When I Found You
[;ursine; ;grizzly bear;][;wholesome; ;camping; ;third person; ;short story;]
 
Summary: Two teens are dragged by their parents to camping in another state for the Fourth of July, and find ways to pass the time.


"Aren't you excited, Patrick?  Long holiday weekend, fireworks-"
  Mr. Crossley hadn't taken his eyes off the road.  "He's going to be a senior in a couple months, not starting kindergarten.  It's bad enough you roped half the neighborhood in this, Cheri."  The SUV had been on the road for three hours, the rack above loaded with camping gear.  A single bed camper trailed, and the back had been stuffed with five sets of bags.  "Lesley, put your seatbelt back on.  There's nothing in the cooler.  Pat, get you sister belted in."
  "Yes, Dad."  The morning had been cool enough that board shorts and a skate tank were all he'd needed loading the luggage before sunrise.  Late morning heat plus AC that didn't quite reach the center backseat performed wonders for teenaged attitudes.
  We look like a JC Penney catalog, he thought.  All I need is a baseball bat or football.
  "And answer your mother before the girls start playing punchbuggy again or that damned billboard game."
  Sitting in between his two younger sisters hadn't helped Patrick's mood either.  Lesley smacked him with the felt hippo as he pinned the five year old.  The girls and his mom hadn't found a appropriate F, so when the toy struck again for airplane the excitement wasn't there.  Gabby flung out a hand for barn, missing his eye and nose.
  "Can we strap these two on top?  Four days, and I'm not getting an hour of peace."  Patrick's father gave the barest glance to the backseat.  The teen sat with crossed arms and a defeated stare.
  "You'll get as much peace as I did for Father's Day.  The kids will run out of steam," he said as one girl shouted cow and the other duck at the same billboard, "and you'll fall asleep while eating."
  The trees stuttered past wherever gaps existed in the signage.  Unless a road crew was changing the signs ahead to count backwards, Patrick and his father had another hour before the campgrounds.
  "Eagle.  Flag and freedom."  His mother shouted encouragement to the younger girls.  "Greenhouse.  Horse."  The center seat had the advantage of a front view, the route of nearby farms and car dealerships.  "Indigo.  Jeep."  Lesley asked what color that was.  "Kitten.  Library.  Mailman."  Gabby fumed that her older brother scored three from one sign.  "Nissan.  Oklahoma."  His father laughed as the tirade from his mother started about playing fair. "Preacher.  Quadrangle.  I win.  Dad and I want to play the Quiet Game."
  The final billboard had advertised the peace and salvation of Jesus Christ.  Sometimes, Patrick mused, one plays a game for the thousandth time to win, and sometimes the first to learn the rules.

They parked between the Hammonds on one side, and the Lowreys on the other.  Tommy and his younger brother ran out and were soon roped into helping with the unloading in between begging for video game tips.  Neither resembled their father, but looked like eleven and nine year old clones of their dark-haired mother.  Their tshirts were evidence of the family's Spring Break vacation.  Joey's Space Shuttle pierced blue clouds with the blue water far below, matching his overactive nature.  His brother's shirt was fair warning he could repeat the dialogue from Top Gun the way Patrick had once been able to for Star Wars.  That, he thought, was far better than babysitting Bianca Lowery, the seven year old mophead of freckles and curls that had grabbed Patrick's sisters for environs unknown.
  "So, who else?"  The lot opposite was empty except for the twin of the lawnchair that had saved the spot for the Crossleys.  "Mom wouldn't say."  Joey flinched at a shoulder shot from his brother.
  "Who cares?  The sooner we finish, the sooner we can walk up to the camp clubhouse.  You'll shoot some hoops with us, Pat?"
  Cheri Crossley emerged from the Hammonds' camper with Ginabeth Hammonds behind, both women in light shorts and floral tops.  A plastic cup waved in her hand, likely wine.  "Get that tent set up for you and your sisters.  Who brought stuff for the grill?"
  They sat at the folding table inside the mosquito netting, watching the boys sweat as the last bags went in the camper.  A near mirror image of the Hammonds' setup took shape.  Camper to the side of the concrete pad, pavilion tent over the pad and table underneath, and two tents for the kids instead of one.
  An old pickup with a popup camper behind and a topper in the bed pulled up.  The mother jumped out and waved the vehicle back after folding the chair.  The cutoff denim stretched over her much like the cropped and tied off sleeveless shirt.
  Tommy whispered in his best avoid parents mode.  "Why would Mr. Dexter need to be a secret?"
