Subtropical storm Wendy

They enjoy planning. Debating where to go for their annual vacation. Agonizing over hotel versus B&B. Studying the map for the best and safest route. Calculating mileage against posted speed limits. Learning which rest stop has a gas station and clean facilities. Researching and rejecting sights, attractions, and possible side trips. All this is as much fun as the trip itself. More, maybe.

Months ahead of the trip, they will make lists. Adding items, scratching off others, often adding them to the list again. They will ponder and worry, study weather patterns for where they are going. Each time they use an item; they will weigh the merits of bringing it along.

One week before the trip the suitcases come out. They will gather those items they have on their list and scratch it off. They may add a few, taking a few away. And they will pack at least one “you-never-know” bag.

This year, having visited all other worthwhile spots in their state, they sigh and decide they should go to the beach. With fingers crossed they reserve a cabin on one of the many barrier islands. All the resources they consult describe the island as warm and tropical - they hope it won’t be too warm or too tropical. They pray that they won’t see unfamiliar and possibly poisonous creatures slithering, buzzing, crawling, or creeping about. Or too many loud and intrusive tourists nearby. Now and then, one or the other will come close to asking if they should cancel. But then they put on a brave face and say they are looking forward to seeing the ocean.

On Monday, assuming that most casual drivers will travel on the weekends, they set off early. As usual, they scheduled four hours of travel before their first fifteen-minute stop to use facilities and eat the sandwiches they made the night before. Then they will drive another three hours, allowing for rush hour traffic, before they check into the cabin.

As soon as the city traffic is behind them, Gladys pushes the audio tape of Angela’s Ashes into the deck. Raptly they listened to the author read his own work, marveling at his intonation, pacing and sensitivity.

Only two hours into the trip, Gladys apologizes and requests that Vern pulls into the next rest stop. He stays with the car while she uses the facilities. When she returns to the parking lot, Vern is talking to a young lady. Worried that something is wrong, knowing that something must be wrong, for he never speaks to young ladies, Gladys hurries to the car.

“Hi y'all” The young lady, who, on closer inspection looks younger and less ladylike, greets Gladys. “Y'all must be Gladys. Stoked to meet you. I’m Wendy. As I was saying to Vern here, I know it’s a lot to ask, but I was hoping all y'all wouldn't mind giving me a ride. My old man, well he isn’t my old man anymore, now, is he? He took off without me. Left me stranded here. And I really need a ride.” Wendy takes a quick breath and continues.

“Been hanging around here for more than a day. Don’t want to go off with just anyone, you know? But I took one look at you two and decided you look like such a nice comfortable, honest couple. I’d feel ever so safe riding with all y’all.”

Vern looks at Gladys, there is a lost-little-boy look in his eyes. Gladys stares at the girl and then at Vern. She wonders, could it be true? Are they, Vern and Gladys, a nice, comfortable, and honest couple? Yes, of course, they are. Gladys straightens her spine and lowers her shoulders. Not having a list to follow, Vern follows his wife’s example.

“Where are you going, Miss …?”

“Ah, just call me Wendy, love. I have friends all over this state. Y'all can drop me off anywhere.”

Gladys takes another good look at Wendy. “We were about to have lunch…”

“Great! I know a cool place not too far from here. The owner is a great guy. I’ll show you. It’s not far, really.”

Of course, “this place” is not on the route Vern and Gladys planned to follow. Wendy takes them many miles in another direction altogether. The “cool place” is a barbeque drum next to a small, two-wheel trailer. Three picnic tables are clustered under a tree, at the side of the road. Attending the barbeque is a bear of a man, dressed in a sleeveless t-shirt, baggy shorts, and an apron. His big grin is permanently etched on his face, his hug is just this side of painful. Vern gets a crushing handshake and a slap on his back that starts a coughing attack. The pulled-pork sandwiches are surprisingly delicious, though very messy. The half roll of brown paper towels, possibly liberated from a gas station washroom, is barely enough to sop up all the juicy bits, pieces.

“Boss, here, asked me if we could take lunch to his pappy. It’s not far. He’d be much obliged, and lunch will be on the house.”

