by Diann Hunt
Footsteps race toward us, and I turn just in time to see Millie take a high jump. I open my mouth to scream, but in one giant free fall, Millie’s derriere comes crashing down upon us, snuffing out my cries and pushing my spleen to the other side of my body.
The kid groans. I don’t have the strength. Lydia is nearby, her mouth hanging open in shock—whether from being grabbed or from the sight of Millie and me sprawled on top of this kid, I’m not sure.
Now, call me pessimistic, but something tells me this trip is just wrong.
4
By the time the policeman arrives and sorts through everything, we find out that the kid thought Lydia was his mom’s friend, and he was trying to scare her just for fun.
Well, Lydia wasn’t his mom’s friend, he did scare her, and it wasn’t fun. Still, we don’t press charges. We figure Millie’s free fall was enough punishment to last him a lifetime.
Millie takes a group snapshot of the policeman, the kid, and the three of us before we part ways. For a reward, I go back into the store and buy a bag of assorted candy.
Once we get back into the RV, I step over the grapes on the floor—hey, Millie spilled them, and she’s the neat freak—and pull open my sack of junk. Though I normally snub my nose at store-bought chocolate, that little episode with Lydia begs for it. Besides, I like to keep tabs on the competition.
Millie bends down to pick up the scattered grapes and tosses them in the wastebasket.
My hand stops digging through the bag for a moment. “You missed one,” I say, pointing.
Millie glares at me. “Thanks.” All sincerity is gone from her voice, but I enjoy our little exchange just the same.
Glancing out the window, I have no idea where we are, not that it matters. As I root once more through the sack, it occurs to me that Lydia is not saying a whole lot. “You okay, Lydia?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little shaken.” She gives a nervous laugh.
“I’m sorry. I’m sure that was scary for you. It was scary for me, and I wasn’t the one being chased,” I say. Lydia will no doubt have nightmares after this. Like I said, too many cop shows.
“Well, it’s not every day that a teenage boy pays attention to me,” she says with a chuckle.
“That kind of attention we can do without,” Millie joins in.
“That’s the truth,” Lydia says like the benediction of a prayer.
Lydia’s handling it better than I thought. “Well, that kid will think twice before he messes with a couple of middle-aged babes,” I say, winking at Millie.
“I see why you didn’t want to drive,” Millie says, pointing to the sack. “You wanted to stay back there with the junk food.”
“You’re quick, Millie, I’ll give you that.” I continue to dig through the bag like a bargain shopper at an after-Thanksgiving sale. “You guys want anything?”
“No thanks, not now. Maybe later,” Lydia says, as in save me some.
Millie shakes her head. “Hey, have you guys seen my glasses?” She looks around her seat area.
“You didn’t have them on when you tackled that kid, did you?” I ask, my eye on a Snickers in the bag.
“No, I had gotten up to get some grapes.”
“It takes real talent to lose glasses in a motor home, Millie.” I decide to wait on the chocolate, pull out a bag of Twizzlers instead, and rip it open.
“What can I say? I’m gifted.” Her fingers reach under her seat.
“Try your head,” I say dryly, taking a bite of red licorice. The Twizzlers are good, but they’re not Le Diva’s.
Millie’s fingers tap against her head until she touches her glasses. “Oh good. See, I told you this was a great place to keep them so I don’t lose them.”
“Yeah, too bad you don’t remember that’s where you keep them.” I get up and grab a bottled water from the refrigerator.
“You know, we laugh about what happened at the store, but that was pretty scary. Even once we saw that it was only a kid, I was afraid,” Millie says.
“You sure didn’t show it with your determined free fall,” I say.
We chuckle.
“You should talk, Miss Ninja,” Millie says.
Lydia stays serious. “I wasn’t sure whether that kid had a gun or what. Made me think how fragile life can be.”
A somber moment passes between us.
“I’m telling you, just the sight of you and Millie running after us. I mean, the look on your face, Millie—” Lydia starts laughing. “And, DeDe, that Bruce Lee scream, the whole ninja thing—” Tears are running down her cheeks now. Her words are indiscernible, and I’m wondering if she should pull over to the side of the road. She’s guffawing, and Millie soon starts in with her trademark chipmunk laugh. Think Alvin. It’s a little frightening, but still I join in.
