RV There Yet? (24 page)

We ooh and aah appropriately over every book and settle in to our coffee and the warmth of the crackling fire. The mosquitoes are a little bothersome, but nothing like I experienced before. Besides, tonight the only skin exposed is my face. By the time I get to Aspen Creek, I'll be utterly unrecognizable if the mosquitoes have anything to say about the matter.

We talk a little more about the full-time RV life, which, by the way, I still fail to see in a positive light, but I'm obviously becoming a minority as I look at Millie's and Lydia's expressions in the soft glow of firelight. They're being won over, no doubt about it.

Okay, I admit I feel better about the whole RV experience than I did when I left home, but you won't see me running out to buy one. Instead, I hold fast to the hotel-room-with-a-view thing. If you throw in a coffeemaker, the Internet, and a complimentary breakfast, I'll sign a lease.

Finally, as the evening winds to a close, we say our good-byes, put away the chairs, and turn to go inside. By the looks of things, we're doing so in the nick of time. Loud engines rev and snarl just down the road. We look up.

The moon and camp lights cast enough beam to tell us more than we care to know. It's the Biker Boys, and they're headed our way.

“Hurry up, get the blinds down,” Lydia says, her voice in a panic. She rushes up the steps to the driver's seat and yanks the curtains shut.

“What's wrong, Lydia? They're not going to bother us,” I say, trying to get her to see how paranoid she's acting. “Some guys on vacation, just like us. No big deal.”

Pulling the blinds down at the kitchen window, she turns to me. “It may be no big deal to you, but I'm not comfortable with it, DeDe.”

“I've pulled the ones in the bedroom,” Millie says like a military sergeant on secret maneuvers.

“I don't get you two. You can't live in fear all your lives,” I insist.

“No, but you don't have to be stupid, either,” Millie quips.

“Oh, good grief.”

“Shh, they're almost up to Waldo,” Lydia says, peeking through the side blind at the door.

We can hear them laughing and carrying on outside, and for a fraction of a heartbeat, I feel a little tense. Those two are getting to me, that's all there is to it. Pulling open my work notebook, I try to concentrate on some things I can do to improve my Le Diva candy, but Millie and Lydia are scampering around up front, whispering, and peeking out the blinds. It's ridiculous.

“DeDe, come here!” Lydia says barely above a whisper.

With all the energy and grace of Igor, I haul my body out of the bed and drag myself out into the kitchen. “What is it?” I'm in a foul mood, and it shows.

“Look at this guy. There's something familiar about him, but I can't put my finger on it,” Lydia says.

“To me he looks like every other old geezer who refuses to grow up,” Millie says.

She has such a way with words.

With a heavy sigh, I pull back the blind and peek out, feeling silly for doing so. “Do you mean the man with the short braid down his back?”

“Yeah, that's the one,” Lydia says.

He's turned around, and I can't see his face. One of them drops something, and they stop while he picks it up. Then they move on. Braid Man never turns back around. “They're gone,” I say, dropping the blind back in place.

Lydia and Millie heave a sigh of relief. Their shoulders drop, and they instantly relax.

“Are you kidding me—were you two really that worried?”

“Listen, DeDe, you never know. We are three women traveling alone, after all,” Millie chides. “And we do have a broken window,” she throws in to make me feel guilty.

“I wonder if Eloise worries about those things,” I say, taking a seat at the table.

Lydia and Millie grab a chair too, but they say nothing.

“Yeah, I don't think she does, either. Otherwise, she wouldn't be traveling the countryside by herself. You need to lighten up. Life is too short to spend it worrying about every little thing.” I get up and pull a cup from the cupboard to pour myself a drink of water.

“You should talk. It's not like you don't fear some things,” Millie challenges.

“Such as?”

“How about love?”

“What?”

“Come on, DeDe. We all know you're afraid to fall for someone for fear you'll get your heart broken again.” As soon as Millie says the words, I can tell she wishes she hadn't.

That makes two of us.

Her voice gets softer. “It's just that we all have things to work through. Fear is always an issue for women. I mean, what woman walking down a dark street doesn't look over her shoulder to make sure she's not being followed?”

“I understand that, but we can't let it paralyze us.” My own words ring in my ears, and I wish I could shut them out. Is that what I've done? Allowed my fears and guilt to paralyze me?

“We're here to listen, if you ever want to talk about it,” Millie says.

“You don't understand. It's complicated.”

“We can do complicated, can't we, Lydia?”

Lydia gives a shy nod.

Knowing that what I'm about to say could change our friendship, I take a deep breath. “Rob and I broke up because”—pausing a moment here to gather courage—“he was married.”

Lydia gasps. Millie's eyes grow as wide as coconuts.

“It never entered my brain that he was married.” I stare at my fingers. “Still, all the signs were there. He was only available at certain times. Said he didn't have a land line, only a cell phone.”

“Well, that's true for a lot of people,” Lydia says in my defense.

“Yes, but there were other signs, and I ignored them.”

“Did you have an inkling?” Millie wants to know. Maybe she sees me as “the other woman.”

“No—I don't know. Sometimes I thought things weren't quite right, but I never considered that he was married. I thought maybe he was losing interest in me, you know?”

“So how did you find out?” Millie prods.

“His wife called me while I was with him at dinner.”

“Oh no,” Lydia says.

“But I didn't tell him she called. I met with her the next day. She showed me pictures of him with their family.”

“They have children?”

“Yes, two girls.”

“How do you know this wasn't an ex-wife?” Lydia asks, trying to excuse me.

“Because they were recent pictures.” For a moment, I just stare at the table and say nothing. “As soon as I knew for sure, I broke it off.”

Lydia puts her hand over mine. “I'm sorry, DeDe. That had to be very painful. But you shouldn't blame yourself. He lied to you.”

