Tiny House on the Road

by Celia Bonaduce

  “Why not go see the loft?” he asked. “You’ll have loads of time to send the ladder up and down.”

  “That’s true,” Vivien said as she started to climb. And climb. And climb. She called down to Bale. “It’s higher than it looks!”

  “You’ll get used to it.”

  She stared over the landing at the loft’s platform. She thought she’d be able to fit a twin mattress right down the middle and use the narrower sides, which tapered sharply from the gabled roof, for much needed storage.

  “Is this all the room I’ll have for clothes and stuff?” she asked as she came back down the ladder.

  “There’s a little more,” Bale said. “I built in a small storage chest onto the back, but, to be honest, living in sixty-four square feet is pretty revolutionary. It’s going to demand some creative thinking. But that’s what you do, right?”

  “Right,” Vivien said, trying to sound more confident than she felt.

  “I also used this model to test off-grid capabilities,” Bale said. “So you can either hook up conventionally, or use the incinerator toilet and generator—again, no cost to you.”

  “I scored,” Vivien said.

  “You did,” Bale agreed.

  Bale opened the door and Vivien stepped outside.

  The world looked massive.

  Chapter 4

  “I’ll be right there,” Priscilla called from the living room.

  The buzzer had broken years ago, but Clay always let her know Marco Marquez was knocking at the back door, ready to deliver her groceries. She was a little breathless when she finally reached the kitchen. She nudged the boxer aside. After unlocking the three bolts, she swung the door wide.

  “Hey, Priscilla,” Marco said, transferring a box from one hip to the other. He pointed out the door. “Check out my new ride.”

  “Your new…?” Priscilla asked in confusion, until she saw the shiny black pickup. “Oh! You bought a new truck!”

  “Finally got that promotion,” Marco said, trying to keep his balance as the boxer waited to be acknowledged. “I have your groceries. They were out of tomatoes.”

  “That’s all right.” Priscilla sighed as she let him into the kitchen. “I can wait until next week.”

  Marco dropped the box on the table and roughhoused with the dog for a few minutes. Priscilla watched, feeling guilty that she couldn’t give the dog the physical exercise he needed—but when Marco came by with the groceries, he was always good about playing with Clay. If he had the time, Marco would also throw in a long walk with the dog.

  “Okay, boy, that’s enough for now,” Marco said, as he started to unload the box onto the kitchen table, showing her every item as he went.

  “Oatmeal, peas, okra, corn tortillas, soup, nonfat milk, dog food, yogurt…”

  Priscilla opened her mouth to ask a question, but Marco anticipated it and answered before she could ask.

  “Plain yogurt, not vanilla and not Greek,” he said, smiling at her.

  “I have to check, Marco. You got that wrong once.”

  “I think I was sixteen when that happened. I’m twenty-three now.” Marco tapped his head. “I’ve got it.”

  Marco looked around the kitchen as he put the groceries away. Priscilla was tiny and it was impossible for her to get to the top shelves. Marco started out putting things away in places she couldn’t reach, but now he just set everything in its place. Marco’s parents owned a large grocery store in town. Marco’s mother had died a few years ago, but she made it clear her children were to learn every aspect of the business. There would be no running the store from a position of entitlement. In a few years, when Marco took over the family grocery store from his father, he was going to know everything there was to know about the products and about his customers through hard work.

  Unless Marco could think of a way out.

  “What are you looking for?” Priscilla asked.

  Marco was making a big show of looking around the kitchen.

  “Last week you asked for baking chocolate, sugar, and flour. That makes me think you baked a cake… And I was wondering if there might be a slice left for a hardworking delivery boy.”

  Priscilla beamed.

  “I made cupcakes,” she said, omitting that it had been her own birthday. She didn’t like to make a fuss or have anyone make a fuss over her.

  “I hope you saved some,” Marco said.

  Priscilla slowly walked to the breadbox she kept on her faded counter. She pulled out a chocolate cupcake.