Despite the RV’s problem starting at the beach and that prank-gone-sour deal, I think we’re having a good time after all. Maybe the worst is behind us.
When we finally calm down, Lydia says, “Hey, DeDe, would you mind checking on Cobbler? She’s awfully quiet, and I just want to make sure she’s okay. All the commotion probably scared her to death.”
“Sure,” I say after taking a drink of my water. We risk our lives, and Lydia’s worried about the bird. Hello? I could have had a heart attack. After finishing my water, I throw it away and walk to the bedroom. Cobbler’s cage is hanging from the ceiling in a corner so she can see out the window. Her cage is swinging as our metal home on wheels creaks down the highway. I’m wondering how Cobbler keeps from getting carsick. Now that I look at her more closely, she does look a little, well, frightened. Her eyes have that sort of deer-in-the-headlights look, and her feathers are all fluffed out. Not to mention the fact that several feathers are lining the floor. I sneeze twice. Her feathers and I just don’t mix.
“You all right?” As if she’s going to answer me. I’m telling you, Lydia’s messing with my mind. First an RV dubbed “Waldo,” and now I’m talking to a bird.
I stagger back to my seat at the table. “She appears to be all right, but can birds get carsick?” My teeth vibrate with the dishes in the cabinet.
“Well, I suppose so, but I’m sure she’s fine. She’s traveled with us before. It’s actually a blessing when she travels. She’s not nearly as vocal.” Lydia gives a slight chuckle.
I’m thinking if I were hanging in midair in unfamiliar surroundings feeling nauseated and frightened, I’d be quiet too.
“What about when it’s time for The Andy Griffith Show?” I ask.
“Oh, we’ll hear from her then, believe me. She won’t want to miss Barney.”
It scares me to even think about that.
“Speaking of which, I brought some videotapes of the show. Would you mind putting one in for her so she can watch it?” Lydia asks.
“You buy Cobbler videos of The Andy Griffith Show? You’re kidding, right?” My friends never cease to amaze me.
“No, why? I have my favorite shows; why shouldn’t she?” Lydia asks with a broad smile that I can see in the rearview mirror.
“The fact that she’s a bird comes to mind, but then, maybe that’s just me,” I say.
Lydia ignores me. “The tapes are in the stand beside the bed.”
Trudging to the bedroom, I pull out a tape. “I suppose she’ll squawk if I put in an episode she’s already seen?” I call out.
“Of course not, silly,” Lydia says. “She’s seen them all before and loves every one.”
Right. Sticking a tape in the VCR, I set the channel. Lydia has placed a small portable TV and video player on the nightstand in the bedroom specifically for Cobbler. We also have a small television set anchored in the ceiling just behind the driver area. At least that ensures the driver won’t be watching and driving.
Cobbler starts walking sideways back and forth on her perch. She shivers once, ruffling her feathers, and then settles down. The tape needs to be rewound, so I hit the rewind button.
Our feathered friend
whistles. First she just does a couple of notes, similar to the vocal exercises one would expect from a professional singer on the opening night of a concert. A kind of warming-up thing.
Then Cobbler breaks into a full rendition of The Andy Griffith Show theme song. Okay, maybe it’s not the full rendition, but it’s the first few bars over and over. And over. And over.
Upon hearing her whistle the tune for the second time, I’m totally convinced it wasn’t a fluke. “Wow! She really can sing that,” I say, totally amazed.
“Told you,” Lydia says.
Though this bird is weird, I have to admit it’s pretty cool that she can whistle this tune. In my opinion, that takes some brains—or at the very least a good set of pipes. The video stops. Once the show is on, Cobbler bobs her head and scampers back and forth on her perch. She says something, and I’m almost sure it’s “Barney,” then she wolf whistles.
Okay, that creeps me out a little.
“Hey, DeDe, come here,” Millie says.
I go back to join Lydia and Millie. “Are we there yet?”
