The conversation flowed freely, as it always did.
“So,” Myrtle said, peering at Aggie over her glasses before peeking at me from the corner of her eye, “was that Levi Barrett I saw here earlier?”
“He was checking on me,” Aunt Aggie said primly. “Like a gentleman, he brought me some of his mama’s lasagna and let me know that Rosemary couldn’t make it tonight.”
“Mmm,” Doris hummed. “Tall drink of water, that one.”
Harper grinned. “That’s an understatement.”
“He’s always been a good boy,” Aunt Aggie said. “Strong. Reliable. Looks like he could carry a refrigerator and still open doors politely.”
“I’d let him carryme,” Myrtle muttered. “Forget the refrigerator.”
“Some days I’m tempted to set something on fire. Those boys down at the station are something else,” Doris added.
Laughter erupted around the circle.
I focused very hard on my knitting, which currently resembled something between the potholder Harper’s Auntie Eileen started for me and a cry for help.
“And speaking of strange things,” Doris continued, popping a grape into her mouth, “you’ll never guess what happened to Eileen yesterday.”
“Someone offered to buy my trailer,” Eileen announced, and the room went quiet. She was the only one who directly owned any land in the lot; everybody else rented from Aunt Aggie. It was on the far edge by the entrance.
“…What?” Aunt Aggie finally said.
“Cash,” Eileen added. “Didn’t even blink when he quoted me the offer.”
Myrtle frowned. “Who wants to buy an old trailer?”
“That’s what I said!” Eileen threw her hands up, yarn trailing behind her. “It’s tiny and old, and the stove only works if you threaten it.”
Aunt Aggie’s eyes narrowed. “Did he say why he wanted it?”
“Nope. Just said they were ‘interested in the property.’” She made air quotes. “Which is ridiculous. It’s not like I have some glamorous lot with oceanfront views.”
“But you do own that strip of land,” Doris said slowly.
Eileen sighed. “Yes. How silly of me. He wanted my land, huh.”
A murmur rippled through the circle.
“Oh,” Myrtle said. “Well. That explains it.”
“That explains it too well,” Aggie snapped.
Harper leaned closer to me. “Something is going on, isn’t it?”
My stomach tightened. I thought of my own trailer, how close it sat to the riverbank, and how temporary everything suddenly felt.
Aggie clapped her hands sharply. “Well. Nobody’s selling anything. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. This campground is our home.”
“And if someone thinks they can buy us out,” Myrtle added cheerfully, lifting a knitting needle. “They’re welcome to try.”
Riverside Pines belonged to Aggie. She and Harold bought the land decades ago, when living this close to the river year-round was considered impractical at best and reckless at worst. After Harold died, she couldn’t bring herself to leave it empty, so she moved into this Airstream and began renting spaces to a handful of friends who needed somewhere safe and affordable. Over time, “a handful” became most of us.
Technically, we leased our spots long-term, paying monthly and pretending that made things permanent. Aggie collected rent, fixed what she could, and fought for us when she had to, but the truth was, none of us owned the ground beneathour wheels. It was her land. Her risk. Her responsibility. The only exception was Eileen. Which meant if someone wanted a foothold down here, they wouldn’t go through a committee or a holding company. They’d go through Aggie. And that didn’t sit right with me.
“Has anyone contacted you with an offer?” I asked her.