  “Sit down and I’ll get you a glass of milk to go with it,” Priscilla said.

  “I thought you’d never ask.” Marco removed his baseball cap.

  “Wash your hands, Marco,” Priscilla said, her head buried in the refrigerator, retrieving the new carton of milk.

  “Already on it,” Marco said from the sink.

  Priscilla put the glass of milk and the cupcake, now sitting on a delicate china plate, on the tiny table in the corner of the kitchen. She stood back as Marco pulled up a wooden chair.

  “Aren’t you going to have one?” Marco asked, as he pulled the cupcake wrapper loose and took a bite.

  Priscilla hesitated. It had been a very long time since she casually sat at a table with anyone. Marco was such a sweet boy. It would be easy to sit and chat with him. She tried to picture herself sitting there with him, discussing this or that.

  “No, dear.”

  Chapter 5

  Vivien was not the butterflies-in-the-stomach type, but she was giddy when Bale instructed her to back up her truck so he could attach the tiny house.

  I’m really doing this.

  Looking in the rearview mirror, she watched Bale as he silently signaled her to guide the truck back…back…back. The tiny house loomed larger and larger until it took up her entire rearview mirror. Bale suddenly motioned for her to stop.

  Thor had been watching from the front step to the office, but ran to Bale’s side as Bale started toward the driver’s side of the truck, a deep crease furrowing his forehead. Vivien got out.

  “Is there something wrong?” Vivien asked.

  “There doesn’t seem to be a trailer hitch on your truck,” Bale said.

  Vivien burned with embarrassment. She went over to stare at the bumper, willing a trailer hitch to magically appear.

  It did not.

  “I assumed a trailer hitch came with…” Vivien knew she sounded completely lame. “You know…the trailer. I thought it was a package.”

  “One thing I always tell my customers,” Bale said. “Never assume. Life in a tiny house is full of curve balls.”

  “What do I do now?” Vivien asked as she continued to stare at her bumper.

  “Let me take a look,” he said, kneeling by the bumper.

  He appeared to be studying something under the truck. Thor took advantage of Bale being so close to the ground, showering him with kisses.

  “This shouldn’t be too big a problem,” Bale said, getting back to his feet. “You’ve got the tow package, you just need the hitch.

  Even with Thor’s blank expression, Vivien could see the dog was heartbroken to lose access to his person’s face.

  Vivien just stared at Bale, not trusting her voice. Tears seemed once again ready to escape.

  “I have a few trailer hitches out back,” Bale said. “I have one that will fit.”

  “Do you have an orange one?” Vivien squeaked.

  “An orange one?” Bale’s face was as expressive as Thor’s was blank.

  “To match the truck? And the roof of the tiny…and the roof of Shrimpfork?”

  “Sorry. They only come in black.”

  Vivien nodded and smiled. She didn’t want to seem ungrateful.

  “Why don’t you take Thor for a walk? His leash is in the office…somewhere. I’ll get
the trailer hitch on this guy,” Bale said, patting the truck. “I’ll have you ready to go within an hour.”

  Vivien was surprised to hear Bale refer to her truck as “this guy”—she always thought of her truck as female.

  Vivien headed to the office, but Bale’s voice stopped her.

  “Hey, Vivien,” he called.

  She turned to face him.

  “You forgot to leave the keys,” he said, holding out his hand.

  Vivien flushed.

  He must think I’m not safe out there!

  She turned over her keys without looking at him.

  “Vivien,” he said again. She looked up into his kind eyes. “You’ll do fine. You’ve got this.”

  She hoped the universe heard him.

  Bale’s office was chaotic. She scanned the room, gingerly turning over paperwork and assorted office supplies until she found Thor’s leash. She held it up triumphantly to the dog.

  “Found!”

  Vivien was itching to organize Bale’s world, but she tried to stay focused on the task at hand. As she snapped on Thor’s leash and headed out of the Bale’s Tiny Dreams parking lot, she thought Bale must mean what he said… After all, he trusted her with his dog.

