Dakota Blues by Lynne Spreen

interested.”
    “Actually, I have to be home in a week. Sorry.”
    “It’s a Roadtrek 190, a small RV. You pull into a campground and you’re good for the night. I need somebody to drive it. That somebody could be you.”
    Karen chuckled. “Not me, Frieda. I am not your camping type.”
    “Well, you might do yourself a favor and rethink that. Being in the Roadtrek isn’t like camping at all. It’s very comfortable, and it is one hundred percent self-contained. If you need a bathroom, it’s right there. Kitchen, too. Beds, all of it. And it’s easy to drive, I used to myself until I had the stroke.”
    Aunt Marie got up from her chair. “She has to go back to California, to her work.”
    “At her age she should be able to go on vacation when she feels like it.”
    “That’s between her and her employer,” said Aunt Marie.
    “She ought to stick up for herself. A person can’t go through life letting other people dictate what you’re going to do. Anyway it wouldn’t take that long. We could be in Denver in two days if you’re in that big of a hurry. Then a couple more to get to California. That’s all.” The speech seemed to exhaust her. She sat back, breathing hard.
    Karen wasn’t thinking about Denver. She was calculating how much of the loot she could take home in a cheap new suitcase from Walmart, and how much she would need to ship if she called a moving company. The cost would be significant, but she still had access to the household account. At some point she and Steve would have to discuss how to divide it, but so far he’d left it alone.
    Frieda pointed at the pile with her cane. “In the Roadtrek, there’s room for some of this junk, if you pack it right. After you drop me in Denver you go on the rest of the way by yourself, if you’re not afraid. Sell it after you get home and send me the money. If it was me, I’d be thrilled to go somewhere by myself, but since I’m old, I’m resigned to company.”
    “She can leave these things here as long as she wants to,” said Aunt Marie. “In fact, Karen, maybe next summer you could fly back out here, rent a truck, and drive it home.”
    “By next summer we could get hit by a tornado.” Frieda worked her thin hips to the edge of her chair and, using the cane, levered herself upright. She shuffled past Karen, the top of her head barely reaching Karen’s chin. “Let me know when you make up your mind.”
    “I already have. I’d love to help you, but I just don’t have the time.”
    Frieda turned. “Young lady, you have nothing but.” She walked slowly down the street, the tip of her cane tapping on the sidewalk.

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    Chapter Seven
    O n Saturday morning, Karen stopped at Dickinson Moving and Storage to arrange shipping. At the counter, she angled the phone so the clerk could see the picture on the tiny screen.
    “Sure, we can handle all that. If you want, we’ll wrap and pack it, too. The woman consulted her charts, wrote down a figure, and pushed the paper across the counter. “That should do it. We charge half to get started and the rest on delivery.”
    “Yikes.” For that price, she could buy seats in first class and fly it all home with her. The woman took back the paper. “You could leave behind some of the bigger pieces, like the desk and that sewing machine.”
    “That’s my favorite piece.”
    “Then really, your only other option would be to see if you could borrow a truck from a friend. Drive it back yourself.”
    “Let’s do the bigger items. The Singer, and the desk. A couple of the boxes.” Karen handed over her card. “How soon can you get started?”
    Back at Aunt Marie’s, Karen bootlegged an unsecured internet connection from a neighbor and checked her email. She saw nothing but messages of support from her coworkers, so after sending appreciative responses, she shut the computer down.
    The screen door squeaked as her aunt shoved it open with one hip and carried a wooden box into the kitchen. “It’s