So Long, Chester Wheeler(23)

See what my brain does to me?

“I wanted to talk to you about Chester’s Winnebago,” I said.

He narrowed his eyes at me, as though he couldn’t quite figure me out.

“Most people call on the phone to talk.”

“I wanted to see it with my own eyes.”

“Okay then,” he said.

He turned away and started walking, and I followed.

Then he stopped suddenly, and I nearly ran into his back.

“He coming?” he asked, indicating my car with a flip of his head.

“Chester? No. I didn’t bring his wheelchair. It was so hard getting him in there. No way I was going to try to get him out again until we’re home.”

He shook his head and walked again.

Over his shoulder he said, “Got bad, did it?”

“Very bad,” I said, following.

He led me around back and into a massive metal building with an open front. Like a carport on steroids. In it were parked four motorhomes in various states of decay.

“It’s this one right here,” he said.

He pointed to the Winnebago, and initially all my eyes took in were the bumper stickers. There were two stickers on the rear bumper. They read, CAUTION: I BRAKE FOR NOBODY and HORN IS BROKEN—WATCH FOR FINGER, respectively.

“Well, those are coming off,” I said.

“It’s Chester,” he said. “You know Chester.”

“Yeah. I tried not to. But now I do. So how old is this thing?” I asked him, forgetting that Ellie had already told me.

“’Bout twelve years.”

“Is it roadworthy?”

“Yeah, it’s in pretty good shape.”

“I mean for a long trip. He wants me to drive him to Arizona.”

“Oh,” he said, drawing the simple word out into multiple syllables. “Sue, right? He always did have unfinished business with her. That’s not gonna be a fun reunion, let me tell you. But, yeah. I expect it would make the trip. The Winnie would be the least of your problems, most likely. It’s been sitting for a couple years now, though, so I’m guessing you’d want me to change the oil and do a full safety check on it.”

“Definitely.”

“He put new brakes and tires on it about two years back, and replaced the engine. It was really high miles, and he knew it would be in for some trouble down the road. No pun intended. So he had me put in a rebuilt engine. Did it with my own two hands. He said he was going to see the country. See every damn thing. And then what should happen but his diagnosis? Damn shame. Real bad luck. I’m the one who got on him to go to the doctor and get a chest X-ray in the first place. I was like, ‘Chester, every time you come in here you’re about to cough up a lung all over my yard. Look into that.’ Now I feel bad.”

“Better to know, though,” I said.

“That’s how I was looking at the thing.”

“So you’re friends with him?”

“‘Friends’ is a strong word,” he said.

And we both allowed sardonic smiles onto our faces.

“Look inside,” he said. “I’ll be right here.”

The driver’s side door was unlocked. I stepped inside and looked around. I had to keep my head down in the cab area, but as I stepped into the living quarters of the beast I was able to stand upright.

It was dim in there, because it was inside that big metal hangar, for lack of a better word.

There were two couches, one on either side, upholstered in a hideous orange plaid. I assumed they pulled out into beds. They seemed to be set up that way. The paneling and cupboards looked like a light wood, but might have been some sort of imitation. There was a tiny kitchen area, and a booth-style table. At the back of the rig I saw an accordion door. I opened it, and revealed a tiny bedroom that spanned the rear of the vehicle. It was pretty much all bed and nothing else.

Until I saw it, I was just about to say no to the whole trip. It was hitting me hard that I would be stuck in this little jail with the man for about a week, and that there would be no getting away from him and going home at night. But there was a door I could close. And I could always leave him in the Winnebago and go get my head clear elsewhere.

And maybe I could bring a tent. If he really got on my nerves, I could leave him inside this thing and go beyond earshot to sleep. Unless I couldn’t do that for fear he’d need me, or take a fall. Maybe two cell phones. Mine and . . . did he even have one?

I made a mental note to tell Ellie it was a must.

I opened another door to find a miniature bathroom complete with a shower. It would be fine for me, but no way was I getting Chester inside it, because it wouldn’t fit us both. We’d need to stop at gas station restrooms for him. Or maybe he’d just use the bedpan. And what about getting him a shower? Would he just get more and more rank as we traveled down the road?

So many questions. So much fear of the answers.

I stepped out again to find Marshall waiting for me.

“Good size for two people,” he said. “But of course it depends on the two people. Think you could stand being cooped up in there with Chester for days?”

“I can’t really stand being cooped up anywhere with him for days. Not sure this thing is any worse than his house. But those bumper stickers have got to go.”