Dillon really did not want to explain, but knew she had no choice. And so she quickly told about how Grandpa had given her the trailer and her plans to restore it.
“Why?”
“Because I want to.” Dillon sighed.
“What’s it look like inside?” Margot tried to peer in the window. “Hopefully better than the outside.”
Dillon unlocked the door, stepping aside. “Go ahead and look around.” She waited while Margot went in, trying not to listen to all the negative comments.
“Well, it’s interesting,” Margot said as she stepped out. “But it’s a mess.”
“I know it’s a mess . . . now. But it’s going to be fabulous when I’m done restoring it.”
Margot laughed. “What on earth do you know about restoring trailers?”
“I’ll learn as I go.” Dillon held up her phone. “And I can always google how-to videos.”
“Well, you’ve got your work cut out for you.” Margot looked amused.
“Yes, I know.” Dillon nodded. “And I’m going to work on it right now.”
“Can’t say I envy you,” Margot teased. “But whatever floats your boat.”
“Uh-huh.” Dillon forced a cheesy smile. “See you later, alligator.” And then she firmly closed the door. “Don’t take it personally,” she patted the dinette table. “Margot doesn’t understand your potential, but I do.” And then she tuned her phone to some lively music and set to work sanding the wood surfaces that she planned to paint tomorrow.
Dillon got up extra early on Saturday. Partly because the sofa was so uncomfortable, but mostly because she couldn’t wait to get to her trailer. Seeing that coffee was already made and dishes were in the sink, she guessed that Grandpa had gotten up even earlier. When she went outside, she spotted him out on his small tractor making his pumpkin mounds.
She went straight to work on the trailer. Using sawhorses from the barn, she laid out all the cabinet doors and drawers and began to paint. After that, she set to work painting the inside of the trailer. Barely breaking for lunch, Dillon had all the painting completed by the end of the day. And, although she was an exhausted, paint-speckled mess, she couldn’t have been happier with the results as she locked the trailer’s door and headed for the house.
The next day, after going to early church with Grandpa, Dillon was back in her trailer. After touching up the paint from yesterday, putting the cabinet doors and drawers back into place, and giving it another cleaning, she stood back to admire her work. The trailer was so much improved! Having the turquoise cabinets next to the orange appliances was bright and fun and cheerful. Now if she could just unearth her grandma’s old Singer sewing machine.
Up in the old craft room, Dillon pretended she was on a treasure hunt. And after finding a few items she could use for the trailer, she realized it really was a treasure hunt. It started when she discovered some old paint-by-number pictures that she and Grandma had painted one Christmas. They were outdoor scenes, and the colors were perfect for her trailer. She found a few other charming items and eventually spotted the olive-green case of the old Singer machine, as well as Grandma’s old sewing basket. Perfect.
Realizing this room was too crowded to set up the machine, Dillon decided to take it back to the trailer and sew down there. Hopefully, she would remember how to operate it. And hopefully she wouldn’t cross paths with Margot on her way out there. She just did not want to be questioned—or mocked—again.
She gathered everything she needed to start sewing, then locked herself in the trailer. She wasn’t able to recall how to thread the old sewing machine, so she googled it on her phone. Not only did she find instructions, she found some helpful sewing tips and even watched a few tutorials for making curtains. And then she set to work, measuring and marking and cutting and pinning . . . and finally sewing. By noon, she had one window outfitted with its new curtain. And, okay, maybe the hem was a tad uneven, but all in all it was beautiful.
By the end of the day she’d finished most of the curtains and could hardly believe how charming the trailer was starting to look. The one thing she was unsure about was how to refinish the floor. At first she thought she’d just leave it as is, but the old linoleum tiles were loose, and after poking around with a screwdriver, she discovered that they popped off easily.
She got out the cute trailer book she’d found at the Silver Slipper and looked at the clever photos for some inspiration, but she still wasn’t sure. With the colorful cabinets, appliances, and curtains, she thought maybe she needed something less busy than the checkerboards she was looking at in the book. Finally, she remembered what Vivian had told her about neutral tones. Perhaps that was what her floor needed.
As much as she would’ve liked to continue working out here, it was getting dusky outside, which meant it was late. And tomorrow morning, she was expected at the pool to teach swimming lessons. Of course, this meant she needed to don a swimsuit—not a task she was looking forward to. Hopefully she’d be able to dig one out of the bags of clothing she’d stashed in a storage closet. But first she wanted to unload her car. She carefully took load after load into the trailer, piling things onto the bunks and on the dinette . . . and controlling herself from opening up the items and “playing house” like she wanted to do. That would come in due time. Tomorrow—after swim lessons.
When Dillon finally went to bed—on the sagging sofa—she was not looking forward to morning. And if she hadn’t promised to work at the pool, she would’ve gladly bailed. But, she reminded herself, Chelsea was her friend. Besides that, Dillon needed the income. She had a trailer to support! And for all she knew, baby needed new shoes—tires. At least that was something she’d read today in her trailer book. Most vintage trailers required new tires and bearings and a number of other mechanical things that she knew nothing about but sounded costly. But her trailer project was an investment—an investment in happiness.
CHAPTER
10
On Monday morning, Dillon tried to look bright and cheery as she reported to Chelsea for work, but the idea of getting into the water with a bunch of wily kids was not enticing.
“Your first class is probably in the dressing room right now,” Chelsea said as Dillon filled out the paperwork. “And I think I mentioned your last class will end at one.”
“And then I get the whole afternoon to myself.” Dillon wanted to add “with my sweet trailer,” but she knew that sounded fanatical.
“And here’s your roster.” Chelsea handed her a clipboard. “Good luck.” She grinned. “Not that you’ll need it.” She glanced down at Dillon’s swimsuit, partially covered by an oversized denim shirt. “Is that your old team suit?”
Dillon shrugged. “It was the only one I could find. Does it matter?”
“Not at all. I just can’t believe you still fit into it.”
Dillon laughed. “I just wish I had a little tan to go with it.”
“Well, your classes are with the little ones. I remember how good you were with them. So you’ll be outside in the shallow pool. Maybe you can work on your tan out there.”