did, there wasn’t a sign of life anywhere.
“Why’s a lake need a parking lot?” I asked, pointing.
Greta looked at me like I was stupid and said, “Don’t you ever go camping?”
“In a parking lot? No. In a tent, in the woods? Totally.”
“If you’re in an RV, you don’t camp in the woods. You go to places like this. See? There are trailer hookups and a shower block over there.”
“That’s not camping,” I said. “That’s… parking .”
Two bright beams cut through the darkness.
“Car,” Greta whispered.
There was a big green metal utility box at the edge of the dam, and we crouched behind it, watching as the headlights roamed around the lot before pulling to a halt right in the center.
I peeked over the utility box. It wasn’t the red SUV or the woman’s car from the rest stop. It was just a long tan RV, towing a small trailer that held a couple of motorcycles. As soon as it was parked, its running lights and headlamps went off, and the curtained windows along its length brightened with a warm yellow glow. “It’s just a stupid motor home,” I said.
Greta stood up. “Come on. Maybe whoever’s in it has a phone.”
We were thirty feet away when the side door of the RV banged open. We flattened ourselves in the shadows and watched as a set of metal stairs extended from the side of the vehicle, and an overweight gray-haired man in neon bright shorts and flip-flops staggered out, two folded lawn chairs in his arms. “Won’t take but a minute to set up,” he called to someone inside.
He set the chairs out and then stared at the distant line of the dam for a long minute, hands on his hips. “It’s a nice night!” he said.
A woman came down the steps, holding two cans of soda. She looked almost exactly like the ma n — o lder, overweight, with neon shorts and sandals, even what looked like the same haircut. “I brought you a pop, Henry,” she said.
“Thank you kindly, Izzy,” he said, taking it from her, cracking the top, and settling his bulk into a lawn chair. She took the other chair, and the two of them quietly sipped their drinks and stared out at the reservoir.
Beside me, Greta whispered, “They’re just a couple of grandparents.”
The man named Henry called out, “Sammy? Come on out, sit a spell!”
A lanky kid with light-brown skin and an afro appeared in the doorway. He looked like he was ten or so, dressed in jeans and a yellow T-shirt. “There are only two chairs,” he said. “Where am I supposed to sit?”
“I’ve seen enough,” Greta whispered. “They are completely harmless.”
We stood and walked side by side out of the darkness.
“Hello!” Greta called, waving and smiling broadly. I copied her. We probably looked like a couple of crazies, grinning and sweeping our hands back and forth through the air like we were trying to flag down a taxicab.
Henry and Izzy squinted at us. Their faces were wrinkled and tanned, and I guessed they were in their late sixties. “Now what have we here?” Henry said.
“We’re lost,” I said.
“We were with a school group,” Greta explained, “and we kind of wandered off. And then they left without us! Anyway, could we use your phone? I need to call my dad and let him know I’m safe.”
As we talked, the kid named Sammy shook his head. He looked disappointed for some reason.
A smile burst out across Izzy’s face, and it was clear where her wrinkles had come from: She probably grinned a lot. “I’ll go and dig out our cellular telephone.” She heaved herself up the stairs into the RV.
Henry rubbed his chin and stared between us. “Did you two fall in the river? Because you look like a couple of drowned rats.” He chuckled.
“We swam across the river,” I said. I noticed the RV was super shiny and new. There wasn’t a scratch or a smudge on it. Not even the mud flaps were dirty.
The man stuck out his hand. “I’m Henry, my wife is Izzy, and that beanpole you see there is our nephew, Sammy.
“Why’s a lake need a parking lot?” I asked, pointing.
Greta looked at me like I was stupid and said, “Don’t you ever go camping?”
“In a parking lot? No. In a tent, in the woods? Totally.”
“If you’re in an RV, you don’t camp in the woods. You go to places like this. See? There are trailer hookups and a shower block over there.”
“That’s not camping,” I said. “That’s… parking .”
Two bright beams cut through the darkness.
“Car,” Greta whispered.
There was a big green metal utility box at the edge of the dam, and we crouched behind it, watching as the headlights roamed around the lot before pulling to a halt right in the center.
I peeked over the utility box. It wasn’t the red SUV or the woman’s car from the rest stop. It was just a long tan RV, towing a small trailer that held a couple of motorcycles. As soon as it was parked, its running lights and headlamps went off, and the curtained windows along its length brightened with a warm yellow glow. “It’s just a stupid motor home,” I said.
Greta stood up. “Come on. Maybe whoever’s in it has a phone.”
We were thirty feet away when the side door of the RV banged open. We flattened ourselves in the shadows and watched as a set of metal stairs extended from the side of the vehicle, and an overweight gray-haired man in neon bright shorts and flip-flops staggered out, two folded lawn chairs in his arms. “Won’t take but a minute to set up,” he called to someone inside.
He set the chairs out and then stared at the distant line of the dam for a long minute, hands on his hips. “It’s a nice night!” he said.
A woman came down the steps, holding two cans of soda. She looked almost exactly like the ma n — o lder, overweight, with neon shorts and sandals, even what looked like the same haircut. “I brought you a pop, Henry,” she said.
“Thank you kindly, Izzy,” he said, taking it from her, cracking the top, and settling his bulk into a lawn chair. She took the other chair, and the two of them quietly sipped their drinks and stared out at the reservoir.
Beside me, Greta whispered, “They’re just a couple of grandparents.”
The man named Henry called out, “Sammy? Come on out, sit a spell!”
A lanky kid with light-brown skin and an afro appeared in the doorway. He looked like he was ten or so, dressed in jeans and a yellow T-shirt. “There are only two chairs,” he said. “Where am I supposed to sit?”
“I’ve seen enough,” Greta whispered. “They are completely harmless.”
We stood and walked side by side out of the darkness.
“Hello!” Greta called, waving and smiling broadly. I copied her. We probably looked like a couple of crazies, grinning and sweeping our hands back and forth through the air like we were trying to flag down a taxicab.
Henry and Izzy squinted at us. Their faces were wrinkled and tanned, and I guessed they were in their late sixties. “Now what have we here?” Henry said.
“We’re lost,” I said.
“We were with a school group,” Greta explained, “and we kind of wandered off. And then they left without us! Anyway, could we use your phone? I need to call my dad and let him know I’m safe.”
As we talked, the kid named Sammy shook his head. He looked disappointed for some reason.
A smile burst out across Izzy’s face, and it was clear where her wrinkles had come from: She probably grinned a lot. “I’ll go and dig out our cellular telephone.” She heaved herself up the stairs into the RV.
Henry rubbed his chin and stared between us. “Did you two fall in the river? Because you look like a couple of drowned rats.” He chuckled.
“We swam across the river,” I said. I noticed the RV was super shiny and new. There wasn’t a scratch or a smudge on it. Not even the mud flaps were dirty.
The man stuck out his hand. “I’m Henry, my wife is Izzy, and that beanpole you see there is our nephew, Sammy.
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