They brought their trailer, a cook stove, coolers of food, packs of cigarettes, and pots for making coffee. Kimmy came too and with her came all her baby stuff: playpen, diapers, high chair, and toys. The only thing they left behind was the TV. IT WAS LABOR Day and we were out in the woods. Richard was wedged in a fold-up chair, his foot near his nose. The canvas of the chair strained against his bulk and he carved at his big toe with his pocketknife. Kimmy was down for a nap. Peggy played solitaire at the picnic table. There was nothing for me to clean or cook. The campsite was all picked up. And for a change, they weren’t bossing me around to get cigarettes or make a pot of coffee. I pushed my hands into the pockets of my shorts and wandered toward the creek. Richard called out, “Don’t go far.” “All right,” I said. I had adapted by doing what I was told, keeping my mouth shut, and just getting along. For the most part, it wasn’t so bad and Peggy was kind to Kimmy. I admired her for that.
