“Give her to me,” Vivien said, taking Hilda gently in her hands. “This should do it.”
She slipped the sock over Hilda’s head like a stocking cap. The pressure held the china together.
“How do we explain a bright yellow stocking cap?” Marco asked.
The door swung open and Priscilla stepped inside.
“I guess we’ll find out,” Vivien said.
“I just talked to a lovely couple,” Priscilla said, breathlessly. “They have a tiny house too.”
“Really?’ Vivien said, happy for the distraction.
“Yes,” Priscilla said. “Their names were Alf and Margie. They used to have a big RV, but they met a girl who had a tiny house and now they have one too.”
“That’s so interesting!” Vivien said with too much enthusiasm.
Marco nudged her to take it down a few notches.
“The dishes aren’t done,” Priscilla said, looking past Marco and Vivien. “We better get a move on. Didn’t you say we had to make it to Phoenix tonight?”
“That’s right,” Marco said.
“We were just…” Vivien started, but Priscilla’s eyes had zeroed in on Hilda.
Marco and Vivien stood stock still.
“Look how cute!” Priscilla beamed. “Whose idea was this?”
“A mutual effort,” Marco said, as Priscilla took the doll.
Miraculously, the glue seemed to hold.
“She looks positively jaunty,” Priscilla said. “Well, I better get to those dishes.”
“We’ll do them,” Marco said. “You just sit and tell us about Alf and Mandy.”
“Alf and Margie,” Priscilla said. “I told them about my new phone.”
“That’s nice,” Vivien said distractedly.
“Did you know you can have any—what did they call it—ringtone!” Priscilla said. “Did you know you can have any ringtone you want?”
“I did know that,” Marco said. “Yes.”
Priscilla handed him her phone.
“Please make my ringtone ‘Ball and Chain,’” Priscilla said.
Vivien readied the house for departure while Marco added ‘Ball and Chain’ to Priscilla’s phone. He kept her busy by adding her thumbprint to the phone so she wouldn’t have to remember her passcode. He also added a few games—anything to keep Priscilla from focusing too closely on Hilda.
If Priscilla noticed the new détente between Marco and Vivien, she didn’t mention it. The trip to Phoenix was uneventful. There were a few rest stops, where Clay competed with Shrimpfork as the main attraction, and they were there. When they pulled in front of the space issued by the RV park, Marco simply gave the driver’s seat to Vivien. She drove into the space without rubbing it in.
Marco set up his tent in front of the truck.
Vivien wished Priscilla a good night and climbed into the loft.
Vivien waited for Priscilla’s breathing to suggest deep sleep. She relived the events leading up to this moment. She was beginning to think Marco might have his heart in the right place, even if he was a maddening co-conspirator. And she had to admit, she was lucky to have a co-conspirator. Handling this on her own would have been tough.
She must have dozed off, because she awoke to a heavy breathing in her ear. She froze. Wouldn’t Clay have barked if there was an intruder?
Marco.
She jolted awake to face him. But was greeted by Clay’s slobbery kiss. She ignored the fact that her outrage turned to disappointment.
“So you can climb ladders,” Vivien whispered to the boxer, scratching him behind the ears. “I should be mad at you. It’s all your fault we’re in this mess. Okay, scoot. I’ve got work to do.”
Vivien crept quietly down the ladder followed by a very noisy descent by Clay. Vivien looked over at Priscilla who, true to her word, was sleeping peacefully on the tiny futon. Vivien tiptoed over to the bed, where Hilda, in her sock-cap, was perched by Priscilla’s head. Vivien carefully picked up the doll, took her into the bathroom, quietly closed the door, and flicked on the light. She held her breath as Priscilla made a rustling sound on the futon. When Shrimpfork was silent again, Vivien held Hilda as if she were a real baby, cradling her head carefully. This was the moment of truth—did the glue hold? Let’s face it, Priscilla wasn’t going to fall for that “cute hat” trick forever.
She tugged gently at the sock. Her heart sank.
