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A deep woof rouses me. I didn’t think I fell asleep, but I must have—the sun is at a different angle now. Struggling with the locking levers, I finally get the chair moving and rotate my feet to the ground. “What time is it?”
No one answers. Bundling the blanket under my arm, I struggle to my feet. The campsite is empty. Laughter and another woof draw my eyes to the lake. Matt and Blake stand on the shore, throwing a frisbee back and forth. The dog chases from one man to the other, trying to snatch the disk out of the air. Every few throws, one of the men lets the disk sail by, and the dog catches it before it hits the ground, then returns it to the thrower.
Rachel sits in the other lounger, which has been relocated to the shore. Three more people splash water at each other, knee deep in the lake. I drop the blanket into my chair and grab a bottle of water from the cooler before making my way to the water.
Matt looks up as I approach, then tosses the frisbee at his brother. He lifts both hands. “I’m out.” He turns to me. “You were out cold. Haven’t been sleeping well?”
I shrug. “You know how it is. Strange bed in a new place. Usually, I settle in after the first night, but there’s hardly any noise at the Gasthaus. It’s unnatural.” I don’t mention that I slept like a baby at his house, despite a similar lack of noise.
He chuckles. “Yeah, they get that complaint all the time. Maybe we can get a road crew to work on the street tomorrow morning.”
I chuckle. “On a Sunday?”
“Good point. I’ll schedule it for Monday.”
“Don’t bother. I’m moving to the Ranch tomorrow. Sylvia got me a short-term rental for the rest of the month.”
He nods, then points at the lake. “We’re going to start working on dinner in a few minutes, but you’ve got time for a swim, if you want.”
I give a dramatic shudder. “If it’s not heated, I’m not going in.”
He turns toward the tent, putting his arm out to sweep me along with him. “Then I’ll put you to work. You can peel the potatoes.”
Back at the campsite, he pulls a large plastic bowl out of the crate, dumping potatoes onto the table. “There’s a peeler in the silverware caddy. I’m going to get some water.”
While he fills the bowl at a nearby spigot, I find the peeler and sit on the bench to start peeling. I’ve got the first one almost done when he returns. “Nice work. I’m surprised a big-time Hollywood star even knows how to do that.”
I poke the peeler at him. “Believe it or not, I had a fairly normal childhood. I lived with my mom. I think she was a bartender when she met my dad. Of course, she didn’t have to work after the divorce—the settlement was pretty generous, and he sent a hefty child-support check like clockwork.” I give a dry laugh that only sounds a little bitter. “Probably completely automated.” I pick up the next spud. “But my mom made sure I did all the normal kid things. I worked at a fast-food place in high school.”
While I peel, Matt slices the potatoes and drops them into the water. The others wander back to the campsite as we work, the swimmers taking turns in the tent to change clothes. I say hi to Rob as he stops to grab a beverage then takes a seat by the fire ring. When I finish peeling, Matt slices some onions, then drains the potatoes and divides them between two sheets of foil. He adds the onions, a couple of pats of butter, and some salt and pepper, then folds the tops over to seal the packets. “These will go on the grill.”
Blake fires up the grill. Rachel introduces me to Dylan and Jamie, then passes out beverages to everyone. Rob and Matt pull out a folding table and some chairs from another large, black SUV. Jamie tosses a red checkered tablecloth over it, and Dylan produces a box of cupcakes which he puts in the center.
It’s still light out when we sit down for dinner, even though it’s already eight o’clock. Matt notices me looking at my phone screen. “At this time of year, sunset isn’t until after nine.” He hands me a glass of wine. “Prost.”
“Cheers.” I clink the stemless wine glass against his. “These are real glass!”
“Camping doesn’t have to be rustic.” Rachel waves at the meal spread out in front of us. “Blake even has a fridge in his truck. That’s where we kept the steaks.”
We eat, and the entire meal is delicious. I learn Dylan is a chef, and Jamie teaches math with Rachel. Rob doesn’t talk much, but his occasional contributions are thoughtful and well-articulated. Conversation ranges from movies and books to the current news and even politics. These six people have obviously been friends for a long time—even their arguing is friendly.
I think about similar dinner parties I’ve attended in Hollywood—if you can call them similar. I went to a meal by a lake once—it was catered by professionals and included forty guests. Any discussion of politics would likely have ended with a fist fight. Or a lawsuit.
As we finish the meal, the sun disappears behind the mountains. Blake hangs a couple of battery-powered lanterns around the site, and Rachel pulls a bottle out of the cooler. “Rinse out your wine glasses—I didn’t bring any others.”
Blake passes a bottle of water, and everyone pours a little into their wine glass then dumps or drinks it. Rachel comes around the table, pouring a small serving into each glass. Matt puts a hand over the top of his. “I’m driving.”
She glances at me, then at the motorcycle. “You’re not going already, are you?”
“That depends on what you have planned.” Matt jerks his head at Rob. “I’m not playing poker with that one.”
“Smart move.” She moves on to pour some in my glass.
“What is it?” I whisper.
“Marionberry schnapps. Local distillery. It’s really good.” He grabs the remaining water and pours it into his glass. “But it’s strong, and I prefer to get you home in one piece.”
