RV There Yet?

by Diann Hunt

  “Uh-oh, sounds like somebody is unhappy,” Millie says, referring to the crying child.

  “Seems like camping would be a lonely life,” I say.

  “Well, there are plenty of people around at the camps. Greg and I used to love to visit with other campers around the fire in the evening, just like we did tonight. When the boys were little, they would try to catch bugs while we visited with the neighbors.” Lydia covers Cobbler’s cage with a dark cloth, then turns with a smile. “Those were great days.”

  “Thanks for reminding me about the bug part.”

  Lydia chuckles.

  “How do the boys like college, Lydia?” I ask.

  “Derrick is doing great. He’ll be a senior this year—can you believe it?”

  I shake my head.

  “Drew will be a junior, and I’m afraid he enjoyed last year more than he should have. As in partied more than studied.” A shadow covers her smile. “I suppose Greg’s death played into that more than any of us care to admit.”

  “I’m sure it did.” We pause a moment. “Where did you say they were this summer?”

  “They live in an apartment near campus. They both have good jobs, so I encouraged them to stay there for the summer. They’re only a couple of hours away, so I still get to see them.”

  That’s so like Lydia to put their needs above her own. I’m sure she’d much rather have them home, especially now that Greg is gone, but she would never hold them back.

  “They check on me every few days.”

  I feel better knowing that. “I’m glad.”

  Lydia adjusts the cover on Cobbler’s cage.

  “You know, I keep meaning to ask you why you cover her cage like that.”

  “If I didn’t do this, Cobbler would talk all night.” Lydia takes off her slippers and climbs into her bed. “It lets her know it’s time to go to sleep.”

  I laugh. “Boy, I’ve sure got a lot to learn about birds.”

  “I’m going to bed now,” Millie announces.

  “’Night, Millie.”

  “Oh, one more thing,” she says. “I hope you don’t mind, Lydia, but I organized the medicine that we had in the bathroom cabinet, separating each of our meds from the other, clearly labeling them so you can easily see which ones belong to you. The labels will peel off easily after our trip, by the way.”

  “Thank you, Millie,” Lydia says with a smile.

  “Thanks, Millie,” I say, feeling guilty that I’ve messed up her sock drawer.

  “You’re welcome. Well, good night.”

  “ ’Night,” we answer in unison.

  The room grows quiet.

  I think a minute about Lydia and Greg doing the RV thing. I hadn’t thought about it before, but this trip has to be hard for her, stirring up old memories.

  “Lydia, how do you get through it? I mean, without Greg and everything,” I ask.

  She doesn’t answer me right away, and I figure she’s already fallen asleep.

  “I talk to the Lord about it, and I cry. A lot.”

  My heart constricts. I wish I could spare her the pain.

  “How about you?”

  “I cry and then I get mad at myself for being so stupid for falling in love with a—um, jerk.”

  “We all make mistakes, DeDe. That’s what dating is all about, getting to know someone.”

  “I got to know him all right.” More than I want to talk about.

  “You can start over. With a clean slate. Like we learned at camp, remember?”

  “I remember.” I just don’t want to talk about it. “’Night, Lydia.”

  “’Night, Dee.”

  7

  Either I’ve got the hearing powers of Superwoman or we have paper-thin walls, because I can hear our neighbors clanging around their breakfast pans. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’m smelling bacon and eggs. I wonder if they’d invite me over.

  “Woke you up too, huh?” Lydia says with a grin.

  “What’s the matter with these people? Don’t they know that people on vacation are supposed to sleep in?” I yawn and kick off my covers.

  “Uh-oh, somebody didn’t get enough sleep last night,” Millie says before she pulls open the bathroom door.

  The smell of coffee makes its way to my nose. “You made coffee?”

  “I did,” she says.

  “I don’t care what anybody says about you, Millie; I think you’re all right.” I flash an ornery grin.

  “Well, don’t get excited. You don’t get any. It took me a good half hour to get my socks back in order,” she grouses.

  Lydia looks at me. I pull the covers back over my head.

