and wait out the poor weather.
“Language, Sam,” my grandmother scolded.
“Sorry,” I grumbled. “How the heck is this warm?”
“Oh, I heated it up on my solar-powered hot plate,” Nora announced. She smiled, clearly proud of herself. Her broad grin was both attractive and annoying.
“Solar powered?” I echoed. “Sounds fancy.”
Nora shrugged. “Not that fancy. I got it from Target.”
“Oh.” First an air pump, then coffee, and now a solar-powered hot plate – I wondered what other gizmos this family had.
"So where are you guys from?" Nora asked conversationally. She wrapped her hands tightly around the spare collapsible cup and blew across the open lid.
“Williston, North Dakota,” my grandmother supplied as she continued to concentrate on her knitting.
“Really? I don’t hear the accent,” Nora observed. “I’ve never been to North Dakota, but I have seen Fargo. ”
My grandma chuckled. “That movie did us no blessing. That's a Minnesotan accent. Not many people where we're from talk like that.”
I stared into my coffee cup, watching the dark liquid for so long it started to look like it was moving. I took an experimental sip. It was delicious. I felt like my body was warming up from the inside. Maybe allowing this man and his daughter to tag along wasn’t going to be so tragic.
“So it’s just the three of you? Where’s your mother?” Nora asked naively.
I had spoken too soon.
I barely glanced at her. “She’s dead.” I didn’t elaborate. I didn’t want to. The hurt was still too fresh and the last thing I wanted was to start weeping in front of a stranger. Besides, it was cold and I didn’t want my top and bottom eyelashes sticking together.
“Oh. I’m sorry. That’s really rough.” The last word got stuck in her throat. Her intense sadness made me uncomfortable even though I was the one who’d just lost a parent.
“What about your mom?” I asked in return. I wasn’t really curious, but it felt like the polite thing to do.
“Oh, uh, she was in Arizona the last time I heard from her. I haven’t seen her in years though. My parents split when I was in high school and she escaped to warmer weather. How did your mom die?”
I stiffened from the question just as an intense wind gust hit our tent. You didn’t just ask people that. Didn’t this girl have any sense of decorum?
“You should go back to your tent,” I said. “It might blow away if no one’s in it.”
“But it’s staked to the ground,” Nora protested.
“Staked to frozen ground,” I pointed out. “Those metal rods will slip out of place if you just breathe heavy.”
Nora stood gracefully. “Duly noted,” she clipped. She hadn’t finished her coffee and she struggled between unzipping the tent and balancing her beverage.
“How the hell do I get out of your tent?” she grumbled. She flashed an apologetic look at my grandmother, still knitting, metal needles clicking together. “Sorry. How the heck do I get out?” she self-corrected.
I got up and effortlessly unzipped the tent for her. Seriously, who didn’t know how zippers worked?
“You’re not much of a talker, are you?” she observed, cocking her head to one side.
I heard my grandma chuckle.
I scowled. “I can talk just fine.”
Nora made a humming noise, but thankfully she made no other observations about me. She left our tent and I waited to zip up the door flap until she’d made it back to her own tent. I knew why I’d watched her until she had safely returned to her tent, but I wasn’t about to dwell on it.
My seat on my sleeping bag was still warm from Nora’s body. My grandmother shook her head and clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth.
“ What? ” I demanded. My voice sounded whiney even to my own ears.
“Would it kill you to be nice?” she sighed.
“I was being nice!” I protested. “I just
“Language, Sam,” my grandmother scolded.
“Sorry,” I grumbled. “How the heck is this warm?”
“Oh, I heated it up on my solar-powered hot plate,” Nora announced. She smiled, clearly proud of herself. Her broad grin was both attractive and annoying.
“Solar powered?” I echoed. “Sounds fancy.”
Nora shrugged. “Not that fancy. I got it from Target.”
“Oh.” First an air pump, then coffee, and now a solar-powered hot plate – I wondered what other gizmos this family had.
"So where are you guys from?" Nora asked conversationally. She wrapped her hands tightly around the spare collapsible cup and blew across the open lid.
“Williston, North Dakota,” my grandmother supplied as she continued to concentrate on her knitting.
“Really? I don’t hear the accent,” Nora observed. “I’ve never been to North Dakota, but I have seen Fargo. ”
My grandma chuckled. “That movie did us no blessing. That's a Minnesotan accent. Not many people where we're from talk like that.”
I stared into my coffee cup, watching the dark liquid for so long it started to look like it was moving. I took an experimental sip. It was delicious. I felt like my body was warming up from the inside. Maybe allowing this man and his daughter to tag along wasn’t going to be so tragic.
“So it’s just the three of you? Where’s your mother?” Nora asked naively.
I had spoken too soon.
I barely glanced at her. “She’s dead.” I didn’t elaborate. I didn’t want to. The hurt was still too fresh and the last thing I wanted was to start weeping in front of a stranger. Besides, it was cold and I didn’t want my top and bottom eyelashes sticking together.
“Oh. I’m sorry. That’s really rough.” The last word got stuck in her throat. Her intense sadness made me uncomfortable even though I was the one who’d just lost a parent.
“What about your mom?” I asked in return. I wasn’t really curious, but it felt like the polite thing to do.
“Oh, uh, she was in Arizona the last time I heard from her. I haven’t seen her in years though. My parents split when I was in high school and she escaped to warmer weather. How did your mom die?”
I stiffened from the question just as an intense wind gust hit our tent. You didn’t just ask people that. Didn’t this girl have any sense of decorum?
“You should go back to your tent,” I said. “It might blow away if no one’s in it.”
“But it’s staked to the ground,” Nora protested.
“Staked to frozen ground,” I pointed out. “Those metal rods will slip out of place if you just breathe heavy.”
Nora stood gracefully. “Duly noted,” she clipped. She hadn’t finished her coffee and she struggled between unzipping the tent and balancing her beverage.
“How the hell do I get out of your tent?” she grumbled. She flashed an apologetic look at my grandmother, still knitting, metal needles clicking together. “Sorry. How the heck do I get out?” she self-corrected.
I got up and effortlessly unzipped the tent for her. Seriously, who didn’t know how zippers worked?
“You’re not much of a talker, are you?” she observed, cocking her head to one side.
I heard my grandma chuckle.
I scowled. “I can talk just fine.”
Nora made a humming noise, but thankfully she made no other observations about me. She left our tent and I waited to zip up the door flap until she’d made it back to her own tent. I knew why I’d watched her until she had safely returned to her tent, but I wasn’t about to dwell on it.
My seat on my sleeping bag was still warm from Nora’s body. My grandmother shook her head and clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth.
“ What? ” I demanded. My voice sounded whiney even to my own ears.
“Would it kill you to be nice?” she sighed.
“I was being nice!” I protested. “I just
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