that. Not for you my simple fantasies of best-seller lists, critical acclaim, and financial independence. No. Carter Evans wanted to change the world.” He said it fondly, without accusation or derision.
“Yes,” Carter whispered.
“You did change the world, dope. Not completely. But in the whole history of humankind, only a few people have radically changed the world—and most of them were villains. You’ve changed it one person, one story at a time. And that’s something.”
Carter was still chewing that over when Keith and John came staggering up, their arms loaded with paper grocery sacks.
CHAPTER NINE!
F REDDY DROVE the rest of the way to Grants Pass, and Keith used his phone to guide him to the campground. When they arrived, three of them spent considerable time connecting the RV and getting it set up for the night, while John watched them in amusement.
“Hotels are a hell of a lot easier,” Keith complained when they were done. He wiped his forehead dramatically. “No sewage hookups.”
“And no great outdoors,” Freddy countered.
Keith scowled into the night. “There are probably bears. Or snakes. And there are definitely bugs. And it’s too dark for me to take decent photos.”
“Take photos in the morning, Dorothea Lange. For now, how about you help me cook those steaks you bought?”
“Hotels have restaurants too. And room service.” But Keith followed Freddy into the RV with a wide smile.
That left Carter and John outside, standing close together. John gazed up at the sky, where a million stars looked down at him. “It’s big, isn’t it?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah. Back home, it’s usually too cloudy to see much. And even when the night is clear, there’s too much light pollution, I guess.”
“Portland too.”
Carter briefly considered asking him which star was his. But that might come off as teasing, and he didn’t mean it that way. He remained silent. Then an idea struck him. “How about if we build a fire? We can eat around it and pretend we’re cowboys or something. Plus, didn’t you guys get supplies for s’mores?”
“What’s that?”
“You know. Graham crackers, marshmallows, chocolate.” When John looked at him blankly, Carter added, “Didn’t you ever go on a campout?”
“No,” John replied.
Right. No Boy Scouts on Mars or Alpha Centauri or wherever John thought he was from. Or maybe he had a really sad childhood—the kind that meant he never got to roast marshmallows and instead grew up more than a little messed up in the head.
Carter smiled at him. “I’ll show you. The secret to good s’mores is catching the marshmallows on fire but not letting them turn into cinders. Let’s go get some firewood, okay?”
They found a generous supply of logs stacked a few campsites away. John paid the fee before Carter could stop him, and then they each grabbed an armful to carry back.
“Don’t know if this is going to burn,” Carter said. “It’s pretty wet.” But they set the wood in the fire pit anyway, placing the extra logs off to the side.
“Now what?’ John asked.
“I’ll go see if we have a lighter. I think the RV rental guy said there was one somewhere. Hang on.”
When Carter went inside, the delicious scent of frying meat greeted him. Freddy stood at the stove with a pepper shaker in hand, while beside him, Keith stabbed potatoes with a fork. “That smells amazing. I hope you bought a lot of steak,” Carter said.
Keith leered at him cheerfully. “So you like big meat, huh?”
Carter snorted and then reached around him to open an upper cupboard, nearly bonking Freddy in the head. But he found a long butane lighter tucked among the dishes and grabbed it before shutting the door. “We’re eating outside, okay?”
“Sounds good,” Keith said, and Freddy nodded.
After pausing to pull on a fleece jacket—the evening had turned chilly—Carter went back outside.
Where John stood beside a roaring campfire.
Carter
“Yes,” Carter whispered.
“You did change the world, dope. Not completely. But in the whole history of humankind, only a few people have radically changed the world—and most of them were villains. You’ve changed it one person, one story at a time. And that’s something.”
Carter was still chewing that over when Keith and John came staggering up, their arms loaded with paper grocery sacks.
CHAPTER NINE!
F REDDY DROVE the rest of the way to Grants Pass, and Keith used his phone to guide him to the campground. When they arrived, three of them spent considerable time connecting the RV and getting it set up for the night, while John watched them in amusement.
“Hotels are a hell of a lot easier,” Keith complained when they were done. He wiped his forehead dramatically. “No sewage hookups.”
“And no great outdoors,” Freddy countered.
Keith scowled into the night. “There are probably bears. Or snakes. And there are definitely bugs. And it’s too dark for me to take decent photos.”
“Take photos in the morning, Dorothea Lange. For now, how about you help me cook those steaks you bought?”
“Hotels have restaurants too. And room service.” But Keith followed Freddy into the RV with a wide smile.
That left Carter and John outside, standing close together. John gazed up at the sky, where a million stars looked down at him. “It’s big, isn’t it?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah. Back home, it’s usually too cloudy to see much. And even when the night is clear, there’s too much light pollution, I guess.”
“Portland too.”
Carter briefly considered asking him which star was his. But that might come off as teasing, and he didn’t mean it that way. He remained silent. Then an idea struck him. “How about if we build a fire? We can eat around it and pretend we’re cowboys or something. Plus, didn’t you guys get supplies for s’mores?”
“What’s that?”
“You know. Graham crackers, marshmallows, chocolate.” When John looked at him blankly, Carter added, “Didn’t you ever go on a campout?”
“No,” John replied.
Right. No Boy Scouts on Mars or Alpha Centauri or wherever John thought he was from. Or maybe he had a really sad childhood—the kind that meant he never got to roast marshmallows and instead grew up more than a little messed up in the head.
Carter smiled at him. “I’ll show you. The secret to good s’mores is catching the marshmallows on fire but not letting them turn into cinders. Let’s go get some firewood, okay?”
They found a generous supply of logs stacked a few campsites away. John paid the fee before Carter could stop him, and then they each grabbed an armful to carry back.
“Don’t know if this is going to burn,” Carter said. “It’s pretty wet.” But they set the wood in the fire pit anyway, placing the extra logs off to the side.
“Now what?’ John asked.
“I’ll go see if we have a lighter. I think the RV rental guy said there was one somewhere. Hang on.”
When Carter went inside, the delicious scent of frying meat greeted him. Freddy stood at the stove with a pepper shaker in hand, while beside him, Keith stabbed potatoes with a fork. “That smells amazing. I hope you bought a lot of steak,” Carter said.
Keith leered at him cheerfully. “So you like big meat, huh?”
Carter snorted and then reached around him to open an upper cupboard, nearly bonking Freddy in the head. But he found a long butane lighter tucked among the dishes and grabbed it before shutting the door. “We’re eating outside, okay?”
“Sounds good,” Keith said, and Freddy nodded.
After pausing to pull on a fleece jacket—the evening had turned chilly—Carter went back outside.
Where John stood beside a roaring campfire.
Carter
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