  “Yeah, I’d hide too if I were you,” Millie says.

  Down come the covers. “Well, doggone it, Millie. You drive me to distraction. I couldn’t help myself.”

  “DeDe, you didn’t,” Lydia says.

  “Yes, she did,” Millie says, hands on her hips. “But then, I guess she wouldn’t be DeDe if she didn’t do something like that on this trip,” Millie says with a tiny chuckle, shocking me to the core.

  It takes me a minute to find my tongue. “Are you sick, Millie?”

  She smiles. “But I’d watch my backside if I were you,” she calls over her shoulder with a hint of orneriness in her voice.

  My gaze collides with Lydia’s. We’re speechless. Positively speechless.

  “By the way, have you guys seen my glasses?” Millie calls out.

  “Millie, we’re living in a two-by-four—” I turn to Lydia. “No offense, Lydia.”

  She grins. “None taken.”

  Back to Millie. “It’s impossible to lose glasses in a two-by-four.”

  “And yet here we are,” she says, arriving at the bedroom door once again.

  “I think I saw them by the kitchen sink last night,” Lydia says. “You were reading my friend’s recipe for poppy seed bread, remember?”

  Millie snaps her fingers. “That’s right. Thanks.” She steps into the bathroom and closes the door.

  “She could lose her glasses in a tent,” I say.

  “I heard that,” Millie calls out.

  Lydia and I giggle.

  We quickly tidy up the bedroom. And of course when I walk into the kitchen, I see that Millie’s sleeping area could pass a military inspection. The woman is a wonder of organizational skills. How do people live like that? It’s not healthy.

  After breakfast, more snapshots, and good-byes to our neighbors, Lydia climbs back into the driver’s seat, and we’re on the road again.

  “We have to drive a couple of miles along this country road before we’ll hit the highway exit,” Millie says.

  “So where will we stop tonight?” I ask.

  “Why is it you always ask where we’re going to stop right when we start driving?” Millie wants to know.

  “Does that bother you?”

  “Typos in books? Those bother me. Dog-eared pages? They bother me. But you? You don’t fit into a category.”

  “I can live with that.”

  She turns back around and studies her map.

  “Now listen, you two, am I going to have to referee you the same as I did in camp?” Lydia asks.

  Sometimes that peacemaker thing is way overrated. I shrug.

  “You two were always at each other, remember?”

  Millie is ignoring Lydia the same as me. It’s just better that way.

  Lydia sighs. “You two are worse than my boys. I would have thought when Mrs. Woodriff banned you to a cabin together, apart from the rest of us, you would have learned your lesson.”

  “She never would have gotten that brilliant idea if someone hadn’t said, ‘Hey, DeDe, it’s just like that movie The Parent Trap.’”

  “Well, how was I supposed to know she’d hear me? Besides, we didn’t put honey on her feet,” Millie snaps.

  “Maybe not honey, but hello? Two girls stirring up trouble in a girls’ camp? Notice the similarities?”

  “You stirred things up. I just ha
ppened to be nearby. And we’re not identical twins.”

  The very idea makes me shudder. “Everyone thought you were the perfect little bookworm. So quiet and calm. They didn’t know that it was you who came up with most of the ideas.”

  “Well, I didn’t know you would actually carry them out.”

  “No, you just hoped she would,” Lydia says.

  “Hey, Millie, you’re getting your sass back,” I say with a grin. “We thought it was gone for good once you got married.”

  “I’ve learned that the wallflower gets passed by,” Millie says.

  “I’m sorry, Millie.” Pause. “You want some whipped cream?”

  She shakes her head. “It’s no big deal. Bruce is happily married, and I’m—well, not.” She laughs at herself.

  “Look at it this way, if we were married, we probably wouldn’t be going on this trip, and look at all the fun we’d miss,” I say.

  “If we were married, one of us would be dead. And I wouldn’t marry you anyway,” Millie says.

  “I can see your point.”

  We all start laughing.

