RV There Yet? (10 page)

“Uh-huh, loads of fun.”

Everyone looks at me. “Did I say that out loud?”

They nod.

“Sorry. I don't mean to be rude, but I just can't imagine it.”

“Oh, I see, we have a non-RVer in our midst, huh?” the man teases.

“Afraid so. She's a hotel woman all the way,” Millie tattles.

The man's wife laughs. “I was the same way until we got our motor home. They're really quite nice.”

“Has all the comforts of home,” he says.

Sure, if your home is no bigger than a tree house.

“Why don't you come over and see it?” He rises from the chair and takes two steps.

“Oh, Rick, they don't care about that,” his wife says. “By the way, my name is Cyndi Pointer, and this is my husband, Rick.”

“Nice to meet you, and sures we do.” I have to see for myself what kind of home away from home they can stand to live in full-time.

We all walk a little ways down the road and come to their home. Okay, by the looks of their RV, I'm thinking this is
so
not a motor home. It can't be. Can we say mansion on wheels? When we step into the tile entryway, my breath catches in my throat. If I didn't know I was in a motor home, I would never believe it. Leather furniture, cherrywood, ceiling fans, side-by-side refrigerator, expensive countertops, washer and dryer, Bose surround-sound stereo system. Two televisions. Satellite dish. King-size bed and ceiling fan in the bedroom.

“This is way nicer than my home. Want to trade?” I say.

The wife laughs. “It is nice, isn't it?”

Nice? Did she say nice? I'm thinking it must take a lot to really wow this lady.

“And you know, DeDe,” the woman says as if we're old friends, “if it's hotel service you want, there are some campsites that offer maid and butler services.”

“Something tells me I'm in the wrong line of work for that.”

“Yeah, it's your wallet,” Millie says with a laugh. This time, I ignore
her
.

We sit down on a leather sofa that is so soft, I'm afraid I will slip into the folds and never be found again.

“Oh, what do you do?” she asks.

Before she decides that I wear a colored vest and clean trash from the highways, I explain about my work as a chocolatier.

“That is fascinating. You know, one thing I've always been curious about is why chocolate doesn't spoil. Do you know? Or maybe I should ask if you can tell me in layman's terms?” She laughs.

“Sure. Tiny seed bits from the cocoa beans called ‘nibs' are crushed to the point that the heat generated liquefies the nibs into a thick paste called chocolate liquor. This liquid is then placed in a huge press that squeezes out the cocoa butter.” Quickly I look around to make sure no one is sleeping before I continue. “This butter keeps the chocolate solid at room temperature. That's why it doesn't spoil—yet it melts in the warmth of your mouth.”

“How fascinating,” the woman says, practically breathless.

Another connoisseur of fine living
and
fine chocolates. I'm in good company.

“Do you have a business card or Web site? I'm always looking for exceptional gourmet chocolates to send for special occasions. I assume you carry an assortment?”

“Yes, we offer truffles, a fruit and nut collection, caramel pecan patties, cherry cordials, a whole list of things. You can sign up for a catalog on our Web site.” I hand her my card with the information.

“Splendid. Once I place my order, you could ship it out for me, I assume?”

“Absolutely.” I'm feeling quite proud that I've managed to get some business while on vacation.

We talk for a little while, go back to our RV, and prepare for bed.

“That motor home was totally unbelievable.” Lydia fills Cobbler's food and water bowls. “They're called land yachts, you know.”

“What do you mean?” Millie asks on her way to the bathroom.

“The big fancy motor homes are called land yachts.”

“It's easy to see why,” I say. “Who could have imagined that people lived in those things full-time? With a home like that, even I could do it.” Pulling my covers down, I crawl into bed.

“It would be one way to see the country, that's for sure.” Millie's standing in the doorway, scrubbing her face with a washcloth.

I wonder what it would have been like to travel with Rob. I can just imagine him behind the wheel of an RV, laughing at something I've said. His smile teasing me, his eyes flirting. The cry of a child outside interrupts my daydream, reminding me of my cold reality.

“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 happened 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.