After watching the Thompsons working so hard on their farm, Brandon decided he needed to devote some time to his own business. We found a campground on a little lake where the kids could play while he worked. The afternoon was cool for the first time in our travels, and we saw lots of Canada geese overhead. We all needed to take a deep breath.

Earlier, as we’d driven down a rural road thickly lined with trees and bushes, we’d had a scare. We were approaching an intersection, but there was no visible signage ahead. I felt a warning in my stomach, but it would not talk to my brain fast enough to waggle words out of my mouth. I caught a glimpse of a red, flashing light in the low branches, and then Brandon saw the stop sign as we were almost on top of it. He glanced at me in horror as he stamped the breaks. We knew the RV couldn’t stop until the middle of the intersection, at least, and it was impossible to see what might be barreling down the road we were about to cross. Miraculously, it did stop, with just the nose poking out into traffic. Nothing was coming.

But Peter, who’d unbuckled to get a drink of water at the back of the RV sailed past the seated kids, still gripping the three-gallon water jug, and crashed into the bench seat of the dinette. After a moment of shocked silence, we began to survey each other for damages. Peter was growing a large whelp on one arm, and the bench, which halted his flight, was broken. A full bag of dog food had been left out, and its contents carpeted the floor. Several of us began to cry. Needless to say, we are more careful now about leaving our seats when the vehicle is in motion.

Quarters are precious on this trip. We need them for road tolls, which we aren’t used to back home, and we need them for laundry. I had a nice stash saved for a big wash-up at the campground. Unfortunately, there was an arcade next to the washers and dryers. When the boys descended on it, salivating over the worn game machines, I warned them to stay away from my quarters; I had just enough. Once my washers were swirling industriously, I walked back to the RV on some other errand. That same little signal in my belly told me not to leave my dear quarters on the counter, but I foolishly dismissed it.

When I returned from walking the dog and reached for my quarters, they were gone. I resisted the urge to launch an immediate attack and walked calmly back to the laundry room, where I was sure I would find them. Instead, I found two little girls in the arcade. They grinned at me with gopher cheeks full of candy they’d liberated from a glass box with flashing lights and a mechanical arm.

“Did you take my laundry quarters?” I demanded, trying not to shriek. “I had JUST enough.”

“No, ma’am,” assured Nan. “We found them in the RV.”

I marched back to the RV in a fury, and Brandon confirmed their story. In fact, they’d asked for permission to take them, and he’d granted it.

Now ensued a lengthy and harried search of every crevice of the RV for quarters. It was dark, and the camp office was closed. The change machine took ones and fives. We couldn’t find any of those, either. I sat on the toilet (lid-closed) and glowered at the rest of the family as they opened drawers, removed cushions, and searched the pockets of their backpacks for change. At last, Jacob went to the arcade and felt around under the machines for abandoned coins. He came back with just enough. I don’t think I even thanked him. I just stalked back to the mildewing clothes while everyone else exhaled in relief.

There’s a certain promise in the idea of running away from home on an adventure. I’m sure I’ll be so relaxed and unencumbered that I will no longer be my warty, old self. I’ll be fun and friendly and patient and sweet. How disappointing to find that the same rottenness that plagues me at home tagged along on this trip. I pondered the problem as I lay awake at three in the morning, wishing I hadn’t been so mean about the quarters.