Finding ingredients for Pearl’s recipes takes a long time. Most of them are cooked in aluminum foil, which will be easier than using a Dutch oven. Apples by the Fire, Grilled Chicken Packets, Baked Potatoes, Hobo Stew. Even a recipe for a no-bake cookie.
I groan as Dad picks up a large bag of spinach.
“I promised your mom,” he says.
“Then can we get some mandarin oranges to go with it?”
“You got it.”
In the canned goods section, he also picks up canned peaches, apricots, beans and evaporated milk. “Always good to keep nonperishables on hand,” he says. “Anything else we need?”
“Um, maybe we could buy Ti a collar and leash. I’d like to take him for walks.”
He smiles. “You bet.” After we pick out a leash and collar, he says, “Is that it?”
I feel the tips of my hair. Coarse as straw. “Just conditioner.”
We take a long time reading the backs of labels to find a conditioner that’s not scented like flowers or fruit. By the time we add cat food and litter for Ti, the basket is overflowing.
“Need to pull the camper across the road to the dump station this afternoon,” Dad says as we load grocery bags into the truck. “On the way back to the Mesquite, pick a recipe you want to fix tonight. We’ll keep out what you need, store the rest.”
“Dump station? What do you need to dump?”
“Gray and black water, from the kitchen and bathroom.”
“So, gray water’s from the sinks and black water’s from the . . .”
“Right.”
“Gross.”
“Not a fun job, that’s for sure.”
Oh . . . The reason Dad uses the bathhouse shower at the Mesquite suddenly becomes clear. It’s so he doesn’t have to go to the dump station as often.
“Hold up, Dad. I need one more thing.” I stick out my hand, palm up. “A ten should cover it.”
“What?” he says, taking out his wallet.
“Picture’s worth a thousand words,” I say, hopping out of the truck. I hate the idea of using the community shower, but if I shower where the others do, I might pick up more clues.