“Not quite,” Millie says. “We don’t see a listing for an RV campground in Albany. Lydia and I were thinking we could stay at a Wal-Mart. I could get my film developed while we’re there too. What do you think?”
“Do people camp at Wal-Mart?” I ask, totally oblivious to the camping world.
“Yes, they allow people to park their campers for an overnight stay.”
“Sounds all right to me,” I say.
“There are several; we’ll pick the one closest to where we’re ready to stop.”
“Waldo won’t have any problems finding one. I am, after all, his owner.” Lydia reaches for the radio knob. “Do you mind if I turn on the radio?”
Millie and I agree. I’m feeling a little tired from our late-night talk and the excitement at the convenience store. Okay, the truth is, my body aches from head to toe where Millie pounced on us with all the grace of an elephant.
“Aren’t you tired, Lydia?” I’m amazed she’s still holding it together since she was up late too. She has to be emotionally drained after all she’s been through.
“I’m doing fine. I’m too keyed up to sleep now.” She turns the radio knob and comes upon an easy-listening station.
I no sooner fall asleep on the sofa than we stop at Wal-Mart and call it a day.
“If you want dinner and you don’t want to wake up in the middle of the night, you’d better get up,” Millie says.
I yawn. “What time is it?”
“It’s about six thirty,” Millie says.
We decide to eat at a Chinese place that’s in the same shopping complex as Wal-Mart. Asian spices greet us the moment we enter. I haven’t eaten Chinese food in a while—actually, not since I was with Rob. We loved to eat Chinese together. I miss him.
About halfway through the meal, my cell phone vibrates. Thankfully, Lydia and Millie are sitting across from me and don’t seem to notice anything. I discreetly pull it from my pocket and look under the table to see that it’s Rob. If Millie and Lydia weren’t here, I think I’d answer it. He must sense that I’m eating Chinese. We connect on a deep level. Wonder if that’s a sign? The phone stops vibrating, and Rob is gone—again.
“Boy, we must be tired,” I say before I finish the last bite of my orange chicken. “We’ve hardly said three words here.”
“I know I am.” Lydia touches the corner of her mouth with a napkin.
With the snap of my fortune cookie, I pull out the paper and read it silently. When I look up, Lydia and Millie are staring at me. “What?”
“Aren’t you going to read it?” Millie asks.
“Um, no.”
“And why not?”
Millie again. This woman never gives up, I tell you.
“Well?” Millie pushes.
With a long sigh, I pull out the paper. “It says, ‘A long-lost friend will come into your life soon.’” I look up in time to see Millie’s eyebrows shoot up and Lydia smile.
“Wonder if his name is Tony, George, David, or—who was the other one—oh yeah, Ralph?”
My eyebrows wiggle playfully, and I have to admit there’s a teensy bit of hope lifting inside me. Maybe this little journey will help me forget Rob. Not that I need someone else in my life to forget him. I just wonder if there ever will be someone else in my life.
“Just remember to save a couple for us,” Millie says as if she’s half-serious, though I don’t think she is. She doesn’t seem ready for another relationship. Still, I could be wrong.
Tossing my paper aside, I slurp the last of my iced tea. The server brings back our receipts and thanks us for coming in.
“You girls ready to go?” Lydia asks, rising from our booth. Millie follows her, and they start walking away.
“Aren’t you forgetting something, Millie?” I call out to her.
She turns around.
I’m waving her glasses. “I think you used them to read your fortune cookie—which you failed to read to us, by the way.”
Millie walks over and snatches the glasses from my hand. When she turns around, Lydia stands in the way, arms folded across her chest.
“We made DeDe tell us,” Lydia says.
“It said something about losing my glasses,” Millie comments dryly, pushing past Lydia.
A wet sensation on my cheeks lures me slowly to consciousness. My hand wipes across my face.
Drip, drip, drip.
Working through my sleepy haze, it takes me a moment to get my bearings. Something drips onto my face again. My eyes squint to see the ceiling through the darkness. Another plop hits my eyelid, making my lashes wet.