* * * *
“Wake up,” Vivien whispered in Marco’s ear.
She felt a little weird being in his tent. His bare shoulder stuck out of his sleeping bag and she could see his jeans tossed in the corner. Perhaps she should have knocked? But how do you knock on a tent? Marco seemed to sleep as deeply as Priscilla. She put out her hand to shake him, but drew back. She wished he’d worn pajamas. She poked him with one finger.
“Knock it off, Clay,” he said groggily. “I’m asleep.”
She smiled at the irony. She thought Marco was in her bed and it turned out to be the dog. He thought he had the dog, but he had her.
She shook his shoulder briskly.
“Wake up,” she said.
Marco sat up, almost knocking Hilda out of her hands.
“What are you doing in here?” Marco hissed.
“We’ve got a problem.”
“You’ve just noticed that?”
“A new problem.”
“What is it,” Marco asked, sitting cross-legged in his sleeping bag and rubbing his face.
In the dark, Vivien could hear the sound of his stubble scratching against his hands. The thought of it rubbing against her cheek flitted through her mind for an instant. Hilda’s one-eyed glare brought her back to reality.
“The sock is stuck to Hilda’s head,” Vivien said, pulling gently at the sock.
“Shit,” Marco said.
Vivien had never heard him curse before. At least he had absorbed the enormity of the situation. He put out his hand and Vivien placed Hilda in it.
“Careful!” Vivien said.
She clamped her hand over her mouth. They had to maintain a level of stealth unseen outside bank heist movies.
Even in the dark, she could sense Marco glowering at her.
“Do you have your phone?” Marco asked. Not waiting for an answer (of course she had her phone), he went on, in brain-surgeon mode, “Flashlight.”
Vivien fished her phone out of her back pocket and fired up the flashlight. They both grimaced as Hilda’s one eye stared at them.
“When this is over, we’ve got to buy her a new eye,” Marco said with a shiver.
Vivien took heart that Marco thought this was ever going to be over.
She steadied the flashlight and looked back down at Hilda. She was surprised to find her heart going out to the doll. She saw the vulnerability that Priscilla must have seen. In a world of china-headed beauties, it must not have been easy being Hilda. In a world where girls were just starting to be heard as well as seen, it must not have been easy to be Priscilla—ready to take the world by storm while her corner of the world would have none of it.
The fact that the world seemed to have won brought tears to Vivien’s eyes. Until this moment, she hadn’t really grasped how much courage this trip had taken for Priscilla. All Vivien had thought about was how annoying the trip was—especially with Marco along.
“Got it!” Marco said triumphantly.
Vivien gasped as she looked at Hilda in one of Marco’s hands and the yellow sock in the other. She moved the flashlight around Hilda’s head; the seam was barely visible.
“You did it,” Vivien said.
Overcome with relief, she threw her arms around Marco’s neck and kissed him.
Completely caught by surprise, Marco crashed back onto his sleeping bag, Vivien on top of him. His arms were outstretched to save Hilda from the sam
e fate she’d suffered earlier in the day.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Vivien said, shocked at her behavior.
She tried to get up, but her arms were locked under Marco. Marco tried rocking from side to side, but with Hilda to protect, there was little he could do.
“Stop moving,” Vivien said.
“I’m only trying to help,” Marco said.
“Well, don’t,” Vivien said. “Just hold still and I’ll try to get my arms free.”
Marco held still. Vivien could feel his heart beating fast.
Or was that her heart? She thought about how brave Priscilla was at her age. Might as well go for broke.
“Sorry,” she said. “Not sorry.”
She could see Marco’s eyes in the sliver of moonlight shining through the tent’s window. He raised his head and their lips met.
Vivien’s defenses—and her suspicions of Marco—melted away.
Because there it was. Just as Priscilla predicted.
It’s in his kiss.