  “Look, there are some wildflowers,” Lydia says, pointing to an assortment of colorful flowers along the roadside. To my surprise, she pulls over.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Getting some flowers for our pitcher. I just hate not having flowers on the table when we eat.” She shoves the motor home into park and eases out her door. Thankfully we’re not on a busy street.

  “What’s wrong with the ones already in there?” Millie asks.

  “They’re dead,” I say.

  “Can’t she just put salt and pepper shakers out like everybody else?” Millie says.

  Millie’s a class act all the way.

  “You know, I’ve been thinking I’ll talk to Beverly about using my horn to wake people up while we’re at camp.”

  Excitement sparkles in Millie’s eyes while dread looms over me.

  In her teen years, playing the trumpet was one way Millie really expressed herself. Though she showed her true self only to a few people, in front of a crowd she could blare her horn like nobody’s business. Notice I didn’t say she could “play” her horn. ’Nuff said.

  “Don’t you think most people will have alarm clocks?” I ask, trying to subtly suggest she might want to reconsider this whole trumpet alarm thing.

  “Oh, sure, some people will, but some might not. It’s just a creative way to get going in the morning, and it will give us that old camp feeling. Remember how we always used to start our mornings with a trumpet call?”

  “Oh, I’d forgotten that,” I say. “I think it’s called suppressed memory.”

  “Ha-ha,” Millie says.

  I don’t mention the fact that someone else played the trumpet then, and it was actually on pitch.

  Lydia knocks at the side door, and I open it.

  “Aren’t these gorgeous?” Lydia climbs in quite out of breath.

  “Do you want me to take care of those for you?” I ask.

  “Oh no, no. I love putting together fresh flowers. I’ve forgotten how much I enjoy it. Greg and I used to go walking in the country near our home, and we would always pick wildflowers along the way. By the time I’d get home, we would have a beautiful vase of colorful twinflowers, goldenrod, lupine, cosmos, daisies, whatever. They were wonderful.”

  She stuffs the flowers in her blue pitcher, plucks one flower here, places it there, snips another, rearranges until she’s satisfied, then sets the pitcher carefully on the table. “There,” she says, brushing her hands together, “that should do it. We’ll stick it under the sink for now so it won’t fall off the table.”

  I’m curious as to the names of a couple of the flowers, but if I ask her, she’ll spend the next fifteen minutes explaining them to me. She can be as bad as Millie when it comes to explanations—at least with flowers. Can we say information overload? Unless it’s about chocolate, I’m not really that interested.

  “Hey, you never did answer my question. You know, the one about where we’re headed today,” I say.

  Millie turns around, looks at me, and rolls her eyes.

  “You keep doing that, and one of these days your eyes will stick,” I say.

  Lydia chuckles. “I guess we didn’t. We’re headed to Indiana. Plan to stop at Pokagon State Park, isn’t that right, Millie?”

  “Yes.” She studies her map a moment.

  “Do you guys mind if I turn on the radio? I could use some nice music. Plus, I haven’t listened to the news since we started our trip, and I’m feeling out of touch with the rest of the world,” Lydia says.

  “Great idea. I like to keep up on current affairs too,” Millie says.

  They’re such good citizens. Me? My world consists of chocolate and shopping. If no earthshaking news happens there, I just won’t know about it. Okay, so it’s my responsibility to be informed, but, well, news equals pain. It’s like this. Sometimes the news just depresses me. And when I’m depressed, I eat chocolate. That’s why I maintain a regular Pilates workout, so I won’t get overweight from all the chocolate, and of course all that exercise leads to pain. So the bottom line is, news equals pain.

  My reasoning may be a little off here, but there it is.

  Lydia fiddles with the radio knob, but she can’t find any news. “I guess we’ll just have to wait for it to come on,” she says.

  “I can turn on the TV to see if there’s any news on. I think Good Morning America is still on,” I say.

  “We don’t usually get a good reception unless we’re in a park,” Lydia says.

  “You know, if we stumble upon a coffeehouse, I could sure use some decent coffee,” Millie says. “Ever since the Starbucks opened beside the library, I’ve been hooked.”

