Tiny House on the Road

by Celia Bonaduce

  No matter what happens, this will all be over tomorrow.

  “I gave Priscilla a copy of the local paper,” Marco said, following Clay out of the tiny house. “That should keep her busy for a while.”

  Searching her phone for a spot to figure out their next move, Vivien found a place called Dog Beach, at the Pacific Ocean’s edge, where Clay could run off-leash. Vivien and Marco went through the charade of inviting Priscilla to join them, and having Priscilla once again demure before heading down to the beach.

  “I’ve never been to the beach,” Marco said, as they headed down to the sand.

  In the distance, they could see all sized dogs and humans playing.

  “I’ve been to the Atlantic,” Vivien said, “But this is my first time on the West Coast.”

  There were so many new experiences she was sharing with Marco. No matter how this adventure played out, she knew she would never forget him.

  She brushed Marco’s hand as he ran off with Clay.

  The boxer, who as far as Vivien knew, had never been out of the Southwest, crashed into the waves with wild abandon. Marco followed after him. Vivien loved watching the two of them tussle in the surf. She looked back at Shrimpfork in the parking lot. Vivien did not want this trip to end like Priscilla’s adventure in Monterey in the 1960s—nothing but a memory. But what could she do about it?

  Her phone vibrated in her pocket. By the time Marco and Clay returned, Vivien was typing furiously.

  “I’ve got something,” Vivien said. “A vineyard in Temecula says we can spend the night.”

  “At a vineyard?” Marco asked. “How cool is that?”

  “Right?” Vivien beamed. “And get this—dog-friendly too.”

  “Awesome,” Marco said, before adding, “where’s Temecula?”

  “I have no idea,” Vivien said. “It’s around here someplace. We’ll find it.”

  “Before we go back,” Marco said. “We should talk.”

  “Okay,” Vivien said, wondering where this was going.

  “I mean.” Marco looked around, not at her. This was not a good sign. “I mean, what are we doing?”

  Vivien hesitated. It was a little early in the relationship to be dissecting it, wasn’t it? Were they even in a relationship? Marco didn’t strike her as the needy type. But she didn’t really know him.

  The thought that she slept with a man she didn’t know very well made her turn pink. She was happy she was three thousand miles from her parents.

  “In what sense?” she finally said.

  “In the ‘We’re in San Diego trying to get into one of the most popular shows in America at the last minute, so a woman, who won’t go into a restaurant, can brave a crowd of thousands, to show a one-eyed doll to a man who has no time and probably less interest’ sense.”

  “Oh,” Vivien said, relieved she hadn’t gone the other way with her question. “That.”

  “Any thoughts?” Marco said. “The show is tomorrow! I just hate the thought of letting Priscilla down.”

  “I know,” Vivien said. “But we’ve done all we can. What have our choices been? Priscilla needed a reason to start living again and this trip gave her one. What were we going to do, say ‘No’?”

  Marco studied her for a few seconds.

  Then he leaned in and kissed her.

  “You’re amazing,” he said. “Sorry I thought you were a total scammer.”

  “That’s okay,” Vivien said. “I thought you were a total scammer too.”

  “Yeah, I got that impression,” Marco said. He looked down at Clay. “Can you believe that?”

  “Don’t drag the dog into this,” Vivien said. “He vouched for your character, you know. You can always trust a dog to know if someone is a good person or not.”

  “Lucky for me.”

  “Lucky for you is right!” Vivien said. She turned serious. “Look, we’ve done what we could. This trip has been good for her, no matter what.”

  “And it hasn’t been too shabby for us, either,” Marco said.

  Vivien put her hand to Marco’s cheek. There was certainly no arguing with that.

  Vivien wondered where their relationship could possible go from here. Would Priscilla want more work done at Casa de Promesas? And even if she did, how long could it last? Wasn’t the whole point of buying Shrimpfork to move from temporary job to temporary job, so she’d never get stuck?

  What if she wanted to be stuck?