An hour later, she—and Hilda—crawled out of the tent and back into Shrimpfork. Clay looked up sleepily from his spot on the floor, then closed his eyes in disinterest. Priscilla still slumbered peacefully on the futon. Vivien had a pang of guilt. What if Priscilla had woken up and noticed Hilda was missing? What if she noticed Vivien was missing? What if she’d come looking for them in Marco’s tent?
She decided to stop thinking.
She placed the yellow sock back on Hilda’s head—pulling it off once just to make sure it would not stick. With shaking hands, she settled her back on the futon’s arm.
She tiptoed up the ladder to the loft. She sighed as she drifted off to sleep.
Maybe this was going to be the adventure of a lifetime after all.
Chapter 24
At the airport, as the Colonel passed through TSA, he cursed the network’s travel agent under his breath. As if being sent to California with no preparation wasn’t already abysmal, he was being sent on the same plane with his staff.
Wasn’t it bad enough he had to deal with the public? Now he was going to be stuck making inane small talk with his colleagues. Most of the staff would be in coach, but his boss, Devora McDonald, would be in first class with him. That would limit his interaction. He was grateful for the curtain between first class and the rest of the plane, but somebody from his show always managed to find an excuse to get in a word here or there. He’d given the travel agent hell, but it was no use. He couldn’t take a separate flight. He did manage to bad-vibe her into giving him a seat away from everyone else, at least. He wondered if he was losing his edge. Even six months ago, he was confident he could have gotten his way.
“Good morning, Colonel Abbott,” the flight attendant chirped as the Colonel and Devora stepped inside the plane. “Thank you for choosing…”
The Colonel smiled, but was down the aisle before she could finish. He’d heard it all before. Devora had often accused him of being rude, but he was of the opinion the flight attendant was probably on automatic pilot, just as he was. They understood each other.
The Colonel and Devora settled across the aisle from each other in first class. He did not want to be trapped into talking business. He managed to be absorbed in his iPad as the rest of his staff filtered into coach. While he was not one of those celebrities who ever pretended he was “one of the gang,” he also didn’t like meeting the hostile eyes of his hardworking crew as they trudged back to the cramped spaces of coach.
It was hard to avoid Franklin as he entered the plane. Franklin was so large he literally cast a shadow. The Colonel started swiping at the latest version of Angry Birds, but almost dropped his iPad when, out of the corner of this eye, he saw Franklin take the window seat next to Devora. The Colonel couldn’t help himself. He stared right at Devora, eyebrows raised. She raised her eyebrows right back. Check. And Mate.
I really must be losing my edge!
The flight to San Diego from Chicago was endless. Normally, he avoided conversation with the person next to him by wearing the showiest noise-canceling headphones he could find. Even if they did flatten his hair. But he needed the distraction.
“How are you today?” he said, smiling smoothly at the woman next to him.
“I’m just fine, Colonel,” the woman tittered. She put out her hand. “My name is Francis. Francis-Ann. No ‘e’ in Ann.”
“Hello, Francis-Ann with no e,” he said, simmering with charm.
“I can’t believe I’m sitting next to you!”
This woman was going to be so grateful for his attention. He tried to see if his coworkers across the aisle were watching him work his magic. But that would ruin the effect.
“What takes you to San Diego?” he asked Francis-Ann.
“A hedgehog convention.”
“A…”
“A hedgehog convention,” Francis-Ann said, tapping a case under the seat in front of her. “My Mandy is a prizewinner.”
“Mandy is your hedgehog?”
He tried to place exactly what a hedgehog was, but failed. It was a rodent…
“Isn’t that a rodent?” he asked, trying to hide his distaste.
“Oh, no,” Francis-Ann said with a little laugh. “Many people think that, but a hedgehog is actually an insectivore.”
“What’s the difference?”
“A rodent eats plants,” Francis-Ann said. “An insectivore eats insects.”
So it’s even worse.
He stared at the tiny case, trying not to recoil.
“Excuse me,” he said. “We should pay attention to the safety announcement.”
He fumed in his seat as the flight attendant demonstrated how to operate a seat belt. Was this some cosmic joke? He could give the safety announcement by this time. But how could he gracefully get out of discussing hedgehogs for the next three hours?
