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Christmas in
San Diego? Why can’t we have it in Canada instead?”
    Alex threw his hands up. “One of the points
of this trip is so we don’t see snow for an entire year. What’s the
freaking point of going to Canada?”
    “ But
that’s my point. We can if we want to. We don’t have to be on a
schedule. We don’t even have to go to San
Diego if we don’t want to. We can go to
Vegas directly from Seattle and skip California
entirely.”
    “ But
we have to be in San Diego for Christmas.”
    “What the hell for?”
    “ Because I
have something planned !”
    We stood on
either side of the pullout table, our
breathing heavy with anger and frustration. A vein in Alex’s temple
throbbed.
    This was one
of those times we spoke about and I
should have walked away before my irritation got the better of me.
We were arguing about something more than San Diego, I just didn’t
know what.
    Alex’s
eyes flashed with disappointment and hurt before he clenched his already
tight fists. He kicked the now broken chair before storming off
toward the showers, toiletry kit in hand.
    I dropped my head and looked at the ground
between my feet. “Fuck.”
     
     
    AFTER
ALEX fled to the showers, I didn’t see
him for three hours. I stayed with Maude, cleaned up the breakfast
dishes, and stored everything away. I wasn’t angry anymore, I
wasn’t even annoyed; I was miserable we’d fought in the first
place. The worst part was, we hadn’t even argued about anything. So
much for having a fight plan.
    I picked up
Alex’s chair and had a look at the broken leg hoping I could somehow fix it, but the wood had snapped clean
off. I didn’t know if it could be repaired and the only tools we
had belonged to a mechanic, nothing to mend a broken chair
leg.
    I sat on the rear bumper and sighed
heavily.
    “Need some help there?”
    I looked up
and saw the old man from the next campsite standing near our fire
pit, toolbox in hand.
    “ Got
anything to repair a busted leg?” I
asked, holding up the broken pieces of wood.
    “ Sure, I used
to be a carpenter back in the day, I can fix it up just like new.”
His voice was as rough as gravel, which came with age, but his
smile was friendly.
    “ I’m Ernest,
and my wife over there is Audrey,” he said, pointing to his
van.
    “ I’m Josh.
It’s nice to meet you.” I shook his hand, then waved to his wife,
who appeared to be packing up. She smiled and waved but didn’t come
over. “Do you really think you can fix it?” I asked, handing Ernest
the pieces.
    “ It’s a
relatively clean break,” he told me as he examined the pieces of
wood. “I have some wood glue and with a few screws it should be
fine. Just don’t go making your boyfriend angry again,” Ernest said
with a soft smile.
    I didn’t correct him.

CHAPTER FOUR
August 3rd
Whitefish, Montana
    AFTER LEAVING South
Dakota, we headed southwest along I-90 before turning north on I-15
and into the mountains of northwestern Montana. We decided to spend
a day hiking through the Glacier National Park, following an
elderly couple on the trails. We weren’t hiking with them, per se,
just following a little behind. We figured if we came across a
bear, we could outrun them. Bears notwithstanding, hiking was hard
work when you weren’t used to it and I was a little ashamed we were
outdone by old people. We collapsed in the back of Maude late that
afternoon and didn’t wake until the next morning.
    My legs were
still a little stiff when we stopped in
Whitefish for lunch a couple of days later. We were sitting in a
diner after starting a load of laundry when Alex said, “Thanks for
fixing the chair.” It was the first mention of our fight since he’d
returned from his three-hour ‘shower,’ apart from a brief apology
from each of us. It had taken a whole day for the tension to
disappear.
    “You should be thanking Ernest. It was lucky
he used to be a carpenter.” I smiled at him, knowing this was
another apology.
    “Ernest?”
    “