[35] The Crew

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I head upstairs with Roman, still feeling pretty drowsy from my nap. He and Sage cook up a lunch for themselves and some of the children, and the smell of the grill and the cooking hotdogs coax my hunger to emerge. After eating down around the fire that always seems to be burning, we let the adults know where we’re going to be for the rest of the day. Amy actually gives us a time to be back tonight, a reasonable curfew of midnight. She told us she gets nervous with us out late driving around with all of the parties and drinking that go on in a lot of the camps. After talking with her for a bit, we head to Roman’s truck to go spend the remainder of this dreary day with Mazie and Bennen.

Roman drives us on the same road we took to go to the Emerald Lakes, and a good 15 minutes down it, we pull off down a fork in the road. Another block of bumpy riding finds us at a small and cozy 1-story cottage, tucked in a cleared-out property nestled in a grove of towering pine trees. The cottage is modest, sporting a small porch, slate-colored paneling, and a dark roof. Mazie and Bennen sit outside in lawn chairs beside a fire ring, cooking hot dogs on pokers. Bennen spots Roman’s truck as we pull into the driveway, and Mazie waves us over with a huge smile when we all hop out.

“Well hey, guys!” she greets, propping her bare feet up on the edge of the fire ring as she rotates her stick near the flames. We return her greeting, and she offers us the empty seats positioned around the fire.

“Being bums like us today, huh?” Roman grins, pulling up a chair close to the fire next to Bennen. Sage goes to sit beside Mazie, who uses his lap as her new footrest.

“There’s nothing to do when it’s cold here but watch movies inside, or huddle by the fire,” Mazie grunts, pulling her hot dog out to inspect it lazily. I complete the circle, seated between Roman and Sage. I hunker down into Roman’s hoodie, burying my hands deep into the front pocket.

“You wanna hand me that bag of hot dog buns, Allie?” Mazie asks, pointing to the plastic bag full of buns that used to occupy my chair before I moved them onto a stool made out of a stump behind me. I grab them and pass them over to her, and she thanks me. “So how, when, and why did you dye your hair such a vibrant color? I’ve been wondering since we met ya last night,” she giggles, tearing into the bag of hot dog buns in her lap. I snort, propping my feet up on the edge of the stone fire ring to warm my tootsies.

“Midlife crisis?” I mutter with a shrug, and Mazie guffaws. “I wanted a change, I guess. It was a friend’s idea, not mine,” I add with a snicker. Roman snorts beside me.

“Well, I like it,” Mazie grins with an approving nod, “It makes you stand out.”

Our conversation shifts to the reason I came here with Roman and Sage, Mazie driving it and Bennen staying fairly quiet the whole time. The conversation shifts again once we exhaust the previous one, and Bennen asks us if we remembered to bring our cell phones along to utilize the booster.

“All the people I’m usually in contact with are all here,” Sage says simply with a shrug, and Roman agrees. I shake my head as well.

“It’s only been a few days away from home, but thanks,” I chuckle, curling my knees up in the seat, “I didn’t even remember. But next time, definitely.”

Everyone makes smores, and after hours of laughing around the fire, it starts to get dark.  Which happens around 9 this time of year. Sage suggests a movie with the time we have left, once the added chill of the night starts to roll in, and with it, the bugs. We all head into Mazie cottage, and we briefly greet her parents on our parade to the basement. After much discussion, we settle on Get Him to the Greek. To be devious, Mazie and I curl up under a blanket on the one loveseat, leaving the bigger couch for the three boys to cuddle on. Sage and Roman groan at us adorably, saying we should all pile onto their couch, and we can sit on their laps if need be. Mazie refuses, and I pick up the vibe that she doesn’t want poor Bennen to feel like the biggest 5th wheel.

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