  "Because you two would cause twice the trouble if you had time to prepare."  Mrs. Dexter glared across the way at Patrick's two younger shadows as she raised the camper from the truck hitch.  His mother must have made promises on his behalf to keep the Hammonds boys corralled.
  Estelle Dexter slid out of the passenger side the minute her father cut the truck engine.  The gentle giant of a girl often looked hunched to hide her height and blunted muzzle, unlike her mother.  Joey Hammond, his basketball, and his brother Tommy were the biggest threat to her mother's temper.  Even at a whisper the potential for a pants-staining roar from the browncoated matron bear vibrated over exposed skin.  She left her husband after he slid from the oversized cab to confront the human children with a bumblebee whisper.  
  "Patrick.  I dearly hope your mother explained our agreement."  Stella and Ginabeth waved the larger woman over.  "If she forgot, you are smart enough to figure it out."
  Her bulk may have been more muscle than fat under the chestnut shag, but at over three hundred pounds the woman had enough curves left over, and the height to stare down any teenaged boy with eyes the same level as her bust.
  "Yes, ma'am."
  "Good.  Any toys where they shouldn't be deserve to be confiscated.  Go help Estelle and my husband since you're finished here."
  The ursine turned, her back wider than the two skinny Hammonds boys shoulder to shoulder.  Patrick grabbed the boys by the arms and marched over.
  "Mrs. Dexter said to help."  Simple, true, and open ended.
  "Eh.  Rather this than let them get in trouble again?  Smart woman, your mother.  You two, let's go hit the store.  If we don't feed Ursula soon I'll be the one in trouble.  Stella, you and Patrick get the camper hooked up."  The two boys looked shrunken on the oversized bench seat as the truck pulled back out.
  "Wasn't expecting you."
  "Dad convinced her."  Her brownish hair was close to the shade of her coat and cut tomboyish short.  Not even a fool would mistake her for a flatchested boy, with or without bangs threatening to hide her eyes.
  Warmer weather meant less clothing for most, but the taller girl dressed for a cooler day three months ago.  Mixed with small steps, her faint voice matched the neutral colors of her homemade shirt and gray-brown pants.  They also camouflaged all the muscle that had made her the starting catcher for the high school softball team their freshman year.
  "Sounds like you convinced him first.  Must be nice being the only child."
  "Think they gave up a few years ago."
  "Still time.  We could graduate and she'd have less reason to cry."
  "Is there anything like a clubhouse here?"  Pat nodded as they finished the water line.  "If I have to spend four days in the truck bed reading..."

Old Maxell wasn't at the clubhouse when they walked up.  The old court had the divider net strung between to make them half courts .  One side had a sextet working their way through HORSE, the other a two-on-two.  The old plumbing pipe and tire tetherballs had received a pressure washing since Patrick's last visit two summers ago.  And once inside, the improvements Maxell's kids had wrought left the teenagers grinning like fools.
  "Your mother is going to be so upset."  Patrick elbowed the taller ursine.  The old screen doors behind them were doubled now with a Plexiglas frame.  "That old eagle's face when he signed the check for that beast...woah."
  "You weren't kidding."
  "It used to be this rigged up projection system.  This is the real thing."  Patrick walked around and looked in the back of the wooden cabinet, salivating at the three lights blinking in reverse.  "Wonder if they still have the old Atari, and how many games they have for this."
  Two old couches were angled in front of the projection TV.  The younger of the two kids had a hunchback worse than Estelle's combined shoulder hump and slouch.  Mario ran through World 3-2 without comment from the crowd, except for the glower of the older player waiting his turn.
  "We've been at this all morning."  The equine stood eye to eye with Patrick, dark eyes watching Estelle.  Dark chestnut fur laid flat over a lean runner's build, patches of white with dark spots mottling his arms and neck.  "Only rule is don't hit the Minus World."
  The younger hit a Koopa wrong, then nailed himself with the kicked shell.  His opponent dropped into World 4-2 and grabbed the mushroom at the start, speedrunning through the level.
  Luigi popped out of the last pipe, but fell short of the flagpole's top as the door slammed open.  Mrs. Dexter ducked through the entrance with an eye twitching in time to the music.  Patrick's mother and Mrs. Hammonds crept in behind and flanked her.
  Her voice boomed over the paused game.  "I did not pay good money to see children cooped up as if at home."
