RV There Yet?

by Diann Hunt

  “DeDe?” Millie presses. “Why did you faint? Something that man said? Is someone following us?”

  “I don’t know for sure.”

  Lydia gasps and puts her hand to her throat.

  “So there is someone following us?” Millie studies my face.

  “It’s nothing bad—well, not for you anyway.”

  Lydia and Millie stare at me. I blow out a sigh. “All right, I think Rob might be trying to find me.”

  “Rob? I thought you two broke up,” Millie says, her eyes narrow and searching.

  “We did.” I smooth the covers in front of me. “It’s a long story, really.”

  “Well, we’re not going anywhere, and we have plenty of time,” Millie says.

  “Let her rest, Millie. We can talk later,” Lydia says.

  Millie makes a face, then looks at me. “All right,” she says, wagging a finger, “but we want the story when you’re up to it. We can’t have him upsetting your trip like this. If you’re afraid of him, we’ll take action,” Millie says, lips pursed.

  Lydia turns around. “What are we going to do?”

  “Oh, come on, you two. We don’t even know that it’s him.”

  Millie puts her fists on her hips. “What are you going to do, DeDe, wait until he comes knocking on your door?”

  “Have you ever been in the military?” I ask.

  Millie blinks. “What?”

  “Never mind. Don’t worry. It’s probably not him.”

  Just then someone knocks on the door again. Millie’s gaze rams into mine. She rolls up her sleeves. “I’ll get it.”

  “No, you had better let me,” I say. I’m afraid Millie will cut him off at the knees, and it could be a junior ranger or something.

  “Oh, are you sure you should get up?” Lydia asks, trying to help me walk to the door.

  I shrug off the tiny voice asking me what I’m going to do if they’re right. With a peek out the kitchen window, I instantly feel better. It’s a man, but it’s not Rob.

  “Yes?”

  “Ma’am, I’m sorry to bother you, but when you drove into the park, I noticed your RV was trailing water.”

  The movement behind me is Millie. A quick glance shows me she’s at my side—out of the man’s view—holding a baseball bat over her head.

  “Millie, put that away,” I say in a hushed reprimand.

  “Excuse me?” the man says.

  I turn back to him. “I mean, yes, yes. I’m sorry, I was talking to someone else. Water, did you say? You saw the motor home leaking water?” Saying the words loud enough for Millie to hear, I turn and glare at her for an instant. She shrugs and walks back to the bedroom with the baseball bat.

  “Yes,” he says, looking at me as though I’m weird.

  I stretch out my hand. “Thank you so much, Mr.—”

  “Cornwell. Doug Cornwell.”

  “Mr. Cornwell, thank you for letting us know. We’ll get that looked at right away.”

  “I’d be happy to look it over for you, if you want. I’ve worked on plenty of RVs in my time.” He throws his chest out and stands taller. If he starts to crow and strut around the yard, I’m closing the door.

  “No, don’t let him do that.” The warden is back. “We don’t know him from the man in the moon,” Millie warns in a frantic whisper.

  “Uh, I appreciate your offer, but I’d need to talk to my, um, friends”—can I just say that at this point I use that term loosely?—“about that,” I say, hoping he didn’t hear Millie.

  “Well, if you decide you want me to look at it, I’m about seven RVs down on the opposite side of the road. We’re driving a green-and- black Fleetwood motor home.”

  “Thank you so much, Mr. Cornwell.”

  “Call me Doug.” He smiles. “You camp much?”

  I blink.

  “Figured you didn’t camp much, or you’d know most campers aren’t so formal. It’s pretty much a first-name basis in the camping community. Everyone’s your neighbor. We’re all common folks, just enjoying the journey.”

  I relax—but then Millie returns with the bat in her hand, telling me not to trust him.

  “Thank you, Doug.”

  “Have a good day,” he says with a wave, then turns and heads down the road.

  Before I can get the door closed, Millie starts in. “You’re too trusting, DeDe. Even if he’s not associated with your Rob, we don’t know this man.”

  “Millie, would you stop? You’re scaring Lydia half to death, and there is no reason to suspect that man of anything.”

