Wasn’t that what they were calling it these days?

Another Country -16-
by Erin Halfelven

I’m probably not the densest member of the family, but it took me a while to work out what had surely been going on for years. Mason wasn’t Uncle David’s neighbor or a friend who sometimes came along on family get-togethers; they were obviously closer than that. Mason was Uncle Dave’s partner. Wasn’t that what they were calling it these days?

I watched as David waved to guide Dad in backing up the driveway to put the truck’s trailer hitch near the tongue of the camp trailer. Mason said something to John, and John glanced my way and shrugged. In reverse, the truck made enough grinding noise that I didn’t hear the exchange.

The shaggy oak and sycamore trees made a kind of green tunnel of nearly the whole driveway, and the little trailer had a layer of leaves and twigs on the roof — the sort of thing my grandfather, Mom’s dad, would call bug-scratch. We’d have to clean that stuff off and hope it hadn’t allowed any holes to form in the roof. Cyndy wouldn’t like getting rained on.

Uncle Dave signaled Dad to stop, though the coupling was still several inches apart. John looked up at the trailer after moving closer, and this time, I heard him. “I thought this was a Spartan,” he said.

“Nah,” said Dave, brushing some of the bug-scratch off the triangular structure of the trailer tongue. “It’s an Airstream, see the rounded corners? A Spartan is square-built.” He reached out and patted the bulbous front end of the trailer. “They both have polished aluminum skins, but an Airstream is easier to tow, and a Spartan has a tiny bit more room inside.”

“Hunh,” said John.

Dad joined the little group, and Mason moved closer to Uncle Dave. I hung back as they talked about…where the trailer had been built and by whom. Apparently, some aircraft manufacturer made Airstreams on their assembly line when they didn’t have enough airplane orders to stay busy. Mason disputed this politely. “No,” he put in. “That actually was Spartan did that. Airstreams were designed by airplane engineers but were built in their own plant. Still are, I think.”

I rolled my eyes, glad that Mason had stepped in to put the kibosh on a discussion that could have gone on for an hour between Dad and his older brother. They both loved trivia about anything mechanical.

A division of labor was quickly arrived at. I, being the lightest, would go up a ladder and use a rake and pushbroom to get rid of all the bug-scratch. “Won’t it just blow off when we tow it down the mountain?” I suggested.

“Maybe,” said Uncle Dave, “but it’s not legal to tow something without everything secured. You could get a ticket for anything that blows loose.”

I nodded. That made sense—traffic safety-wise.

Mason and I went to fetch the ladder and tools while Dad, John and Uncle Dave inspected wheels, tires, brakes and electric running lights.

“You and, —uh—, Uncle Dave been friends a long time?” I sort of asked.

He grinned. “About eight years. I think you were in first grade? I baked you a cake for your birthday that first year.”

“You did?” If anyone had asked, I would have assumed Mom made the cake.

“Yeah, lemon zest icing on chocolate fudge cake,” he replied.

“Oh, yeah! That’s my favorite cake! Mom makes it every year for my birthday.”

“I gave her the recipe, your uncle likes it too.”

Mason dragged an eight-foot ladder out of the tool shed, and I carried the broom and rake over my shoulder back to the trailer. The job of cleaning the roof went quickly, me with a broom and rake on the third-to-top rung, and Mason holding it steady. We moved the ladder twice to get at the whole surface and didn’t see any rust or corrosion. Lotta bird poop, though.

We were almost done when Uncle Dave came out of the interior, sneezing four times quickly. “Dusty inside,” he said. “Go get some rags and buckets. We’ll mop and wipe everything down first.”

Naturally, I got that job after Mason showed me where the mop and buckets were stored. The dust was pretty bad, and Mason gave me a scarf to cover my nose and mouth before I went inside. The trailer must seal pretty tight, despite dust getting in. I found very little evidence of insects throwing parties or spiders building webs.

“Quick job, all we need,” Uncle Dave told me. “Your mother is going to want to do it her way when we get it down to Cabarker, but no use putting her in a bad mood, showing up with it as dirty as it is now.”

I laughed. “Yeah, I get it,” I said. “Let’s stay on Mom’s good side.”

While I worked inside, Mason wiped the outside down with the broom while Dad and John dragged wooden chocks away from the tires. “There’s planks under the wheels,” I heard John say, almost right under my feet.

“Leave ‘em,” said Dad.

Uncle Dave sneezed some more, and Mason ordered him to go in the house and take a quick shower. “You don’t want to be itching and scratching the whole night.”

Coming out of the trailer about then, I blinked. That exchange, complete with Uncle Dave grousing, “Yeah, yeah,” sounded so much like an exchange between Mom and Dad that I surprised myself with a giggle.

No one noticed; Dad and John were over, messing with the wires, hooks, and cables of the trailer hitch, making sure it all worked and the safety chain was in place. Mason had taken the ladder back to the shed but had leaned the broom and rake against a tree in case we needed them again.

The tree trunk had a little bench built around it, and a yellow tomcat had claimed one end of the bench for himself. I meowed at the kitty, and he replied the same, so I sat down beside him to see if he was friendly enough to pet. He head bumped me to say, “Yes, please,” and I was scritching him behind his ears when Mason returned with a six-pack of cold sodas.

He handed one to me, set the rest on the other end of the bench and sat down a foot or so away from me. We popped the top of our drinks and dropped the tabs into a tincan nailed to the tree already half-full of the silvery openers. The cold fizz went down right, and we smiled at one another.

“So,” said Mason after another sip and a negotiation with the cat who wanted to look into the soda can himself. “Am I reading things right?”

“Huh?” I said intelligently.

He laughed. “Maybe I’m not. Let me ask another way. I haven’t heard one word from you about a girlfriend, but you’ve mentioned some guy named Josh three times.”

I felt my face turn red. I didn’t remember mentioning Josh at all. The cat climbed into my lap and flicked its tail under my chin.

“Leroy,” said Mason. “Behave. Just push him away if he turns into a nuisance.”

I didn’t say that, rather than being a nuisance, Leroy had saved me from answering a question that wasn’t actually a question. I stroked the good kitty from head to tail, pausing to rub a knuckle into the tail joint. “M-more,” said Leroy.

I looked at Mason from under my brows. My face twitched like it does when I’m embarrassed.

Mason smiled slowly.

I shrugged, dislodging Leroy from the perch he was trying to settle into on my shoulder. “Josh is a friend. We play basketball together.”

“Night basketball,” Mason asked, still smiling.

I laughed, shaking my head. But Mason was as good as Mom at getting information out of you without asking real questions. He knew, I knew that he knew, and he knew that I knew what he knew.