“You don't say,” I said. I glanced at Jake. His lips were moving. I was pretty sure he was praying out loud now. Or cursing me. Either was a possibility. “You know, when I looked at the website...”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, yeah. The website,” she said, chuckling. “Yeah, that thing was Harvey's big idea. Show people what he hopes it's gonna look like one day. Like if he wins the lottery or something.”
My stomach sank. “So there's no hotel?”
“No.”
“No spa?”
“Nope.”
“Restaurants?”
“Ice cream treats in the clubhouse. When I can get it open.”
“Lake views?”
“Sure, go stand on the hill and you might be able to see some water.”
Jake put his head on the steering wheel. “Great.”
“But we do have karaoke once a week over at the picnic shelter, the pool should be clean tomorrow, and we've got you in the nicest accommodations we can offer.”
“Dear God,” Jake whispered. “Dear. God.”
“And this is a great week to be here,” she continued, grinning. “The medallion hunt starts tomorrow and then we've got the parade at the end of the week.”
“Parade?” I asked
“Golf carts,” she answered. “Everyone dresses 'em up and outfits 'em real funny and stuff. It's a hoot. Oh! I forgot to mention. You also get the use of a golf cart while you're here.” She raised an eyebrow. “That's a special little perk we offered for the contest. To hopefully get some folks like yourselves up here.”
“Where exactly are we staying?” I asked.
She waved the clipboard in the air toward the dilapidated clubhouse. “Hang on just a minute and I'll get the cart and you can follow me. And my name's Delilah, by the way. Me and Harvey run Windy Vista.”
THREE
“I'll get us out of here,” I said to Jake.
“To where?” he asked, his head back against the seat, his arms stiff against the steering wheel, like he was trying to push it away. “To where exactly?”
We were traveling approximately three miles per hour up the gravel road, right behind Delilah in her hot pink golf cart that sparkled in the sun. She'd warned us about the speed limit on the grounds before leading us up the path, making sure we understood that speeders were not tolerated.
“Has to be a hotel around here somewhere,” I said. “Check your phone.”
“I don't think I should be checking my phone while traveling at this high rate of speed.”
I pulled my phone out and frowned at the screen. “It's roaming.”
“Because we're in the middle of nowhere,” he said. “I'll check mine when we get to wherever she's taking us.”
We crested the tall hill and passed the dilapidated clubhouse and soon-to-be-clean pool and turned to our right onto a narrow paved road, Delilah still obeying the speed limit. Windy Vista was not a resort; it was a mobile home park and campground. Some of the homes looked like they were there permanently, having been decorated and outfitted with siding and fences and small, landscaped yards. Others looked like...mobile homes. There were several people outside, sitting in lawn chairs or playing catch with footballs or out walking, and they all smiled and waved us.
“People seem nice,” I said, trying to find some tiny sliver of a silver lining.
Jake nodded but didn't say anything. We passed a massive black, glittering mobile home that looked like it might've cost more than our home back in Moose River. A shirtless guy in shorts and mirrored sunglasses raised his beer at us as we crawled past.
Delilah finally came to a stop in front of a place that didn't look like a mobile home at all. It looked more like a log cabin with its pitched roof and honey-colored wood siding. A small deck ran along the front of it, a canopy set up in the middle, and bird feeders and crystal sun catchers hung from shepherds hooks mounted on the railings. It sat on a corner lot, looking very much like an oasis in a sea of emerald green grass. Large flower beds flanked each side of the property, showcasing variegated hostas and flowering annuals, and a line of white birch trees separated the grass from the mobile home in the adjacent lot. There was a wide gravel driveway and a shiny red golf cart was parked close to the cabin.
Delilah stepped out of her golf cart and smiled expectantly at us.
“It's kinda cute, actually,” I said as I got out of the car.
“It's not a resort,” Jake said, frowning. “It's a campground. You won a trip to a resort. I want our resort.”
I wanted our resort, too, I thought, flashing back to the images we'd looked at on the computer. But I wanted a vacation more.
Delilah swept her arm toward the log cabin. “This is it. Your accommodations for the next week.”
“It doesn't look like a mobile home,” I said, my sandals crunching on the gravel as I made my way closer.
“Right?” Delilah said, clearly pleased. “Harvey and I spent a year on it, building the deck and enclosing the bottom of it with the picket fence. We put on the three-season room and did all the landscaping, too.” Her smile grew wider. “Wait until you see the inside.”
We walked up the steps to the deck and Delilah pulled open a sliding glass door and let us go first. The inside was cool, an air conditioner humming somewhere. There was a small couch and a flat screen television in the wood-paneled front room. Another set of sliding doors led into the main part of the mobile home and we found ourselves in an all-purpose room. There was a set of armchairs along the far wall and a television mounted across from it. To the right, a square wooden table and set of matching chairs were positioned close to a wall of windows that overlooked the driveway. To the left was a galley kitchen complete with full-size stove and refrigerator and a wall of wood cabinetry to house dishes and cooking ware. We walked through the kitchen and found a small bathroom and decent size bedroom at the back, along with a set of steep stairs that led to a low-ceilinged loft area. The décor resembled the outside, knotted pine walls and wood laminate floors and ceiling. If I hadn't driven through the campground and seen the outside of the mobile home, I would have sworn I was standing in the middle of a log cabin.
“Probably not what you were expecting,” Delilah said, watching me. “If you aren't RV people, most people don't realize what you can do to the inside.”
“I'd never know I was in an RV,” I admitted.
Jake grunted.
If Delilah heard him, she didn't acknowledge it. Instead she smiled and nodded. “Yep. And everything works just like it would at home. The bathroom. The kitchen. Got a grill out on the deck. If you ask me, it's a whole lot nicer than any hotel room you might find.”
“Speaking of which,” Jake said. “Are there any hotels in the area?”
She frowned, then shrugged. “Hotels? No. The resort on the other side of the lake is usually booked out a year in advance. You'll find a couple motels in Royalville, about twenty miles from here. Closest hotel is about forty five minutes away. It's mostly campgrounds up this way. And I'm not sure any of the hotels or motels would have vacancy in the middle of the summer.”
“Perfect,” Jake muttered.
Delilah's cheeks flushed and she looked away.
“I don't mean to be rude,” Jake began. “But we were just under the impression—”
“This is perfect,” I said, cutting him off. “We love it. Thank you.”
Jake's eyebrows lifted. “We do?”
“Yes,” I said firmly, narrowing my eyes. “We do.”
Relief flooded Delilah's face. “Well, good. Most everyone here owns their campers and leases the lots from us. But Harvey and I thought it might be nice if we could have a couple places to rent out, too. So people could come and visit and maybe decide about reserving their own spot up here. Even if they didn't, they could at least get familiar with this neck of the woods. You know, for when we finally get that hotel open.” She chuckled, then looked around. “We spent a lot of time fixing this place up, but we just haven't had a lot of takers. For the free stay.”