The Night I Drove Three Hours for My Kids

I rolled the window down. He leaned in. He was tall and stooped, with a white crew cut and the kind of face that has spent a lot of years outdoors.

“You must be Mom,” he said. “I’m Howard. Follow me up. It’s a tight turn at the top, and the sign’s half grown over.”

He got in an old golf cart with a camper flag on it and led me up the hill at about eight miles an hour. I could have run it faster. I didn’t care. I followed that little red taillight like it was the star of Bethlehem.

Site 14 was at the very end of the loop, right on the edge of the bluff. Even in the dark you could feel the open air past it, the whole valley dropping away toward the river.

There was a lantern on the picnic table, throwing a little circle of yellow on the dirt. There was the green dome tent Tom bought at a garage sale when Josh was five, staked out a little crooked.

And there were my children, Ellie wrapped in a big gray wool blanket and Josh zipped into his blue jacket, with Howard and Ruthie on the picnic table bench behind them, each holding a flashlight.

I left the van running with the headlights on. I don’t remember putting it in park. I don’t remember getting out. I only remember the dirt under my knees and both of them in my arms at once, blanket and all.

Ellie smelled like campfire smoke and ketchup. She put her arms around my neck so tight it hurt, and said, “Mom, Ruthie has a dog named Biscuit,” like that was the most important news in the world.

Josh didn’t say anything at first. He just stood there with his chin up, trying very hard. Then his face folded, and he put his forehead down on my shoulder, and he cried like he was four years old again.

“I didn’t cry before,” he said into my hoodie. “I didn’t. I kept Ellie from crying.”

“I know you did,” I said. “I know. You did everything right, bud. Everything.”

“Uncle Darrell said Howard and Ruthie would watch us,” he said. “He said Dad was sending somebody. He said it was fine.”

I looked up over his head at Ruthie on the bench. She shook her head once, very small. Nobody had told them anything. Nobody had been sent. Darrell had driven past their campsite on his way out and never even slowed down.