  And there was Marco. When he got back, was he going to have to buckle down and take control of the store?

  Luckily, the immediate future was as overwhelming as thoughts of the distant future, so she turned her attention back to the problems at hand.

  “Besides,” Vivien said, “you said it yourself: This Old Thing? is super popular. There’s no way we’ll even get tickets to get in, let alone see the Colonel.”

  “I know,” Marco said. “I’ve been texting the venue and emailing the show. I’m also checking their Facebook page. No luck.”

  “Or all the luck in the world,” Vivien said. “I mean, if we can’t get in, nobody’s to blame.”

  Vivien and Marco returned to Shrimpfork, letting Clay off his leash. The boxer bounded over to his diminutive owner. Priscilla was sitting on the futon, phone in hand.

  “You won’t believe this,” Priscilla said, looking up at them. “I was reading the local paper and I saw a phone number for the show and called. I got us three tickets to the show—and a pass to the audience section where people go to get their things appraised!”

  Vivien and Marco were gobsmacked.

  “What?” Marco was the first to speak.

  “How?” Vivien added.

  “I was reading the local paper and I saw a phone number for the show,” Priscilla said, holding up the phone. “And I called.”

  “You called?” Marco asked, incredulously.

  Chapter 26

  Vivien could not believe her luck. Temecula was only about an hour from the This Old Thing? venue.

  Priscilla had been very thorough in her phone conversation with This Old Thing? and knew their arrival time, gate number, and contact—a man named Franklin Hoff. As Marco followed Google Maps to the vineyard in Temecula, Vivien sat in the passenger seat plotting their course for the following day.

  Having mastered the phone keypad, Priscilla was working on the camera app and was now taking pictures of Clay.

  “I think I should have a Facebook page,” Priscilla said, leaning into the front seat. “So I can post my pictures.”

  “Maybe Instagram would be better,” Vivien suggested.

  She turned and smiled at Priscilla in the back of the cab. They were a long way from the timid woman who seemed to tiptoe around her own house. Priscilla pointed the phone at Vivien and took a picture. Vivien could hear Priscilla sigh.

  “I get my thumb in every picture. But we’ll figure it out, won’t we, boy?” Priscilla said as she gave Clay a scratch behind his ears. “These old dogs are ready to learn a whole bunch of new tricks!”

  If Priscilla could stay this upbeat, maybe going through with this wild plan would be the best thing that had happened to her since…seeing Janis Joplin. Was it possible everything was going to work out?

  “Look at this place!” Priscilla said as they pulled off the road onto the long gravel driveway leading into the vineyard.

  Vivien gasped. Undulating fields of vines spreading out on either side of the driveway, which led to a one-story Spanish-style house with porches on every side. The whole place was postcard worthy. And best of all—there was plenty of parking.

  A woman wearing an oversized canvas hat was gardening in the small front yard as Marco brought the truck to a stop. The woman stood up at the sound of tires crunching over gravel. Marco rolled down the window as the woman, along with two large dogs, approached the tru
ck with a big smile. She was a sturdy, sunbaked middle-aged woman wearing a faded plaid shirt and jeans ripped—through hard work rather than fashion—at the knees.

  “Hi,” the woman said. “I’m Melanie. And you guys must be the tiny house people.”

  Clay stuck his nose out the window. Melanie laughed and rubbed his head.

  “I stand corrected.” Melanie continued. “And tiny house dog.”

  “It’s awesome that you’re letting us stay here,” Marco said.

  “No problem,” Melanie said, sweeping her hand to indicate the vast space behind her. “I’ve got plenty of room. And I love these tiny houses. Sorry the zoning laws are so tough on you guys.”

  “You and me both,” Marco said.

  Vivien felt a prick of annoyance at Marco speaking for her. After all, Shrimpfork was her tiny house. Bu there was certainly no way for this woman to know their story. Vivien thought about explaining their odyssey, but decided against it.

  Melanie might think they were crazy, and then where would they be?