  “There’s no reason not to.”

  “Oh, for crying out loud. I’m going outside.” I grab my business notebook and slowly head out the door since I’m still feeling a little weak. Those two are driving me crazy.

  Before I can open my notebook, our neighbor comes over.

  “Well, hello again,” he says. A woman walks up beside him. “This is my wife, Gail, and our daughters, Ami and Amanda.”

  “Hello.”

  I tell them about the water leak, and Ned says he’d be glad to take a look too. “Had any overheating?”

  “Overheating?”

  “You know, engine overheating? There’s a place on your dashboard that shows you if the engine is overheating, just the same as in your car. The needle will crawl up to the red line.”

  “Lydia hasn’t mentioned it. I’ll have to ask her.”

  “Could be a leak in your radiator if it’s overheating.”

  Before I can answer him, Millie and Lydia step outside and join us.

  After introductions, Lydia says she hasn’t noticed that the RV has been overheating. She says she’ll keep an eye on it, then invites the neighbors for pie. Before long we’re engrossed in conversation, each of us filling the others in on our lives.“My boys are both in college,” Lydia says, collecting the dirty dessert dishes. “Derrick is in engineering, and Drew hopes to become a dentist like his father.”

  Lydia’s eyes light up, and her face glows. I’m not sure if it’s from talking about her boys or if it’s because she’s hostessing. She is the domestic queen, no doubt about it.

  “Where is your husband now?” Gail asks, having no idea she’s entered a difficult subject.

  Lydia bites the corner of her lip. “Oh, he died in November of last year,” she says.

  They express their condolences, and an awkward silence follows.

  “How about I check out that radiator for you now?” Ned offers.

  Millie and I look at Lydia.

  “I guess that would be okay,” she says.

  “Hello, folks.” A white-haired lady dressed in capris, a brightly flowered top, and a straw hat walks across the road toward us. “I was wondering if I might join you for a spell?” She smiles sweetly, and Lydia pounces on the opportunity to serve someone else. Before the woman can say another word, Lydia places a piece of pie and coffee before her on the table and sits down beside her.

  We soon learn that the woman’s name is Greta Mitchell, and she’s from Michigan.

  “My mom named me after Greta Garbo,” she says with a mischievous grin. “There’s a resemblance, don’t you think?” She turns sideways to show off her wrinkled profile, and I love her instantly. She chuckles and goes back to her pie.

  “So what brings you here?” Lydia wants to know.

  Greta finishes her bite of pie. “Oh, honey, I travel the countryside.”

  “Is your husband here?” Lydia presses.

  “Oh my, no. He died twenty years ago.”

  We fall silent.

  “Does anyone travel with you?” Gail asks.

  “For the love of Pete, what for? I’m too set in my ways. I’m best at traveling alone.”

  Lydia puts her hand to her throat and gasps. “You travel all by yourself ?”

  Greta snaps her head. “Sure do. Just because I’m eighty-two years old doesn’t mean I need to leave all the fun to the young people.” She winks at Ami and Amanda. They smile back at her.

/>   Lydia sits still for a moment with her mouth gaping.

  “I can see you’re surprised by that,” Greta says, her eyes twinkling.

  “It’s just that, well, what if your motor home breaks down, or someone tries to hurt you or take advantage of your kindness or—”

  Greta holds up her hand. “I decided a long time ago I could get killed walking out to my mailbox, but if I worried about it all the time, I’d never get the mail.” She thinks a minute. “’Course, on the days it brings me bills, that might not be a bad idea.” She slaps her knee and laughs to the count of one, two, three, snort. One, two, three, snort.

  “I guess that’s true, but still,” Lydia says, obviously not convinced.

  “Take my advice, young lady”—Greta pats Lydia’s hand—“don’t spend your life worrying about the what-ifs. That’s a narrow approach. Expand your what-ifs to the positives. What if I spent my life living instead of worrying about dying? That kind of thing.”

  “That’s good advice, Greta,” Gail says.

  “Life’s too short to waste it. I’m using up every bit of mine doing what I want to do,” Greta says with a wide grin. And I believe her.

