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“This should be okay as long as we don’t give them our real names,” Emerson said. “There’s no reason why anyone should suspect we’re in this motor home.”
“We should have gotten disguises and fake IDs,” Riley said.
“That would be helpful,” Emerson said. “I didn’t anticipate television coverage.”
Riley hadn’t anticipated any of this. She could barely believe it was happening. When she’d woken up this morning her first thought had been to decide what she should wear to work. This was instantly followed by a mental reboot, because there was no work. At least not at Blane-Grunwald.
She eased the Redhawk into visitor parking and Emerson went into the office to register. Not a lot going on in the campground. It was off-season on a weekday. Mostly empty spaces. Emerson returned and directed Riley to a spot toward the back of the campground.
“Who are we?” she asked.
“Mr. and Mrs. Dugan.”
“We’re married?”
“It seemed appropriate.”
“You don’t intend to act married, do you? I mean, at night and all.”
“Do you think I should?”
“No!”
“Then I guess I won’t.”
There was a long silence.
“Was that awkward?” Emerson asked.
“Yes.”
“I could cloud your mind so you don’t remember.”
“Do not mess with my mind. Why did you pick the name Dugan?”
“I had a dog named Dugan.”
“What kind of dog?”
“Brown. I don’t remember him very well. I was quite young and we didn’t have him very long. He bit my father, and my father replaced him with a giraffe.”
“You had a strange childhood.”
“Everyone’s childhood is strange. It prepares you for the strangeness of adulthood.”
Riley maneuvered the RV into its assigned space, and Emerson jumped out and plugged them into the electrical hookup.
“All the comforts of home,” Emerson said, back in the Redhawk, settling into a swivel club chair.
“No television.”
“Is that important to you?”
“It would be nice to get the news,” Riley said.
“I get the news on my computer.”
“We don’t have one of those either,” Riley said.