“Yes, then I kept it from both of you.” They don't say anything, but Lydia just keeps patting my hand. “There's more. He's been calling my cell phone and my store.”

“Well, he'd better not call you while I'm around, that's all I can say. I'll make him wish he hadn't! Besides, he'll get the idea soon enough if you just ignore him,” Millie says.

“See, there's the problem. Though I'm convinced now that it isn't love that holds me to him, I still struggle with the temptation to hang on to him.” Tears fill my eyes and spill onto my cheeks. “How could I be tempted by that? I know it's wrong.”

“Everyone is tempted by something or other,” Millie says with a rare show of compassion. “It's what we do with that temptation that matters, Dee.”

We have quite a lengthy conversation about how I need to let him go. As much as it pains me to hear that, I know they're right. If only my heart will obey . . .

“Thanks for letting me talk it out.”

“This is what being a friend is all about. Getting each other through the hard times,” Millie says. “I know I don't always communicate sweetly like Lydia does—”

“Not even close,” I say with a laugh while wiping away my tears.

A smile breaks out on Millie's face. “Guilty as charged. Still, I want you to know there is nothing I wouldn't do to help you in any way I could with whatever you needed. And right now you need to get away from that slime bucket.”

We laugh, exchange hugs, and talk a little while longer. Finally, we go to bed. Eventually, Lydia's rhythmic breathing whispers into the night air, while the sound of Millie's snoring drifts into our room. When I close my eyes to sleep, our conversation plagues me. My honesty, my fears that they'll think less of me, thoughts of Rob, his wife and family. If only I could make it all go away.

No matter how I twist and shift about, I can't seem to get comfortable. A night walk would do me good, but I stay planted in bed. There's no way I'm going to let this RV lock me out again.

And just for the record, I'm not afraid.

18

Something rouses me from my sleep, and my eyes crack open. It
is boiling hot inside the motor home. If I'm dead, I'm
so
in trouble. My feet kick off the covers, leaving only a thin bedsheet over me.

“Welcome to my world,” Lydia says, sitting upright on the edge of the bed, holding the fan up to her red face. She lifts her hair with one hand and holds the fan at the base of her neck with the other. “It's unanimous, Millie,” she shouts, “Even DeDe is hot.”

Millie shrugs down the hall to our bedroom. “Well, you know it's hot if she says so. We're going to have to open some windows.” Millie's face is the color of undercooked pork.

Lydia sighs and rises from her bed. “What time is it?”

“It's four thirty,” Millie says, patting her face with a wet cloth.

“Four thirty as in a.m.?” I ask incredulously. “Hello? I don't do 4:30 a.m.”

“You do now,” Millie calls over her shoulder.

“Quick, somebody whack Millie with a happy stick,” I yell back.

“Now don't you two start,” Lydia interjects.

Millie and Lydia shove the windows open even farther, and I'm not about to remind them that the grandpa bikers are lurking out there somewhere. Just not gonna go there.

“The air still isn't working right?” I ask.

Lydia shakes her head. “It's blowing out hot air.” She runs the palm of her hand across her forehead. “Hey, you guys, why don't we go ahead and get started? We're already up, so we might as well.”

We're already up? Um, anybody noticing my lumpy self beneath the sheet?

“Sounds good to me. I'm anxious to get there,” Millie says, her face aglow with a morning shine. Somebody needs to pull her plug.

Okay, so
I
need the happy stick.

Majority rules, so Lydia and Millie get their way. Before I can adjust to the morning's light, we're on the road again. After making my bed and cleaning my side of the room, I shower for the day.

Now let me tell you, you haven't lived until you've tried showering while traveling down the road. And I thought I had bruises from Lydia and Millie's beating. I had no idea how hard it would be to clean between my toes, in a stork stance, while being jostled about like a piece of chicken in a bag of Shake 'n Bake. Let me just say the dirt between my toes isn't worth the effort.

By the time I dress and finish breakfast, we're a couple of hours into our trip. The breeze blowing in the windows helps keep the heat at bay, but I'm a little worried about Lydia and Millie. By the looks of them,
they're
having radiator problems.

“There's a good breeze by the window above the sofa, Lydia. Why don't you sit back here for a while? It might help,” I say.

Lydia turns a red face my way. The little fan blows hair from her face, but a few stubborn strays stick to the sides of her cheeks and forehead. “Maybe I will,” she says, pulling over. She climbs back toward me. “You sure you don't mind driving, Millie?”

“I'm fine,” Millie calls out, but we all know it wouldn't matter. Lydia is settled into her seat with her face turned to the window's breeze, while her fan continues to blow against her neck.

“We might have to go into a restaurant just to find some relief,” Millie says, blotting her face with a cloth. “Would you wet this for me again, DeDe?”

“Sure.” I get up and take the cloth, soak it with cold water, wring it out, then return it to Millie, who sighs with pleasure once it's on the back of her neck.

It's then that we notice the sound of motorcycle engines coming up beside us. It's the Biker Boys again, with the wannabe Willie Nelson leading the way.

While we're watching them, they shout and wave, rev up their motors, charge ahead, and cut in front of us. Millie has to brake. The guys wave and speed on ahead.

“What in the world!” Millie says. “Now that just makes me mad!”

Suddenly we zoom forward. Lydia falls to the left, and I fall against Lydia.

“What's wrong, Millie?” Lydia asks while pushing herself back upright on the sofa.

“I have one nerve left, and these old goats are gettin' on it!” Millie grinds out each word through clenched teeth. She's hunched forward, hands tight against the steering wheel. Her lips are squeezed together, jaw set, eyes narrow and beady. I can almost picture her in a black helmet. Think Indianapolis 500.