  Bale’s place was only a few short blocks from Cobb’s main street. Several people greeted Thor as they walked along the sidewalk. She guessed when you lived in a small town, everybody not only knew your name, they knew your dog’s name.

  Vivien stopped in front of a hardware store. She looked at all the tools in the window. Now that she was a homeowner, albeit a tiny home, perhaps she should buy some tools.

  “Can I help you with anything?” A man in a baseball cap came from inside the store. “Hey, Thor.”

  “Oh, I’m just looking,” Vivien said. “I’m waiting for—”

  “Your tiny house to be done,” the man said.

  Vivien looked surprised and he explained.

  “I saw you headed over to Bale’s this morning.”

  Vivien smiled and shrugged.

  “Guilty,” she said.

  “And don’t worry about buying any tools,” the man said. “Bale sets all the home owners up with a nice tool kit.”

  “That’s so nice.”

  “Works for me, I’ll tell ya,” he said. “My business has tripled.”

  As she headed back to Bale’s, Vivien realized she had never experienced life in a small town. She smiled as she thought about all the adventures she was going to have—in small towns, suburbs, and cities.

  Any place she could get a job and park her tiny house.

  * * * *

  She returned in just over an hour. True to his Viking blood, Thor was a mighty explorer. Her truck sat front and center in the lot, Shrimpfork attached and ready to roll.

  “Let’s get you behind the wheel and give you a few lessons in driving with a tiny house attached before you hit the road,” Bale said. “Not to mention learning to hitch, unhitch, and rehitch the house.”

  “Sure,” Vivien said, swallowing hard as the lessons piled up.

  I’ve got this. I’ve got this. I’ve got this.

  Another hour flew by. Vivien was relieved as she seemed to know what to do by instinct.

  “You’re a natural,” Bale said.

  He leaned in her driver’s side window after Vivien proved she could back the truck up with the tiny house hitched to it.

  “Thanks,” Vivien said, a little breathless.

  She thought about getting out of the truck, but her knees were shaking so much from the strain of the last of Bale’s obstacle course that she decided to stay put.

  “Looks like you’re all set,” Bale said, scooping up Thor to say goodbye to Vivien.

  “I guess so,” Vivien said, although she didn’t feel all set. “Thanks for everything, Bale.”

  “Good luck in New Mexico. And I’m serious… If you find yourself with a little time between gigs, I’d love you to come back for a while. I don’t think there’s one aspect of my life that couldn’t use organizing.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Vivien said, trying to keep her voice even.

  She had nothing lined up after New Mexico, so this was a welcome offer.

  One thing she’d learned as she told friends and family about becoming the Organization Oracle working out of a tiny house: You had to be pretty determined to see it through. So to have someone like Bale believe in her—someone who’d made his own crazy dream of building tiny houses come true—meant a lot.

  “I guess I’ll head out,” Vivien said. She reached out and gave Thor a scratch between his ears on his red thatch. “Be a good…Viking.”

  As she drove away, Vivien saw Bale, still holding Thor, waving goodbye in her rearview mirror. Everything from this moment on was going to be a whole new way of life. She turned her eyes toward the road. As Vivien drove out of town, she saw Molly in the parking lot of Crabby’s. Molly gave her an extravagant wave, but Vivien was afraid to take her hands off the wheel, so gave the horn a jaunty honk instead. Then she looked straight ahead.

  First order of business: Don’t look back.

  Chapter 6

  She was on her way! When Vivien was first planning her route to New Mexico, she had planned on six hours a day, but all her research counseled to go slower—especially at the beginning. While her little truck appeared to not even notice the new family member rumbling behind it, she was glad she listened to the experts. Today, she only planned to go as far as Louisville, less than an hour and a half away. She’d arrive at Wertzenall’s RV Park early in the afternoon. She wanted plenty of daylight—and the possibility of finding help—the first time she hooked up Shrimpfork. Besides, she was anxious to see how that little kitchen would function and what she needed to buy to make it a sixty-four-square-foot home.

