a furtive glance in either direction, where the road on both sides of me stands desolate and empty, like one of those post-apocalyptic zombie movies, I toss my bag to the other side and climb over.
“And just like that, I’m an official member of the Thousand Oak RV Resort,” I mutter, making my way toward the restroom with my chin cocked a little too arrogantly.
I pull the brown and white, floral print dress over my head, and adjust the ruffled lace along the edge of the deep V-neck. Hands stuffed into the pockets of it, I twist just enough to see the back isn’t tucked into my panties. Probably the girliest thing I own, courtesy of Tammy’s daughter. I fluff the damp curls that already saturate the fabric over my shoulders, and lean into the mirror to add a small bit of lip gloss and mascara. The only makeup I own, really.
These fancy bathrooms are nothing like the sucky places where Russ and I snuck showers. Each stall has its own toilet, sink, mirror, and a little charging station for devices. No towels, so I had to snatch one hanging out to dry on a line in one of the camps. But it’s like my own personal vanity room. The scent of mint and lavender fills my nose when I sniff my skin, before applying deodorant, and I run my fingers over my freshly-shaven and lotioned legs, before tugging on my camo hunting boots that look like an absolute eyesore with the dainty dress.
Bedroom Eyes was right.
They’re horrible.
Once finished, I gather up my belongings, unplug my camera from the outlet, and exit the stall, to find an older woman, in her sixties maybe, smiling back at me.
“Mornin’.” Her gaze trails down to my boots and back, and her smile widens. “Well, you have a nice day.”
Before she enters one of the stalls, I twist around. “Any idea where I can buy some flowers?”
“Farmers market should be open. Can get yourself somethin’ to eat dere, too. Dey have a boudin breakfast sandwich. Call it the Parrain Special, when you ask for it. Mais, it’s good. Just make your way up dis street, turn left onto main street, and it’s right in town dere.”
The in-depth directions are much more than I expect. It’s not that people in Michigan are assholes, we’re just not as friendly to strangers.
“Thank you.”
Another nod, and she disappears behind the curtain.
People bustle around tents that are set up at either side of a walkway. Like insects, they buzz in and out, gathering their goods. If I could describe the people of this island in one word it would be jubilant,