Both Vern and Gladys glance toward the roof of the small trailer. “On the house?” Vern asks.

“Free.” She laughs. “You’re funny, Vern.” Surprised at her comment, Vern preens.

“And where does his pappy live?” Gladys asks.

“Oh, I’ll show you. Pappy is a cool guy, like you two.”

Vern looks at Gladys. Gladys imagines being “cool like pappy” and nods.

Pappy lives a bit further from the route Vern and Gladys so painstakingly mapped out. The old man, easily ninety, is “over the moon” to get his lunch and proudly shows Vern his collection of hubcaps. And since they are going that way, could they give pappy and his laundry a ride to his daughter’s? The daughter wonders if they could give them a ride to the nail salon when pappy’s granddaughter works. The granddaughter wonders could they drop off this one teensy package at Aunt Edna’s. Aunt Edna wonders could they give her a ride to her husband’s barbeque stand. By the end of the day, Gladys and Vern have met the whole family and are back at the barbeque stand eating ribs. Very messy, yet very delicious ribs.

“Aren’t they just the nicest family? So close.” Wendy gushes as she tears at the last slivers of meat. “Now, all I need is a place to crash and I’ll be as done as this pig here.” She wipes her mouth with a few sheets of paper towels and reaches for another rib. “But no, all y’all want to be on your way. I can’t ask you to …” She says as she tears at the rib.

Vern doesn’t look at Gladys but focuses on his dinner.

“Ask us what?” Gladys asks carefully.

“To take me into Charleston. My friend works at a club, she’ll put me up for a few nights.”

“Charleston? You mean drive into Charleston?” Vern has lost his appetite because he isn’t comfortable driving in big cities, especially at night.

“Don’t worry, it’s easy. I’ll show you the back ways. No traffic whatsoever.”

The club is nothing like anything they could have imagined. The music is loud. The lights are low, except the ones pointing to the stage with the  gleaming pole where … Gladys yanks on Vern’s arm. “Don’t look!” She hisses.

“But …”

Wendy drags them along. “Come have a seat here at the bar. This is Jake, he’s a friend of mine. Jake, these nice people have been helping me out all day. Be good to them, will you, while I look for Mercedes.”

Jake nods. Between other orders, he places tall glasses in front of Gladys and Vern. “Enjoy, nice people.”

They look at the tall glasses and thank Jake. The drinks look like coke but don’t taste like cokes. They agree, this is much better. Could this be Pepsi, or maybe Dr. Pepper? When Jake puts another round in front of them, they forget to ask.

With a groan, wondering why her mouth feels as if she chewed on cotton balls, Gladys carefully opens her eyes and looks around the room. The thin calico curtains are drawn but not meant to withstand the early morning sun. Gingerly, she crawls out of bed and leaves the room.

“Oh, good morning, love.” Wendy is too loud and cheerful by half. How come Gladys didn’t notice before that this child was so cheerful?

“Where are we?” Gladys croaks.

“We’re at the cabin you booked. Remember? Here, have some juice.”

Gladys nods slowly. “I remember booking it. But I don’t remember checking in.”

“Oh, I did that for you. I found the cooler in the trunk of the car. You brought everything to make loaded westerns. Did you enjoy yourself last night? All y’all were a big hit at the club. Really let your hair down and boogied. So cool!”

Gladys automatically touches her hair; no, it is still snug in the bun on the top of her head. She’s not quite sure what “boogie” means, but Wendy says it was cool.

Gladys’ eyes widen when Wendy cracks a week’s worth of eggs in a bowl. “What did you say you are you making?” she hesitates to ask but needs must.

"Omelets. Looking at all you packed in this cooler, I’d say you’re a gourmet cook, aren’t you, Glad?”

After breakfast Wendy says they must see the beach before the rain starts. The three trudge through the loose sand till they come to the water’s edge. Wendy rushes ahead, prattling on about nature and feeling in tune.

Vern looks at Gladys. Gladys nods. They turn around and reach the car just as the sky opens up. They are on the road, back the way they came, straight home. One day of Wendy is as much vacation as they can take.

Next year they might splurge on some new lounge chairs for their patio.