My fingers work the blanket as though I’m reading Braille. The top cover is wet. Okay, either we have a roof leak, or I’m dealing with night sweats that could get me on the Oprah show.
Throwing off the damp covers, I climb out of bed. It’s not until I hear the thunder boom and the lightning crack that I realize what’s happening. Cobbler’s cage is moving, but she isn’t making a sound. I peek through the cover. Feathers litter the bottom of her cage. Still, she flutters a moment, so at least I know she’s alive.
Carefully I tiptoe into the living room, trying not to wake Millie, when I step on a few more wet spots. My eyes have finally adjusted to the dark. Security lights from the parking lot seep through the cracks in the blinds and front curtains, revealing roof leaks in the hallway and kitchen. With a glance back at the bedroom, I see there’s a leak over my bed.
I groan. Lydia will not be happy about this. Her poor motor home. It’s showing its age just like the rest of us. Well, anyway, Millie and Lydia are dealing with age issues. I’m just getting started with that whole perimenopausal deal. Makes me feel sort of young. This is a terrible thing to say, but there’s just a teensy bit of pride going on in the deepest corners of my heart. I hate to admit that, but there you are.
Of course, now that I’ve reveled in this thought, I’ll probably sprout two new wrinkles by daylight.
Thunder splits through the air, and I jump. The rain is coming down with a vengeance. Quickly I pull pans and kettles from the cupboard and place them on the floor to catch the water. Though I try to keep still, the pots and pans clang against one another and the cabinet.
Unbelievably, I manage to set everything in place without waking Lydia or Millie. The rhythmic tap, tap, tap in the pan as the water drips from the ceiling doesn’t even wake them.
By the way, Millie’s mouth is wide open here. I’m thinking if I could strategically place her mouth under one of those leaks . . .
Stepping closer to the bedroom, I peek in at Lydia. Out cold. She really was stressed about driving. Maybe I should take a turn driving. Then she would realize, yes, it is possible to feel worse.
The rain pelts the motor home, and I turn to see that the pans are rapidly filling up. One by one, I empty the water from the pans into the sink.
Wal-Mart stays open all night. Maybe I should go pick up some bucket
s. Better still, something for the leaky roof would be good, but I have no idea about that kind of stuff. I’m the kind of gal who would stick gum on a leak.
A damp chill fills the motor home, and I shiver beneath my pajamas. The angry night sky roars and jumps with lightning. A flash of light causes the white polka dots on my blue pajama bottoms to glow in the dark. Suddenly a childhood ghost story plays in my mind. It has to do with a ghoul scratching the top of a car. My heart zips to my throat. I can’t think about it. Did I just hear something on the roof? I have goose bumps. Definite goose bumps—and heart palpitations.
If I have a heart attack, heads will roll. Wait. I don’t mean heads will roll. My breath crouches in my throat, refusing to leave, while my gaze shoots back and forth in the darkness. I huddle against the refrigerator. More lightning and thunder. The hair on my neck bristles. Think porcupine.
I want to go home. Now.
Something touches my arm. A scream pierces the air. I could be wrong, but I think it came from me. Lightning flashes, and I see Lydia’s face, ghostly white. If she lifts a candle, I’m so outta here.
Millie stirs in her bed, but a second later, her mouth sags open again. I blink. Hard. Twice.
“Are you all right?” Lydia asks while tightening the belt on her white terry robe.
“Ask me after they insert the pacemaker.”
Lydia giggles, then tugs on my arm to lead me back to the bedroom. “We have to get something for these leaks. I’m afraid if we wait, Waldo’s interior will be ruined.”
I have no idea why she’s whispering. We couldn’t wake Millie with a Mack truck.
Lydia walks over to Cobbler’s cage, peeks under the towel, then turns to me. “She seems to be keeping warm enough.”
She obviously hasn’t noticed that I’m quivering like the leaves on an aspen tree. “My interior isn’t exactly toasty warm,” I say.
Lydia’s eyes twinkle. I’m relieved to see that the ghoul is gone. I much prefer Lydia’s twinkle self over her ghoul self. Though her eyes are still a little weird-looking. Just how well do I know her, anyway?
