Fear of Frying

to do that.“
    “You bet we don’t!“ Jane said. “You’d have to hold a gun to my head to get me to crawl through a swamp or a bog—for fun!“
    “I think they’ve adapted it a bit for adults. Just as a demonstration, we’re all going to a campfire cooking class tomorrow night, I’m told.“
    “Oh, no! Shelley, cooking was one of the things I thought I was getting a vacation from.“
    “ We don’t have to cook. At least I don’t think so. Just listen to someone telling us about cooking. And then we get to taste the samples when it’s over. You like tasting stuff, Jane. It’ll be fun.”
    They were approaching an interchange. Shelley glanced up at the directions she’d stuck on her sun visor and zipped into the right lane, nearly running a tour bus off the road. “It’s not far now. We can stop here, get some coffee, go to the bathroom—“
    “Why do we need to go to the bathroom here?“ Jane asked suspiciously. “Can’t we go when we get to the camp? Shelley, are you hiding something from me? We are going to have to pee in the woods, aren’t we!”

    They left the interstate, took a nice four-lane highway for thirty miles, then turned off on a two-lane for another twenty. They missed the turnoff for the county road and had to backtrack a mile or two. This led them into a lushly wooded area. The road curved, dipped, and occasionally crested a rise, revealing tantalizing views of hills brilliant with autumn coloring and the fleeting impression of sun on sparkling little lakes. Out of deference to both Jane’s nerves and the beauty of the landscape, Shelley actually slowed down to a normal driving speed.
    “About another mile,“ Shelley finally said. “Watch for a sign on the right.”
    Jane was encouraged by the sign. It said CAMP SUNSHINE and was large and freshly painted. She’d imagined it would be an old wooden plank with the words scribbled in charcoal and leading to something that looked like the Bates Motel.
    They crossed over a picturesque wood-slatted bridge and onto a road, freshly graveled and recently traveled, judging by the haze of white dust drifting above the surface. “Who else is coming?“ she asked.
    “I’m not sure,“ Shelley said. “There were a couple of last-minute changes. The Wilsons, who run the bakery, were signed up, but she had to have emergency gall bladder surgery last week, so somebody will have replaced them. And the Youngbloods had to cancel because he’s changing jobs and they had to go look at houses in Buffalo. The Claypool brothers and their wives are coming, I think.“
    “Who are they?“
    “Oh, Jane. You know them. They have that huge car dealership.“
    “I recognize the name, but I don’t think I’ve ever met them. They’re not going to try to sell us cars, are they?“
    “It wouldn’t be a bad thing if somebody sold you a car,“ Shelley said. “That station wagon of yours is starting to sound like a blender with a walnut inside when you start it.“
    “True, but it still starts. Most of the time.”
    Shelley just shook her head. “You should know Marge Claypool. She does a lot of volunteer work. She was on the committee for the Well Baby clinic.“
    “I wasn’t involved in that as much as you were. I don’t remember her.“
    “Well, you wouldn’t, I guess. She’s a worker bee. Never speaks up, never has any fresh ideas, but will do anything she’s assigned and do it well and without seeming to want any recognition.“
    “What a paragon!“
    “Yes, but she’s very nice. I ran into her last week in the grocery store and she was all bubbly about this vacation. Apparently neither family has had any sort of vacation for years. The brothers have very difficult, demanding, elderly parents who should be in a retirement home, but refuse to go. The parents have an old house, both need constant medical care and a housekeeper and cook. According to Marge, they treat everybody she and Sam hire for them like medieval serfs and can’t keep anyone more than a month or two. She didn’t put it in those words, but it was easy to read between the lines. So her husband and his brother—and of course, their wives—are constantly on duty, having to replace people. I guess one of them finally put his foot down and decided they’d take some time off—no matter what.“
    “So who are the brothers?“
    “Marge’s husband is Sam. I think he’s the older one. He seems more like a college professor than a car dealer. Kind of prissy.