  Besides, as much as she hated to admit it, there was a part of her that loved the idea Melanie thought she and Marco were a bona fide couple.

  “Your land is beautiful, Melody,” piped Priscilla from the back of the cab.

  Vivien loved Priscilla using the term “the land.” It sounded so romantic coming from her.

  Melanie looked in the backseat.

  “Oh! I didn’t see you there,” Melanie said. “Thank you. And it’s Melanie. I always tell people, “You know the old song, ‘A Beautiful Girl is Like a Melody?’ Well, I’m not her.”

  Melanie and Priscilla both laughed. Vivien looked at Marco who shrugged. He’d never heard of the song either. But they both smiled—they’d remember Melanie’s name now too.

  “There’s a level spot over there with a nice view of the vines.” Melanie pointed toward the western border of the property. She looked in the back of the cab and spoke to Priscilla. “The whole perimeter is fenced, if you want to let that handsome dog of yours run for a bit. My boys are all friendly.”

  “Oh, thank you,” Priscilla said. “I’m sure Clay would love to see the place.”

  Marco let Clay out of the car. It was as if he’d known the other dogs his whole life and the three of them ran down one row of grape leaves and back again, as Marco maneuvered Shrimpfork into place.

  Marco helped Priscilla out of the back. Priscilla clutched her large handbag to her chest.

  “Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?” Melanie asked Priscilla.

  “Oh, that’s all right,” Priscilla began.

  “She’d love one,” Vivien said.

  Marco and Priscilla both stared at her.

  “You are planning on getting into a crowd tomorrow,” Vivien whispered to Priscilla.

  “I know,” Priscilla said. “I keep trying to tell myself a journey starts with a single step.”

  “And a crowd starts with a single person,” Vivien said. “You’ll be fine. Take Hilda with you.”

  Priscilla straightened. Vivien saw her reach into her bag to make sure Hilda was there.

  “That’s very kind,” Priscilla said to Melanie. “I would love one.”

  Marco and Vivien watched the two women head toward the house. Melanie was a head taller than Priscilla, and had to bend almost in half as Priscilla showed off her phone.

  “Tomorrow is going to be a trainwreck,” Marco said.

  Melanie made dinner for all of them. After beef stroganoff and homemade apple pie, Melanie sat with her guests in her living room, all three dogs sprawled around the room, and listened to Priscilla explain her plan to get the Colonel to check out Hilda. Melanie took Hilda carefully in her two hands and examined her carefully. Marco and Vivien held their collective breath, hoping Hilda’s head would stay intact.

  “She’s very interesting, of course,” Melanie said carefully. “But, Priscilla, I don’t want you to be disappointed if you can’t get to the Colonel. He’s very busy during those shows.”

  “Oh, I know, dear,” Priscilla said. “But everything has worked out so far. We just have to have faith.”

  Vivien thought if Priscilla knew Clay instigated a cracked skull for Hilda, she might amend her statement.

  Marco and Vivien cleaned the dishes, while Priscilla and Melanie chatted.

  Vivien couldn’t help herself. She mentally rearranged absolutely everything in the kitchen. Loading the dishwasher was simple enough—the journey from the sink to the dishwasher was just a quick bend at the waist.

  But she could see that unloading the dishwasher was going to be a complete marathon of energy. Plates were in one cabinet, glasses at the other end of the room, separated by a food pantry. The knives, forks, and spoons were housed in an island in the middle of the kitchen.

  Vivien wondered if she should tell Melanie about her services as the Organization Oracle.

  Living on a vineyard for a while would be sweet.

  Vivien stopped loading a glass halfway to the dishwasher.

  “Everything okay?” Marco asked, noticing her sudden frozen posture.

  “Oh, yes, just thinking,” Vivien said, regaining her composure.

  What she didn’t tell him was what she was thinking about.

  The allure of traveling the country didn’t seem as appealing as it once did.

  Not if she had to move away from Marco.