  A side door swung open, revealing Old Maxell with a whiskey and coke in hand.  "And I paid good money to upgrade the facilities here.  Clubhouse is closed from 1230 to 1900."  A cigar appeared from nowhere and was lit on the way to his beak.  The eagle's permanent squint moved from parents to wristwatch.  "As it's 1232, that means anyone who doesn't choose a activity outside can clean up in here, or do pushups until I'm satisfied you're not a damned commie.  I'm counting to five..."
  Despite being taller than most of the other kids, Estelle was as lost in the crowd as Patrick when they ran out hand in hand.

Mr. Dexter pulled back in and let the Hammonds boys out to unload the coolers of food and drink.  Patrick grabbed one end of the biggest and Estelle the other, walking the blue plastic monster to the pavilion.
  "Guess battling you at Mario is straight out this weekend."
  "Would you rather we babysit your sisters?"
  "All things considered, you could head lock them and still have hands free for Nintendo.  What did your father load up on?  This thing feels dead full."
  "Salmon."  The elder bear had one cooler on each wide shoulder as he walked up from behind.  "I'd have been back twenty minutes ago, but I'm the first to admit the woman isn't in the best mood.  Drop that near the grill so I can get started.  Bring me the two foam coolers and tell everyone else.  Sooner the wife has her fish, sooner I can take my afternoon nap."
  The trudge back would've taken less time if Patrick hadn't pulled Estelle aside once they were out of sight.  "What's your dad's problem?  Beside your mother..."
  "Ask again in a next year.  She's been like this since I took the SAT again and scored higher than the first time."
  "Ouch.  Let me guess: you're already looking at where to go, and she's freaking."
  "Northwest, mostly."
  "My first shot would have been you playing softball again senior year."
  "That too."
  "Wouldn't have got to regionals without you."
  "If I hear one more time how trimming my claws back enough for sports is an affront to femininity, I'll scream."
  "There you two are."  They turned in time to be divided by Patrick's father.  He led them back towards the campers, one on each side.  "Sorry about this, Estelle.  I know you and Pat would be fine with more of the usual."
  "It's OK, Mr. Crossley."
  "Barney said there's one of the other families is doing a small fireworks thing tomorrow night.  Knowing what we've had years past, it might be better than the show tonight.  You're welcome to come with us into town for that one."  He paused and shook the ursine girl.  "What's been on your mind?"
  "Sounds like the same old."  Patrick's father shook his head as his son buzzed in before the girl.
  "Good thing is you're not going to be mopey around here unless you hide from everyone.  You haven't been out here?  If you get bored of the kids, take them to the lake and grab a nap."
  "Pat and I want to try out the Nintendo at the clubhouse."  The older human laughed as he herded them back to the campers.  "You've got to see it.  Wonder if that's what my dad meant when he was talking about movies every night."
  "I am going to be in the doghouse with your mother," he said while elbowing Patrick first, "and your mother.  I distinctly remember Cheri glossing over the amenities here."
  A series of arrhythmic snaps echoed, but the roar following pinpointed the victim of early fireworks.  Both teenagers had fresher legs due to fear than the polo-shirted human.  They turned the curve with Estelle jogging easily ahead of Patrick's sprint.
  Mrs. Dexter had captured the two Hammonds boys.  The weather-faded strip of asphalt between the families' campers was smudged by black powder, the boys by the dirt of youthful adventure.  Tommy's younger brother wobbled like a pendulum in her left hand.  With the focus off him and on his older brother, the ground under Joey remained dry.
  Even Estelle couldn't keep pace with her mother on the return trip to the pavilion.  Everyone not floating above the road grabbed more bags or coolers and held back laughter when the paralysis finally ended for Tommy and Joey.

Mr. Hammonds left the boys to their fate even after Mrs. Dexter wiped the last morsel of salmon from her lips.  His two boys wore fresh shorts as they cleared the paper plates from the table the matron bear shared with her husband and the the Crossleys.  Patrick's mother waited until her counterpart led the boys away to their next task.
  "I expect you two will not follow that example?"  They nodded, not wanting to tempt fate so brazenly.  "Well, Yogareth, thank you for the food.  I might sleep through fireworks tonight.  Where did Ginabeth go?"  She left in search of more wine.
  Freed of most responsibility, Patrick and Estelle wandered along the loops of the campgrounds.  The equine from the clubhouse, Barry, was from further west.  A pair of gray wolf brothers five years younger than them had just moved from Colorado.  And they found the last player among an extended family of hares that had connected four campers with a maze of mosquito netting and shade awnings.  Louis spun on light feet and made it clear he'd rather point guard for the human and a girl than two wolves.  Patrick didn't have to lean down to catch the shorter teen's attention.
