Page 169 of Camp Bliss
“Looks like we might have an opening to get off the ground in another forty minutes, folks. So the flight crew will be coming through with a complimentary beverage service while we wait,” she says, sounding cheerful and unperturbed.
Meanwhile, I’m grinding my teeth together. I take my phone off airplane mode and send Greta another text.
Me: Spoke too soon. Storms are keeping us grounded for a while. Can you find 5 min to call me?
Ten minutes later she responds.
Greta: Can’t talk now. Remaking bed in CBS. Don’t ask.
I stare up at the control panel above my head and try not to feel like the airplane is closing in on me. The cabin is warm with impatience, body heat, and probably a disturbing amount of farts.
I shut my eyes and try to come to grips with the situation. We’ll be lucky if we take off at all. If we do, I’ll be lucky to get a rideshare or a taxi from the airport with the weather. My luggage and I will get completely drenched on the hike from the parking lot to the fifth-wheel.
And worse than any of that is the fact that when I get to our camper, Josh is going to be inside.
And right now, I can’t expect Greta to do anything else. She’s dealing with a whole lot of shit, and I love her.
I love her.
So I won’t ask her to deal with any of mine.
I mentally tell Bea Arthur 2.0 to fuck off. And then I tell her to enjoy her grandson’s play, which is probably about to start.
Just because Greta is choosing to help Josh doesn’t mean she’s choosing him over me.
At least, that’s what I tell myself as I wait for the storm to pass.
ChapterTwenty-Six
GRETA
“So you live hhhhere?... With ZZZZach?”
I ignore the question and unzip my rain jacket. It’s dripping and so is the rest of me because the rain is coming down sideways.
I doubt my Skydome is still standing. Hell, I’m not even sure it’s a good idea for us to be in the camper, but this is where we’re staying unless the National Weather Service issues a tornado warning.
I’m only sheltering in the lodge if we have to. Honestly, I just want to take a hot shower, climb into bed, and wait for Zack to get home.
He texted about twenty minutes ago to say they were getting ready to take off. Finally. I pray they aren’t diverted and can actually land in another hour.
I grab the dog towel by the door and towel Russell off with it. I’m glad he peed when he had the chance.
What a day.
I glance over at my ex who’s slumped on the camper’s couch. I told him that he could, under no circumstances, use Zach’s pullout. When he frowned and asked me where Zach would stay when he got here, I ignored that question too.
I don’t owe him any explanations.
Besides, he’s full-on drunk right now. When I got back from my grocery and supply run with a case of Stellas, he made it clear he’d just been pacing himself with what remained of the Purple Haze.
Asshole.
And, somehow, he’s not the only asshole I’ve had to contend with today. Our four overnight guests booked together. Two couples who are apparently great friends. But the woman in Camp Bliss South is an utter nightmare.
Her Happy Hour cocktail was too sweet.
The charcuterie boudin was too spicy.