  She had worked so hard on her plans—but were plans made to be broken? Would giving up on her precious goals because she met a cute boy be shortsighted? Did Marco feel the same way?

  She shook off the questions. It was much too early to be thinking things like this!

  They were still loading pie plates into the dishwasher, when Melanie and Priscilla entered the kitchen. Melanie had four glasses of wine in tiny wineglasses.

  “This is the new dessert wine I’m working on,” Melanie said. “A California sherry. Care for a taste?”

  “Sounds good,” Marco said, taking a glass.

  “Salute,” Melanie said.

  “This is very tasty,” Priscilla said.

  “Can you taste baked apples and toffee?” Melanie asked.

  “No,” Priscilla said. “I only taste wine.”

  Vivien smiled as she and Marco went back to work.

  Priscilla could be so innocent.

  “Priscilla, Hilda, and Clay are going to take the guest room,” Melanie said. “I’m sure it’s been awfully tight quarters having all of you in that little house. Priscilla thought you two might like a night to yourselves.”

  Marco dropped a handful of forks. Vivien opened her mouth to object. She knew staying in someone else’s home would not be Priscilla’s first, second, or third choice.

  “Sometimes,” Priscilla leaned in to whisper to Vivien, “sacrifices must be made.”

  Vivien flushed as Priscilla gave her a wink.

  Priscilla could be so worldly.

  * * * *

  The Colonel usually waited until the last minute to visit any given venue—they tended to blur after a while—but he felt it was in his best interest to keep his eye on things today. As he walked up the sidewalk, he tried to stay calm. The sky was a dazzling blue and he could hear the surf crashing a block away. He could see how Southern Californians could be lulled into thinking they lived in Lotus Land, a place where the weather was always perfect and nothing could possibly go wrong. He remembered that his predecessor Simon Clark had let his own guard down right here fifteen years ago. The Colonel wasn’t proud of it, but he and Devora had hatched a plan to make Simon look old and doddering. They carefully selected items of absolutely no value and passed it off to the network as Simon’s mistake.

  It was as if Devora swept Simon out and the Colonel in with the tide.

  The Colonel had a long memory. Devora and Franklin would
have their hands full trying to stage a coup on his watch.

  He entered the venue. The day of the show always pulsed with energy. But today the place was barely contained chaos. The production crew was setting lights high in the rafters, while sound systems and cameras were being checked. Tape was being laid on the stage, designating spots for audience members, special guests, and those intrepid souls waiting to see if they were about to be made wealthy by the trinket they uncovered while sorting out Grandmother’s house after the funeral.

  The Colonel spotted Devora and Franklin in conversation with Loren Balthazar, the network executive.

  What was he doing here?

  Franklin spotted the Colonel. Franklin’s smarmy smile froze. He nudged Devora, whose own smile twitched, but she was a more seasoned shark than Franklin and she recovered in a blink.

  The Colonel headed toward them, an unnatural gleam in his eye.

  “Loren! I wasn’t expecting to see you,” the Colonel said in his most jovial tone. Looking Devora straight in the eye, he added, “Such a surprise.”

  “Devora invited me, so I could see for myself how your team pulled off rescheduling the Taos cancellation,” Loren said. “I said it couldn’t be done, but I stand corrected. Devora is magic, is she not?”

  “An absolute witch,” the Colonel said, teeth bared in a smile.

  “There’s still a lot of work to do. I know we can’t get our usual numbers, but we’ll do the best we can, right?” Loren said. “We’re behind the eight ball, Cornwall, but San Diego is a huge market. We should be okay.”

  The Colonel winced. The fact that Loren called him by his first name instead of “the Colonel” showed how long they’d know each other. But—perhaps it also reminded him how much history they shared. Loren was the one who gave him his start. Maybe Loren was on his side.

  “Franklin,” the Colonel said, looking at his watch. “How long until showtime?”

  “About five hours,” Franklin said.

  The Colonel decided a little power play might be just the ticket.