  “Well, you all know how I feel about coffeehouses,” Lydia says. “I love them. I’ve been keeping a watch out for one, but no luck yet.”

  “Yeah, me too,” I say. “Did you know I never drank coffee at all until they started with the flavored stuff ?”

  “It’s a conspiracy,” Millie says.

  “Yeah, coffee beans are rising up to gain control of the world,” I say dryly.

  “It could happen. The coffee suppliers merely need to get us addicted, and look out,” Millie says with conviction.

  “I’ll take my chances,” Lydia says.

  “Yeah, me too.” Millie shifts on her seat and turns back around. “So if you see a coffeehouse, pull over.”

  Lydia nods. “Trust me, if I see one, we’re there.”

  My cell phone vibrates in my pocket. One glance tells me it’s Rob. My heart sticks in my throat. I rush to the bedroom. Facing the rear window, I keep my back toward Millie and Lydia. With sweaty palms, I hold the vibrating phone. My pulse beats wildly in my ears. My shaking finger reaches up to press the on button.

  “Hello?” My voice sounds weak, uncertain.

  “Hey, precious, I’ve missed you—”

  “Everything okay?” Millie asks from the doorway.

  She so startles me, I drop the phone on the floor. I stoop to pick it up and push the off button. “I was going to call Shelley, but I think I’ll wait until later,” I say, sticking the phone back into my pocket. My face burns under Millie’s scrutiny.

  “You sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

  “About my call to Shelley? Just checking on things, that’s all,” I say in all innocence. But the look on Millie’s face tells me she’s not buying it. Still, she leaves me alone and walks back up to the front of the RV.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, I take a deep breath to calm myself. Instead of being thrilled at the sound of Rob’s voice, I feel weird. The voice that once made my heart flutter when he called me “precious” now makes me think of Gollum in The Lord of the Rings, and that’s just creepy. An involuntary shudder escapes me.

  I’m going to have to tell Millie and Lydia sooner or later. They know something’s up. Is it so wrong to want to talk to Rob? He
told Shelley he had worked everything out, that he would see me soon. Does he know where I am? How did he find out? Shelley wouldn’t tell him, would she?

  I hate sneaking around like this, not being honest with my friends, but how can I tell them the truth? I just need to let him go. He’s not right for me. Hello? Gollum should be a clue. The truth is, there are many things that were wrong with our relationship from the start. But I’ve overlooked them. Who wants to spend their weekends alone? That wasn’t the way I wanted to live the rest of my life. But then, what Rob had to offer wasn’t any better.

  Is that the only thing holding me to him? I’m afraid of growing old alone?

  “Want to stop for a burger, Dee?” Lydia calls out.

  “Sure, that would be great,” I shout back. Standing, I gather my courage and go to the front to join Millie and Lydia.

  Lydia pulls the RV off at the next exit.

  “I’m starving,” Millie says.

  Reaching for my handbag, I pull out my makeup and touch up my face. A darker foundation or a little tanning might do me some good. I’m starting to look like Johnny Depp in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. That phone call didn’t exactly do wonders for me.

  Once my makeup is applied to my satisfaction, I put my powder away and plop a malted milk ball in my mouth. It’s that comfort thing again. I glance out the window. Lydia maneuvers the RV around the corner toward a burger place. My eyes lock on a man on the street who looks just like Rob, and I gasp, pulling the milk ball to the back of my throat like lint to a vacuum.

  My arms flail about as I gasp for breath.

  “Oh my goodness, she’s choking!” Millie yells, rushing back to help me.

  Lydia hits the horn by mistake and it locks. People on the crosswalk scatter. Lydia gets so flustered she drives up over the curb. The contents of my makeup bag drop to the floor, spilling in every direction. Millie stumbles over the debris, jostling this way and that, trying to get to me. I gasp for air. Lydia bangs on the horn to try to shut it off.

  Once she gets to me, Millie wraps her arms around my midsection with the strength of a sumo wrestler. Grunt one . . . if this thing doesn’t come loose, she’s going to kill me.

  Against all logic, Lydia stops the RV and throws herself over the horn.