  The first game was a blowout.  Estelle had a height and speed advantage on Barry.  The two brothers, Ben and Quincy, tended to double-team the slower Patrick.  But the combo of the cutting footwork Louis brought, and human dexterity, buried two for every lucky steal the wolves tossed to Barry for a layup.
  "Next game, carnies versus grasschewers."
  "Why do we have to take the girl on our team?"
  The argument ended when Old Maxell took court on a nearby bench and two more kids joined the game.  Rencki looked like a distant cousin of the wolf brothers ? redder, swifter, and louder.  If their ages had been alike, Ben and Quincy would have been half again as tall versus Rencki.  Momonga was barely taller than the preteen wolves, but an expert at spreading out and closing down dribbling lanes.  And the squirrelish kid sailed when he jumped.
  After negotiations they rebuilt the teams.  Estelle got the two newcomers and Quincy.  Patrick started to admire the interplay of Barry's ground-eating stride and the hare's agility.  Ben was an improved player when focused against family.
  The old aviator pulled another cigar from the eternal stash and chomped at it like an appetizer.  Rencki's favored strategy was a series of moves that would be called foul anywhere but a pickup game.  Patrick had the duty of defending the kid, but getting the kid to pass took the whole team.  Ben took up the chase before Rencki created a good lane.  He caromed off Estelle to gain a couple steps on his defender, running straight for Barry.  The zigzag didn't fool anyone, least of all Louis.  With that lane cut off the fox cut again in a squeal of sharp voice and sneakers for the basket, which is what they'd wanted.  Patrick shuffled sideways and did his best imitation of the Celtics, slapping the ball down as the kid tried going over him.
  Louis sprinted downcourt, passing to Ben after three steps.  Estelle already had the center locked down, glaring at Barry and challenging him to make her break her zone.  Both her and Patrick facepalmed as the screeching fox was checked at midcourt by Barry, who trotted away.
  "What the heck?"
  "You want to showboat like Jordan, stop pissing all over your teammates."  The equid pointed at Patrick, then pulled down a pass from Ben.  Globetrotters red, white, and blue spun from lazy dribbling.  "Get down here or I pass to Pat."
  Blurred red missled towards Barry instead of Patrick.  A wall of brown fur fell between them, but the fox hadn't dropped game mode and converted the impact to loop around and attack Barry from the side.
  Sportsmanship aside, the fox had a nice spring to his step.  He still wasn't faster than Estelle.  The paint danced backwards out of reach from the sneakers that had glanced his ankle, and now swung higher.  Unlike the Hammonds boys, Rencki had no fear of larger women.  A stream of incivility from his mouth targeted the equine, mostly about the reservations.  Then the wolves flipped ears back as Rencki tried pinning even worse to them before lapsing to high pitched growls.
  "Ronald H. Reagan, what the hell are you kids fighting about?"  The war eagle fluffed up as he confronted the octet, smoke trailing from beak and nostrils.  Barry alternated testing his leg and feeling where a shoeprint could have been.  Three voices chorused to tell Rencki to calm down, with Quincy being the least polite.
  "Tell kamikaze kid to cut the bullshit!"  Patrick grabbed Ben and clamped a hand around the preteen's muzzle.  He suspected they were seconds away from unique punishments.
  "I did not send three sons to fight the commies and get back two, nor did I bomb a island of psychotic Japs, to have kids using that kind of language in my campground.  The only bad word around these parts that I accept out of red-blooded American boys and girls," removing the cigar momentarily to include Estelle, "is commie or its variants.  And we do not fight ourselves like that.  When I was taking wing out in the Pacific, any seaman or aviator, officer or common enlisted, dumb enough to throw a punch against his own got everyone sentenced to PT.  Let the kid down."
  The fox only reached mid-chest on Estelle, and barely higher on the eagle.  None of the boys wanted to speak first.
  "We're sorry, sir."  
  "Very well.  Faces kissing the deck.  One hundred on my count.  Then you eight clean the common areas."

Morning came soon enough.  Estelle and Patrick fell asleep on the ride back from fireworks, shuffling to tent and topper with sore shoulders.  In the morning they discovered they and the other six had been banned from the basketball court and the clubhouse.  Old Maxell hadn't said everything, only enough to ensure that anyone involved couldn't wander away from their families.
  The small lake on the south part of the campground had thirty yards of shoreline that sloped up to shade and a handful of tables.  Mrs. Dexter found a spot high enough in the shade to read.  Her husband plucked kids from the waist deep water, tossing them high and cradling the fall back with a splash.  Patrick laid barechested on the next blanket over from Estelle.
