RV There Yet? (14 page)

We quickly eat a light dinner together, and Lydia says, “I'd better get to those pies, or we won't be able to visit with our neighbors tonight.”

“I'm going to close these windows,” Millie says. “It's way too hot in here.”

“Probably a good idea since I have to start the oven.” Lydia sticks her head through the hole in her blue-and-white-checkered apron and ties it in back.

“I think I'll just go out and start a fire in the pit.” I head out the door. My blood barely starts to move through my veins again, and those two start up with the freezing routine. At this rate, I'll be an ice sculpture before we get to Colorado.

Grabbing the bundle of wood that we bought at the camp store when we arrived, I start the fire. Once I get it going, I sit in a chair and watch the flames build. Not only does the fire keep me warm, but it keeps the bugs at a fairly safe distance.

Night crickets call out, their chirps mingling with the squeals of laughter from children at play. Doors squeak open and closed, people call out to one another, and meat sizzles on nearby grills, the scent of charcoal and steak filling the air. Though I'm not a camper—and trust me, nothing has changed my mind on that—I have to admit it's kind of nice here. Leaning my head back, I stare straight up at the dusky twilight. Not a cloud anywhere. I sigh.

“We'll make a camper out of you yet,” Millie says as she descends the steps of the motor home. “Want some s'mores?”

“Aren't we going to eat pie?”

“Yeah, so?” Millie winks. “Don't tell me you've never had more than one dessert in an evening.”

“My lips would love it, but my hips would not.”

Millie shrugs. “Suit yourself.” She stabs a marshmallow onto the end of a deformed hanger and dangles it over the fire.

“Oh, all right.” I get up and dig into the bag of marshmallows. “But when I have to go in for liposuction, just remember, I'm holding you and Lydia personally responsible.”

Millie and I enjoy the fire, then Millie goes inside to get her book. Thoughts of Le Diva Chocolates and the new competition flit across my mind, and I follow Millie into the RV to get my notebook that holds pictures of the various chocolates we offer. It wouldn't hurt to come up with some new ideas in case that new chocolate shop gives me too much competition.

While we're all inside, someone knocks at the door. Lydia goes over to answer it.

“Hi, my name is Ned, and my wife and I are staying next door with our daughters. Anyway, I was talking to a man down the road, friendly sort, when we got interrupted.”

“Oh?” Lydia says.

“I thought I would tell you 'cause he said he was looking for a motor home that matched the description of yours. I wasn't sure how important it might be for you to know someone was looking for you.”

He no sooner leaves than the things around me start to spin. My equilibrium goes amuck, and the last thing I remember is the scuffling of feet and Millie saying, “She's going down.”

10

They say I was out for less than two seconds, but Millie and
Lydia helped me into the bedroom and onto the bed anyway. Millie dampened a washcloth with warm water and placed it on my forehead.

“Are you all right?” Lydia asks. She looks worried. “I've never seen anyone faint before.”

“I'm fine. Thanks, Lydia.”

Millie settles on the edge of the bed. “It's time you told us what's going on.”

My heart skips a beat. “What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

“Well, Millie, she might not feel up to talking just now,” Lydia says in a motherly voice.

“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.