  White-fenced fields of Kentucky bluegrass spread out on both sides of the road, playing host to insanely perfect-looking horses. Kentucky looked exactly the way she’d envisioned it. Vivien had little experience with travel. She’d gone to college at Wingate University, so she was on speaking terms with Georgia and South Carolina, which fell between her parents’ home in Florida and her college in North Carolina. Throw in her junior year abroad in England, and that was pretty much Vivien’s travel résumé. With her trip to Sandstone, she was going to make up for lost time.

  Every time Vivien relaxed, she’d catch a glimpse of Shrimpfork in the rearview mirror and adrenaline would shoot through her. The short excursion to Louisville was uneventful, but she was grateful to drive through the gates of Wertzenall’s RV Park.

  The RV park’s pathways were covered in gravel, which seemed to surprise her tires after so many miles of asphalt. She could hear it crunching under the truck as she pulled up in front of the office. Staring at the diminutive building, dwarfed by the enormous RVs looming over it on all sides—Jack amid a convention of giants—Vivien had a strange feeling of déjà vu. Then she realized what it was. The office wasn’t much bigger than Shrimpfork. She smiled at the building. They were going to get along just fine.

  The tension of driving had turned Vivien’s joints to cement. She had to pry herself out of the truck’s cab. She looked around as she tried to loosen her limbs. Vivien had made reservations at the prettiest RV parks she could find on her route, and Wertzenall’s did not disappoint. The park curved along the banks of the Ohio River, gravel pathways gracefully meandering under the tall trees that shaded the RVs. She felt the tension leaving her body. She could not have picked a more bucolic spot. With a quick glance back at Shrimpfork, she walked into the office.

  Vivien gasped. The inside of the tiny office was as disorganized as the park was neat and trim. Vivien looked around the office, trying to find the check-in counter. Was there a check-in counter? There were stacks of crocheted blankets everywhere. On top of a tiny refrigerator covered in magne
ts there was a heap of what appeared to be yarn-covered top hats, stacked like a poor man’s game of Jenga, defying gravity.

  A door Vivien hadn’t seen sneezed opened. A woman’s gray topknot appeared over the mounds of clutter. Withered hands cleared a space among the papers, and Vivien found herself staring at startling blue eyes peering out of a nest of wrinkles. The woman wore a badge that read Wanda.

  Vivien could not imagine herself addressing this very old woman by her first name. Vivien caught sight of a sign over the woman’s head, which read: Welcome. You’ll love it here—Wertzenall.

  She took a deep breath and hoped she was right.

  “Mrs. Wertzenall?” Vivien asked. “Your RV park is awesome.”

  “This place belongs to my son, Bodey Wertzenall, so I guess I’m Mrs. Wertzenall,” the woman said, pointing to her badge. “But everybody calls me Wanda.”

  “Hello, Mrs…Wanda,” Vivien said. “My name is Vivien Orlando. I have a reservation for tonight.”

  “That’s Bodey’s department,” Wanda said. “He takes care of the RV park and I crochet the toilet paper covers.”

  Wanda pointed to the vibrant selection of knitted top hats.

  So that’s what those are.

  “And these,” Wanda added, patting the stack of blankets.

  “They’re very colorful,” Vivien said.

  “Can I interest you in one of them?”

  “Thanks very much,” Vivien said, suddenly grateful for the diminutive status of her home. “But I’ve only got—”

  “Ma!” a gravelly voice called through the front door. “There’s one of those tiny houses out here!”

  “No way, Bodey!” Wanda called around Vivien. “Here? At the park?”

  “Yep!” the gravel of Bodey Wertzenall’s voice continued. “Take a look!”

  “Excuse me,” Wanda said, coming around the counter and sliding past Vivien. “I’ll be right back. I’ve been dying to see one of these.”