Later that night, Rosie sat at the card table in the back room, counted the reciepts and smiled. It had been more than seven years since she and Tom had moved back to Mount Arliss, took out the loan to buy the old campground, and began to set it right.
The first few years were the hardest; Pilot Lake had developed a reputation over the years; drug busts, high school parties, and a regular group of homeless people who came in on the trains and squatted at the grounds to avoid being arrested had made the place terra non grata as far as the surrounding communities and tourists were concerned. The first reported gang rape had occurred there back in the early 80’s – a high school graduation blow out that had gone a little too far; the girl wandered into the police station, barely able to stand, barely covered with what was left her muddy cut-offs and her Senior year memorial t-shirt, and listed no less than 20 boys – the bulk of the championship high school football team – who got her drunk and took turns at her until they got too drunk and passed out. Of course, it never went any further than that; the girl had a reputation and the boys were thought well of. But the stigma stayed on the campground for years after; and even when she and Tom bought the place twenty years later, people around town made sure to tell them both about the “kind of property” they were buying. As if the land itself were debauched and cursed.
“How’d we do?” Tom entered the back room that doubled as a pantry and the office and fell into the other folding chair.
“We did pretty well,” Rosie answered, turning the calculator around to show him the number. “Between the campers we have now, the ones who made reservations for Labor Day, and the cantine – this will be the second year we show a profit.”
“How much profit?”
She shrugged. “More than last year. And definitely more than we’ve ever seen. Another few years like this and we might even pay the mortgage off early.”
“Well, shiit,” Tom said. Then he reached down and pulled his boots off. “I sure wish that somebody would’ve warned me that success hurt like this.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Put those back on; you know I can’t handle how your feet stink when you’ve been working all day.”
“Can’t help it,” he said. “You know that.”
“You CAN help it. Put those boots back on and leave them on til we get home and you can take a shower.”
“And the foot powder?”
“Yes, God,” she breathed. “Don’t forget the foot powder.” She loved her husband completely, in spite of the slouchy way he carried himself and inspite of his hereditary foot stink. He couldn’t help it, anyway. Even his parents said they made him leave his sneakers outside when he was growing up. Tom had a good heart and kind face, even if he didn’t let the one show and even if he covered up the other with several days’ worth of stubble that never seemed to grow into a full beard. He was a thoughtful man and a hard worker and she knew he loved her.
He smiled and reached down to pull his boots back on. “Fine.” After he’d pulled them back over his feet, he picked up the calculator to take a closer look at the number on the display. “Damn.”
“What’s wrong?”
“We might actually be able to make a living at this.”
“Were you worried?”
“I’m always worried.”
“Well, that’s a good thing. But everyone seems happy and things are going … okay.” Rosie stopped herself short of saying “well” because she didn’t want to jinx their success. “The cantine was really a good idea.” She smiled and felt her insides swell up a little; it had been her idea.
“Not everyone’s happy.”
“Huh?”
“A few of the campers complained.”
She shook her head and asked about what; though she already knew the answer.
“Grant.”
“Just him?”
“Nope.” He sighed and pulled his old green ballcap off, exposing a salt and pepper scalp with a quickly receeding hairline. “Grant and his friends.”
“Not the farm workers?”
Tom nodded. “A few complaints about them, too,” he said.
“What’d you tell them?”
He shrugged.
“The same thing you usually tell them?”
He nodded.
“They’re good for business,” Rosie said. “They pay cash just like everybody else. They have fun, and don’t start trouble.”
“They don’t have to start trouble to make trouble.”
“So what? You want to stop them from coming?” She pointed to the calculator sitting between them. “You get a sense of what we’ll lose if that happens, right?”
Tom didn’t answer.
“And what’s the WORSE thing that can happen?” Rosie went on. “We have another customer base. Maybe we can look at rennovating those cabins on the south end of the lake – you know, like we talked about when we first bought the place. Maybe we can even build some NEW cabins. Dig deeper water and sewage lines. People would come out here in the winter, too, if we marketed it right…”
“Those farm workers can’t afford a to rent a cabin,” Tom said, “and they’re gone as soon as harvet is over.”
“They’re not the only customer base.”
“What?” Tom snorted. “You want to open a queer-friendly B&B? Out here?”
“I wish you’d stop using that word,” Rosie said. “It sounds awful when you say it.”
“They say it.”
“It’s different.”
“Bullshit.”
“You’re changing the topic.”
Tom sighed. “Okay, so we rennovate and build a few cabins. Then what? If we scare off the campers, hunters, and people who fish, will we be able to stay afloat without them?”
“Don’t be homophobic.”
“I’m not. I DON’T care. I just…”
“And it doesn’t seem to bother you when those girls rub up on one another.”
It don’t seem to bother YOU either. “That’s not the same thing.”
It was Rosie’s turn to snort. “Oh REALLY? You want to watch me snuggle up to one of them? Maybe that blonde perky one who never wears a bra.”
Tom felt his stomach knot up, but the image in his mind excited him a little, too. “No. Of course not.” He sighed. “I’m not gonna DO anything, alright? They’re good business. What people do or who they are isn’t my business.”
Rosie smiled; then she stood up, walked over to her husband, and sat down on his lap. “It’ll be fine,” she cooed and ran her fingers through his thinning hair. “You’ll see.”
He grunted. “You really think we could rennovate those cabins?”
“After this season, maybe,” she whispered in his ear. “If we keep doing the way we’re doing.”
Tom liked the idea of the cabins. The south side of the lake was beautiful, even in the winter, and people would pay to be close to the water and have a regular kitchen and a normal bed to sleep in. He liked the idea of rennovating one of them just for him and Rosie; they could live on the property year round and move out of the house they rented in town. In the winter, they might get snowed in sometimes; but all that took was planning, a generator, and a wood fireplace. The image formed in his mind and made him relax. “We about ready to go home?”
“Yeah. I just need to finish the paperwork.”
He kissed her. “Well finish it, then. I need a bath and a beer.”