  Ned rejoins us. “You’ve got a radiator leak for sure,” he says.

  “Oh dear.” A shadow covers Lydia’s expression.

  “Well, you can get by a short while by keeping water in it until you can get it fixed,” Ned advises. “Just don’t wait too long.”

  Lydia follows him to the front of the RV, and Ned shows her where to fill the radiator.

  We finish off the evening in wonderful fellowship outside the motor home with our new neighbors. After Millie gets group pictures, we all go inside, where we go through our nightly routine. We wash for bed, brush our teeth, and smear on the cold cream. Since her cage fell on my bed, Cobbler’s been plucking out her feathers. Lydia says that’s how her bird handles stress. She decides to let Cobbler out of her cage for about ten minutes, hoping that will help the bird feel better. Cobbler hops around on the bed and flutters from Lydia to the window blind to my head. We laugh at Cobbler’s antics, and finally Lydia puts the parakeet to bed for the night, covering her cage with a towel.

  “Millie and I are going to have some tea in the kitchen,” Lydia says. “You want to join us?”

  “No thanks. I’m kind of tired,” I say.

  She nods and closes the bedroom door behind her, leaving me alone. Maybe I should call Rob and see if he is nearby. Maybe I should meet him somewhere—or at least check to see if he’s left a message. I pick up my cell phone. Before I can turn it on, Greta’s words come to me: “Life’s too short to waste it.” I stare at the phone. That’s what I’ve been doing, wasting my life with Rob. There’s no future with us, so why would I even consider going back to him? It’s wrong to be with him, and I’ve let him stalk me long enough. It’s time I took control of my life—and maybe talk to the One who gave it to me in the first place.

  Thanks to Cobbler’s squawking all night, I’m pretty tired in the morning. But of course, she’s sleeping peacefully on her perch while I have to get ready for church. I have a notion to rattle her cage. That would teach her. But since it’s Sunday and I’m going to church, it doesn’t seem the thing to do.

  After attending a little service in an amphitheater on the campgrounds, we enjoy a great morning of singing and worshipping together. Then after lunch, much to my surprise, I’m able to talk Millie and Lydia into taking a hike into the woods.

  “This feels so great,” I say. “Without my regular Pilates workout, my legs were turning to pudding.”

  Lydia laughs. “You work too hard. I think you look great.”

  “Remember what Greta said—you can’t worry about things all the time,” Millie says.

  “This coming from the baseball bat queen,” I say dryly, stepping over a fallen branch in the path.

  “Even Girl Scouts know to be prepared. I don’t worry about what may happen, but I keep things on hand just in case.”

  “Guess I’m the only worrywart here,” Lydia says with a sigh.

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Lydia. We’re all struggling with issues.” Rob flits to my mind.

  “Even you, Dee?” Millie asks, surprising me. “When are you going to tell us the truth about Rob?”

  Millie’s not one to beat around the bush. She won’t stop nagging me until I throw her something to gnaw on for a while. “I didn’t want to break up, okay? Are you happy?”

  “So why did you?”

  “He—” I stop myself.

  “Another woman?” Millie asks.

  “Something like that.” I can’t bring myself to tell them he’s married. Not yet. What will they think of me?

  “Nothing more painful than being left for someone else.” Millie’s voice grows soft.

  My ego makes me want to defend my position, but there is no way to do it without making me look worse. So I keep silent.

  “Want me to hurt him?” Millie asks abruptly.

  Lydia gasps. I look up in surprise.

  “I will. You just give me the word.”

  “Millie, I think you’re half-serious.”

  “Can’t stand by and do nothing while someone hurts my friend.”

  Millie’s threat of violence truly touches me. Shame on me, but there it is.

  “I’ll be fine, Millie. It’s just everything right now. My business, my—well, everything. I wonder if I will ever know love again.” And I wonder if I have the right to. Guilt washes over me anew. Maybe if I could forget what happened, I could find peace.

  “I’ll be praying for you, DeDe,” Lydia says.