  "So much for playing Nintendo.  I bet that was Castlevania we heard this morning."  Like her mother, small swimsuits would have been lost in the mass of her fur.  "You still planning on buying that?"
  "My dad is so going to ground me as soon as we're home.  No more coming over for a while, and I bet he makes me put the money I've got set aside for games in the bank."
  "How much?"
  "Ten lawns a week at three each.  By the time school starts that's four games."
  "Zelda?"
  "When they finally release it."
  The whole roped into cheer schedule felt more the cure for younger spirits.  Clocks were ticking somewhere in the sky as the sun crossed, yet the two teens had no breakout leading to adulthood.  A small radio back at the tables cut into conversations with Top 40 observations on life and love from recent years.  Since it was the Fourth, the DJs removed any and all British invasions from rotation.  Drum machines and synths left a corner for loud and quiet guitars, which tended to sound timeless from year to year.  One line repeated in his head: Good love is hard to find.  It might have been a sad song about a breakup, he wondered, but once the people had met and been happy for a time.  And perhaps it was the same conversation at the beginning of the relationship.
  After sundown Mr. Dexter took to the grill again, downing his portion as it came off the flame.  The younger kids laughed at his impressions, which were limited by his denim jeans and brown hat.  Once again the Hammonds boys were enslaved to clear the tables as the older bear pulled his hat lower for an evening nap.  His wife herded anyone still able to move back towards the lake for the fireworks.
  The teens hadn't filled themselves for hibernation.  Patrick paired a light polo with torn jeans, Estelle a cotton halter with shorts.  They debated upcoming games, teachers for next year, and what senior year would be like.
  A series of tubes lined the sandy arc of the beach, but after the first two Patrick and Estelle realized the families had drifted forward so far that they were separated.  They took a small step back, feet not quite accepting the message from the eyes.  Another, then again until they felt safe turning to jog off.

The way back took them by the clubhouse, but Old Maxell hadn't unlocked it for the evening.  Near everyone was at the lake, so Estelle unlatched the tailgate of her father's truck and leapt up.  The invitation was perfect.  Colored trails of sparks led to blooms above the treeline as Estelle leaned over on Patrick.
  Echoes of the morning's music pinched at Patrick's heart.  He reached and then laughed as his attempt was more pulling himself into Estelle than the other way around.
  "Everything ends one day."  Her fatalism earned her a slap on the back.  "I don't feel any more grown up some days than when I was a little cub.  Then Dad moved us from Washington to Kansas.  I wouldn't have found you otherwise.  What were we back then?  Seven?"
  "Your mother tolerates me, and how much time we spend playing video games together."  He suffered the returned slap from Estelle's larger hand.  "If anyone walks back early, they're going to ask where we wandered off to."
  "If we get inside and close the tailgate, no one will see us."  Her invitation had the tone of a plea that had been repeated in a mirror many nights before sleep.
  A single small window on each side let in moonlight and flashes of fireworks past roaddust.  The inflated air mattress and truck bed were barely wide enough for them to lay side by side, so sneakers were kicked off and pushed into the gaps left to the rear of the wheel wells.  Like the fight, neither wanted to say the first word.
  The tie of Estelle's halter came loose in Patrick's hand.  Until that moment he hadn't understood the love affair movies had with slow motion shots.  Filtered light specked her eyes as her hand kept the halter from exposing more fur.  A polo joined the shoes, then he tempted fate by placing a finger against her muzzle and the other low on her back.  The second tie unknotted, and as Patrick pulled the halter free Estelle's eyes dropped away.
  He'd been prepared to keep things as they'd been, but like the rest of the kids playing basketball yesterday or the softball team she'd never fit the mold the other girls had.  For all her size, always the gentle one - until the moment mattered.  Her head moved weightless under his hand, two fingers raising her muzzle to the proper angle.
  She didn't resist the first kiss, or the second.  It took more effort to pull her hands from her chest, but once done her larger hands hugged him closer.  Broad breasts and the trimmed fur covering them tangled in Patrick's chest hair.
  It hadn't been lost on him that anything Estelle didn't want wouldn't happen.  She was the stronger of them after all.  Her grasp loosened enough after they'd lost count on the kisses, and he scrunched lower to take in her body.  Locker room talk tended to happen eventually, and while a few of the guys might compare the smaller fruits Estelle had fewer choices for comparison.
