I dumped two sacks of groceries on the kitchen counter and scrambled through my purse for my buzzing phone.
“Ms. McBriar? Herb Branson here.”
I stuttered “Yes?” as I searched my memory for the name. A client? No one that I was currently working with, certainly. “Um, what can I do for you?”
My confusion must have been obvious, because he launched into an explanation.
“I run the Branson RV Sales and Museum over in Illinois. You brought your vintage camper here for display last fall?”
“Oh, yes! Sorry—it threw me for a minute. Is there a problem?” I felt a nudge of dread. I hoped he wasn’t calling with an offer to buy the trailer, because I wasn’t about to part with it. And not just for sentimental reasons.
He laughed. “No—no problem. It’s been a very popular exhibit. Lots of older people have commented that it takes them back in time.”
You have no idea, I thought.