  “Thanks.” I prayed last night, though I don’t know why He would listen to me.

  Birdsong echoes throughout the forest. Our steps crunch upon broken sticks and debris in the path. A bluebird swoops overhead and lands on the branch of a shagbark hickory tree. Cupping my hand over my eyes, I snatch a look at him against the bright afternoon sky peeking through the trees.

  Though it’s hot outside, the air within the forest is bearable. Well, aside from that whole exercise thing.

  “One down,” Millie shouts.

  Lydia’s sitting on a decomposed log bordering the path. Millie walks over and joins her. A healthy shine covers them both. That’s a nice way of saying they’re working up a good sweat.

  “Pretty good workout, huh?” I smile. They don’t. Popping the top of my bottled water, I take a drink.

  “I didn’t rest well last night,” Lydia says.

  “More night sweats?” I ask.

  She nods.

  “Oh, man, those are the worst,” Millie says.

  “We can rest awhile, Lydia, if you’d like,” I say.

  “How much farther is it?” Millie asks.

  “Hey, I thought that was my line,” I tease.

  Millie gets it and smiles.

  “Probably half a mile to go.” After checking the trail brochure, I look up and nod. “But we’re in no hurry. Sit and rest a moment.” A soft breeze blows against my face.

  “This is nice,” Lydia says. “I’m glad you thought of it, DeDe. I needed this. The truth is, I’d rather get a root canal than exercise.”

  I laugh. “Spoken like the wife of a dentist.”

  “You know, Greg never could understand why I hated going to the dentist, especially since he was one. Just never got over that fear, I guess.”

  “Is anybody else getting hungry besides me?” Millie asks.

  “I am,” Lydia says.

  “Me too. Hey, you want to eat at the Potawatomi Inn?” I ask.

  “That might be fun,” Lydia says.

  “Let’s do it,” Millie agrees.

  Once we get back from our walk, we eat an enjoyable lunch at the inn, then spend the rest of the afternoon sunning beside Lake James. Millie and I go out on the paddleboats, but Lydia doesn’t like to go boating since she can’t swim. She stays on the beach and looks through a new cookbook she bought at the gift shop.

&
nbsp; We have such fun we decide to stay over another night and leave in the morning. Tomorrow we’ll stop by the outlet mall that’s nearby before we leave.

  Since it’s Sunday, we weren’t able to get the motor home in for repairs on the radiator, but we figure as long as we have water, we should be okay. We can stop at gas stations and rest stops along the way to fill him up if we don’t want to use our water supply.

  That should get us by until we find a repair shop or settle in at Estes Park. Right?

  11

  Millie gets behind the driver#8217;s seat today, giving Lydia a break.

  “Want me to drive?” I offer, hoping all the while they don’t take me up on it.

  “You’re not old enough,” Millie quips.

  “I’m good with that.” I settle into my seat and brush a crumb of toast from my mint green shorts.

  “But you will be old enough on the way home.” Millie smirks and snaps a picture of my outrage.

  “I can’t get over Greta traveling by herself,” Lydia says, waving farewell to our new friend. The motor home creaks and groans as we ease over the gravel to exit the park.

  “Yeah, that is something. But they say people do it all the time,” I say as if I’m suddenly an RV expert. Turning to wave at Greta, a whiff of the sea wafts from my top, compliments of the ocean-scented potpourri I picked up before leaving Florida. If only I could imagine myself on the beach instead of in this—this—never mind. It’s better if I don’t work myself into a mood.

  Lydia shakes her head. “Not me. I would never be brave enough.”

  “Well, remember, there are clubs you can get involved in with other campers that help. Towing services, all that kind of stuff,” I say.

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “You need to take more risks, Lydia.” My makeup bag is nearby. Unzipping it, I root around for my foundation.

  “That’s what Greg used to say. He always wanted to try new things. I’m sure there were other things he wanted to do, but he knew I would be too afraid to try.” She thinks a moment. “I’ve never been the adventurous type.” Our eyes lock. “But maybe you’ve noticed that?”

  My gaze shifts toward the ceiling, then back to her. “Maybe a little.”