  Watermelon.  The guys would never believe him, so they didn't need to know.  Summer perfect, and sweet.  His fingers parted the brown fur and she moaned at the first touch of her flesh.  Broad nipples pointed upward as she begged for attention.  Arched back and hands guided Patrick to the doom his father had pontificated on during more than one father/son outing.
  Even if the night had ended now, he'd have counted it perfect.  Estelle guided his hand lower and unbuttoned her shorts for him.  Hot breath begin to pop the sweat on Patrick's forehead.  Why he'd expected Estelle's fur to be anything but soft didn't matter now.  His sweat absorbed into her downy chest fur, and the trail down her belly was softer still.  He moved so they could kiss again, her back and hips crunching to accommodate the height difference.
  As his fingers pushed past the elastic of her panties, their kissing became necessity.  A family of voices walked on the road between the camping plots.  Lower still, and her hands forgot that men's jeans didn't have buttons or zippers on the back.  Each slight motion was absorbed by truck springs but rolled her fur between them, the effect of a bare foot on shag carpet but across his whole chest.
  The space between their hips eventually made sense to her.  Patrick's pants wormed off once undone, and the tiny wiggles of pleasure worked Estelle's shorts down her butt and thighs.  She tried telling him the keys to her heart, but her hips filled in the blanks that he didn't guess.  Fingertips worked into delicate flesh, and larger hands cupped her first lover.
  Soft desires whispered in the gulf between ears became the roar of boiled blood.  Even in passion, Estelle was careful in removing Patrick's underwear.  Ripped skin or a damaged groin would uncover the teens as surely as unrestrained moans, especially given the stiffened rod down there.  Her own underwear slid off and allowed the natural perfumes from within to fill the tiny space.
  It was Patrick's turn to guide.  He rolled to his back and pulled Estelle above, hands delivering commands to her hips.  They covered his, warm and as wide as her breasts had been.  Whatever dreams were being acted out, they removed all knowledge of hands from her brain.  She'd covered the human teen and propped herself on elbows, leaving him the challenge of getting a hand between them as she rocked back and forth.
  A sharp smack might have done the job quicker, but gentle responded to the same.  She rubbed herself higher on his belly until his member was free, and his hand positioned it for the backwards push.  Another family had left the fireworks early, and Estelle bit back her moan as they passed and Patrick filled her.  Thighs used to hours of squatting and powerful sprints had also developed the smaller muscles of the hip girdle.  With each rock backwards they squeezed on the welcomed invasion.
  The teens forgot the earlier pledge of stealth and allow their breath in the other's face to carry words.  Those drove Estelle's rocking from restrained to impassioned, meeting the upward thrusts of Patrick's hips.  Like his earlier attentions, he found that larger breasts could be extremely sensitive.  If they found the escape to do this again, he'd pick a position like this that allowed her hips freedom.  He hazarded one hand from her hips to an ear, tracing the outer edge.  Two hands only managed so many sensations in a childhood bedroom once alone at night.  A real lover, her first, could be more than a phantom ideal.
  Her hips rode him low, the grinding circle crushing Patrick's willpower.  A few thrusts as she relaxed, and then her hips restarted their rotations.  She pleaded in his ear from above, asking for the same thing any man wants for his first time.  In that moment he knew the song from the morning was meant for them.

More families walked past.  In time they heard the Lowerys and Hammonds return.  Estelle had given Patrick room to breathe, which also gave him room to crack both the windows.  An evening breeze scrubbed the smell of sex from the space.  Her rounded head took up most of his chest, one hand tracing the curves of jawline and ear as she dozed.  He closed the windows as familiar voices approached.  A hand over the muzzle kept her quiet as she stirred awake.
  "I'm telling you she's fine.  You keep treating her like a cub."
  "And I'm still her mother.  We should walk up to the clubhouse.  I wouldn't be shocked if those two and any other missing kids are hiding there, playing video games late into the night."
  "Worry more about the younger kids running around the campground.  Estelle's going to show up in the morning, and your nose won't be full of the stink bomb."
  "If you were the size of a human, I'd smack you into Tuesday morning and make it late enough that work would need a note from me.  It wasn't those Hammonds boys, but you laughed just the same."
  "Don't make me pin you to the bed and force the whole campground to hear what I do to Momma Bear."  A dull smack accompanied the sound of the camper being unlocked.  "No more arguments, woman, or I'll strap your muzzle shut as well."
  The door closed, and they knew Mrs. Dexter would find out eventually.  But they had the rest of the night, and weekend, before admitting anything.