He feigned sleep as the plane took to the air. But as soon as he stirred, Francis-Ann asked if he’d like to meet Mandy.
“You’ll need to keep him under wraps,” Francis confided. “The flight attendants don’t really like us to flaunt our hedgehogs.”
He spent the remainder of the flight hiding Mandy (whom, if the Colonel was in a better mood, he would have to admit was very cute) not only from the flight attendant, but from his coworkers. Social media would blow up should the Colonel lose a hedgehog mid-flight.
He took deep breaths, as Francis-Ann demanded a picture with him and Mandy. He sneaked a peek at Devora and Franklin, who were deep in conversation, for good or ill. He held Mandy up and Francis-Ann snapped a picture with her phone.
“What’s going on here?” The flight attendant was suddenly at their side.
Francis-Ann grabbed Mandy and stashed her back in the cage in seconds. Franklin and Devora turned their attention to the altercation.
“Did you know they’re holding a hedgehog convention in San Diego?” the Colonel oozed at the flight attendant. “Fascinating creatures.”
“Let’s make sure our hedgehogs stay safely under the seat until they’re in San Diego then, shall we?” the flight attendant said to Francis-Ann, who stared straight ahead.
The Colonel turned toward his coworkers as if to say:
You see? I’ve still got it, damn it.
But they had lost interest. Francis-Ann was duly chastened and remained quiet the rest of the flight. Devora and Franklin were equally silent.
He could not show how unnerved he was with his underling flying across the aisle from him. This was no mere upgrade. It was a signal. But from whom? Devora? The network? He’d heard rumors that the network thought he was getting stale. The audience wanted tougher and meaner, it was said, and the Colonel’s brand of dismissive banter was getting predictable.
He must keep his nerves steady.
He pretended to close his eyes, but shot a glance und
er heavy eyelids toward his coworkers. Then he saw it. Devora squeezed Franklin’s knee. He remembered years ago, when he was the assistant to Simon Clark, his predecessor, and Devora had squeezed his knee. It was only a matter of months before the Colonel was announced as the new host of This Old Thing?
He was going to turn the San Diego show into television history. They wanted mean… They’d get mean. This was war—and he was the Colonel.
* * * *
Vivien woke to the sound of Priscilla in the little kitchen. She sniffed the air. Pancakes? Vivien tried to envision actually cooking breakfast for three people in the four-foot-by-two-foot kitchen. Nothing came to mind. But from the delicious smells wafting up to the loft, Priscilla wasn’t having any trouble.
Vivien smiled as she relived the events of the night before. She stretched, but froze when she heard Marco’s voice downstairs. He was already here? She wasn’t ready to face him. She hadn’t actually planned what their meeting would be like, but she knew it would include brushed hair and teeth. She looked around the loft. At least she could get to a cute outfit. But could she do it quietly?
Lying flat on her belly, she snaked across the mattress to her clothes. She reached into the basket that held her tops. By feel, she picked a shell-pink T-shirt with a butterfly insert on the back. Sexy but not over the top. She grabbed a pair of black jeggings. Not quite what she had in mind, but they would do. She scrambled into a thong and sports bra before yanking on her ensemble. As she sat up to run her fingers through her hair, Clay got wind of the movement from the loft and came up. Vivien looked at him as he slobbered his way to her.
“I’m not ready,” she said, but accepted his morning kisses.
“Is that our sleepy time gal?” Priscilla called.
Vivien took a deep breath and followed Clay down the stairs. Priscilla was putting two pancakes on the last of the three plates.
Hilda was sitting on her customary spot on the kitchen shelf, still wearing her stocking cap, which now sat loosely at a jaunty angle on her head.
“Somebody left the ladder down last night,” Priscilla said, handing over a plate of pancakes.
“I…” Vivien said, feeling her chest and cheeks betraying her and turning bright pink. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
Tiny House on the Road Page 15
