“I think you need more sunscreen,” Dale told his wife, as he stood up and moved his lawn chair aside.
“I’m fine,” Donna said, barely looking up from her sudoko puzzle.
“No, this desert sun can really bake a person,” Dale insisted. “And that glare off the side of the trailer’s probably making it worse. You don’t want a sunburn.”
Donna just laughed. “I put on more sunscreen about 10 minutes ago. I know what you’re up to. You don’t have to make up excuses. Go on inside and call Jeff again. See what’s happening on the farm. But don’t keep him too long. He’ll stop taking your calls.”
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Instead of relaxing in the sun on their second day in the Yuma trailer court, Dale had been pacing around their site. Day 1 had been busy. He’d hooked up the water and sewer, checked the appliances, set up yard decorations and taken a tour of the trailer court. After supper he’d helped Bill and Edna, the older couple in the site next door, put together a new barbecue.
“We were worried about your dad when we heard he’d had that stroke,” Bill had said to Dale. “Too bad he’s not up to coming down, but it’s nice that you’re using the spot. Ed prepaid for this season. Someone might as well use it.”
“We’re not ready to retire,” Dale had said. “But there’s no point leaving Ed’s trailer in the shed all winter.”
“Maybe you can give me a hand with my trailer slide tomorrow,” Bill said. “It’s sticking a bit on the north side.”
“I can help you tackle that.” Dale was happy to have a project to look forward to.
But the next morning, Bill and Edna had headed out in the car before Dale got outside, and they hadn’t been back all day. With Ed’s trailer in order, Dale didn’t know what to do with himself, and Donna wasn’t helping.
Dale went inside and called home again, to make sure Jeff was all right on his own. When he came back out into the sun, Dale looked grim.
“Everything OK at the farm?” Donna asked
“It’s cold.”
“It’s January in Saskatchewan.”
“No. Really cold. Too cold for the school bus. Jenny’s preschool class was cancelled because the teacher didn’t want to drive to town. Mark couldn’t get to work this morning — his truck wouldn’t start, but Jeff didn’t need him anyway. The Harmons were supposed to bring their durum for Jeff to clean, but they couldn’t get their auger running.”
“Doesn’t sound like we’re missing much,” Donna said, frowning down at the page as she tried to figure out whether the missing number in the corner was a six or a two.
“Well, no. But there’s lots we could be doing. What if our water pipes freeze? What if the furnace quits?” He checked the weather app on his phone. “Look at this Donna. The system’s going to hang over the yard until at least Thursday.”
“Jeff’s in the yard,” Donna said. “He’ll call if anything happens.”
“I suppose,” Dale said. He sat down in his lawn chair. Then stood up again.
“It’s easy for you,” he said. “You’re always going on vacation. You know how to behave. How to keep busy all day.”
Donna shook her head and looked up at him. “You’re going to need to do something other than work on the farm. Someday we
really are going to have to retire. Then what will you do?”
Dale didn’t know, and he wasn’t ready to think about it.
“We’re not even old enough to come to Arizona,” he complained. “There’s probably a state law against people as young as us spending a whole month here.”
“We’re older than you think,” Donna said. “There’re lots of people our age here.”
Dale glared at her, then went back into the trailer to get himself a glass of iced tea. He brought one out for Donna, who took it from him with a smile.
“Why don’t you go down and see what’s happening in that activity centre?” Donna asked. “Edna told me there’s a woodworking room in there.”
“I don’t know,” Dale said. “I’ve never really pictured myself woodworking.”
“Have you ever pictured yourself doing anything that didn’t involve a tractor?”
Dale had no answer for that.
“You could rent some golf clubs and see if your swing’s improved since your last game. That was back in about 1997, wasn’t it?”
“I don’t think enough time’s passed yet,” Dale said.
“I think there are a few men out on the pickleball court. Maybe you could try that.”
“Pickleball?” Dale asked, with such a loud snort of derision that Donna gave up.
“You’d better figure out something to do. I’m going to the book club meeting in the activity centre at two o’clock. I haven’t met any of the women, but I’ve read the book, so I’m sure they’ll let me sit in.”
“You would find a club to join already,” Dale said, not really sure whether he was irritated or happy that his wife could adjust so easily.
After Donna left, Dale paced some more, stalking back and forth over the small cement plot alongside Ed’s trailer.
On Dale’s eighth pass, a side-by-side out on the street caught his eye. And his ear.
“That thing doesn’t quite sound right,” Dale called out to the driver.
“You’re telling me,” the man replied, pulling to stop in front of Ed’s trailer. “I was just taking it home to take a look at it. It belongs to a guy down at the end of the street, but he doesn’t know how to fix anything.”
“This is the same make as the one we’ve got at the farm. We’ve had a lot of trouble with ours too. I could probably give you a hand,” Dale offered.
“I could use the help. Hop in. Where’s your farm?”
Dale climbed into the passenger side and explained his farm location.
“I grow corn and soybeans straight south of you, down in South Dakota. Name’s Ken Wolfe. So what are land prices doing up your way?”
The two men finished fixing the side-by-side well before they finished the conversation.
“A few of the guys gather for pre-dinner cocktails every Tuesday,” Ken said. “Why don’t you come along? You’ll fit in fine. There’s a farmer from Iowa who’s always wrong about corn futures, and a rancher from Alberta who doesn’t think Trump should’ve won the election. They can get pretty worked up, but it gets me out of the trailer while Muriel’s hosting her quilting group.”
Donna came home from the book club to an empty trailer. She looked up and down the street in both directions, but didn’t see Dale.
Then she looked at her phone, lit up with two new texts. The first was from Jeff. “Dad must be adjusting to desert life,” he’d written. “He’s not answering his cell, and I had a question about the cleaning plant belts.”
The next note was from Dale. “Made dinner plans for us to go out for fish and chips. Can you find my sneakers? We’re signed up for a pickleball tournament after the meal.”
