Page 2 of Bourbon Girl, part 1 of 6
"You must be Bernadette!" she shouted.
I squinted through my fingers to see a skinny red-headed girl with big glasses grinning at me. "And you're Poppy."
"Sure am! Mom said I should give you the grand tour because Dad's fixing the broken toilet in cabin seven and she's dealing with Mr. Henderson who says the raccoons stole his donuts."
I rubbed my eyes. "Raccoons? Are they dangerous?"
"Not usually. I've named all of them. There's Chigger and Digger—"
"How old are you?"
"Twelve!"
She was refreshing, if intrusive. In Arizona, twelve-year-olds sulked in air conditioning and complained about the heat.
She peered into my van. "Did you drive here all by yourself?"
"Uh-huh."
"That's so cool! I can't wait to drive. Mom says I have to wait until I'm sixteen but that's like, forever. Are you from Arizona? Your license plate says Arizona. Why did you leave Arizona? Do you miss the desert? Have you ever seen a real cactus?"
Poppy was all sharp angles and boundless energy, like someone had taken a bundle of coat hangers and taught them to talk. Her auburn hair had clearly started the day in some sort of organized style but was now escaping in every direction, and she had the kind of freckles that suggested she spent most of her time outdoors, probably posing questions to unsuspecting wildlife.
"Coffee," I managed. "I need coffee first."
"Oh! We have coffee in the camp store! It's not very good but it's caffeinated. Dad says caffeine is the only reason civilization exists. Come on!"
She was already heading toward a rustic building with "Happy Trails General Store" painted in cheerful yellow letters across the front. I stumbled after her, wondering how someone so small could move so fast.
The coffee was, as advertised, terrible. But it was cheap and hot and fortifying. Feeling more awake, I followed Poppy on what she grandly called "The Official Happy Trails Experience."
"This is the shower house," she announced, gesturing toward a neat wooden building that looked relatively new. "The water is hot if you get here early. Mrs. Garcia from site twelve takes like,hour-long showers. Why do grown-ups take such long showers? What do you even do in there for that long?"
I didn't respond and it didn't matter. She was already moving on.
The tour continued at breakneck speed. Poppy showed me the small sandy beach at the edge of a lake that looked like something from a postcard, complete with a wooden dock and what she called "the good swimming hole." She pointed out walking trails that disappeared into thick woods, chattering about the waterfall I absolutely had to see and the amphitheater where they showed movies.
"Do you like volleyball?" she asked, stopping abruptly at a sand court surrounded by trees. "We have tournaments when we have enough people to play. Last week it was me and the Johnsons from Michigan against three college guys who thought they were super cool until Mrs. Johnson spiked the ball right in Brad's face. That's the tall one, not the cute one. Are you athletic? You look athletic. And you're pretty. Do you have a boyfriend?"
I swallowed a mouthful of coffee. "Are you like this all the time?"
She grinned wider. "Mom says I ask too many questions but Dad says curiosity is what makes life interesting. What do you think? Are you here for work? Adventure? Your reservation is for six months. That's a long time."
The kid was relentless. And oddly charming, in the way that complete honesty usually is. "I'm starting a job as a bourbon tour guide."
Her eyes lit up. "That's cool! You must know a lot about bourbon."
"Um, not yet."
"My uncle works at one of the distilleries in Louisville."
It was never too soon to start making connections. "Which one?"
"Angel's Envy. His name is Clinton Oney. He's my favorite uncle. He brings me books, but no bourbon."
"That's good."
"Have you always lived in your van?"
