RV There Yet? (18 page)
How frightening is this? Somehow we've managed to end up in Mayberry. I wouldn't be surprised if Aunt Bee was down at the county jail right this very moment, serving evening snacks.
Maybe I should see if they're offering chocolates.
I'm guessing the RV is in for a good thaw. Let the heavens
rejoice!
Dr. Sherri Johnson advises that Cobbler has a cold and needs a warm environment. The wise veterinarian hands Lydia a bottle and tells her to put two drops into Cobbler's water bowl daily, and she should be as good as new in a few days.
Maybe now I won't have to wear my snowsuit to bed.
We thank the kind pet doctor and head back to the motor home. Her Barney Fife sibling walks with us, giving Lydia one more speech about the dangers of speeding, and off we goâwithin the speed limit, of course.
“Millie, will you get my fan for me?” Lydia asks. Millie already has her own fan blowing against her face. She reaches into Lydia's bag behind her seat, pulls out the fan, and hands it to Lydia.
I dare not gloat, but I'm actually feeling the blood start to move through my veins once again.
Since Lydia isn't great at night driving, Millie takes over. We haven't taken the time for dinner yet, and we're all starved. We shouldn't be after that big lunch, but there you are. I make turkey sandwiches for everyone and pass out drinks so we can continue driving. Finally, we arrive at a campsite near Davenport, Iowa.
It's fairly late by the time we settle in for the night. While washing my hands at the sink, I spot a goldfinch playing in a nearby oak tree. If the neighbors hadn't turned on their camp light, I never would have seen it. “Millie, Lydia, come here,” I say.
They both come and gaze out the window.
“Oh, that's the state bird, DeDe. It's a goldfinch.” Millie is a walking encyclopedia.
“How did you know that?” I ask her.
“I research facts about each place we visit.”
I roll my eyes.
“You know about chocolate. I know about, well, everything else.”
“You certainly are a wealth of information,” Lydia says sweetly, cutting me off before I get a chance to give Millie what for. Lydia hooks her arm into Millie's, they walk a few paces, then both of them settle in at the kitchen table.
“You girls want a snack?” Lydia asks, already rising.
“What do we have?” Millie asks.
“I was thinking maybe some cheese, crackers, and pepperoni.”
“Sounds great,” Millie says.
Lydia gets the snack ready, then she joins Millie at the table. She looks up at me. “Aren't you joining us, DeDe?”
“You know, I think I just need to walk. I've eaten so much in this past week that I feel like I'm going to explode,” I say.
They stare at me, mouths gaping.
“Trust me, it wouldn't be a pretty sight.” I grab my sweater and walk toward the door.
“You're going out?” Lydia asks, behaving like a mother hen over her chicks.
“I could be wrong, but I'm thinking I'd have to walk up and down this RV for ten years to lose a single pound. Walking outside is my only alternative.”
“But it's dark out there.”
“I'm not going far. Just walking to the end of the lane and back to get some fresh air, a little exercise.”
“I should think you'd be happy now that we've turned the air-conditioning down,” Millie grumbles.
“I appreciate it, I really do. 'Course, we all know you did it for Cobbler, but still I'm grateful.” With a wink, I turn and push through the door.
The temperature is probably in the low seventies and quite pleasant. A slight breeze stirs the oak leaves. Children laugh and squeal from campfires. People nod and wave. As much as I hate to admit it, campers are nice people. I could get into the friendly atmosphere and the workless days.
Wait. Did I say workless days? What am I saying? It's hard work to camp, and we're not exactly roughing it in a motor home. But when Lydia backs that thing up into our camping site, I'm sure
somebody
will blow a vein.
Wild roses gather along a trellis in front of the office building at the end of the path. I've always loved roses. Rob used to send me roses every month to celebrate the day we met. I shake my head to get rid of the memory. If only it were that easy. As much as I say I'm over him, that I'm not going to think about him anymore, he keeps creeping back into my thoughtsâmy heart. As weak as I feel tonight, if he called, I'd probably answer.
Stooping down, I pick up a fallen oak leaf. We all have to move on with our lives. Lydia without Greg, Millie without Bruce, and me without Rob. Life can be so unfair. We have lived very different lives up to this point, and yet we've all arrived at the same place. Now that we're here, I'm not sure any of us know what to do about it.
In my younger days I thought my life would be so different, and I've had plenty of dates along the way. Still, becoming a wife and mother was never my number one goal. Until Rob came along, I had never allowed my heart to get involved with anyone. Business kept my mind and heart pretty much occupied. My dad drilled into me the importance of being able to take care of myself. He wanted me to be self-sufficient, and maybe he pushed a little too hard. A slight breeze rustles through the trees and brushes against my face before moving on, and I can't help thinking how life is just as fleeting.
So here I am, a successful businesswoman at forty-nineâokay, so I'll be fifty in a few daysâjust what Dad wanted for me. But after being with Rob and seeing what life could be, well, I'm not convinced that this is the only life I want for myself.
In my mental wanderings, I don't pay attention to where I'm going, and I end up walking past the office building toward the street. Lydia and Millie would have a fit if they tried to find me and couldn't. Quickly I turn around and head back for the motor home. Upon hearing a car's motor coming up behind me, I step farther into the shadows so as not to be seen. The driver has his elbow tipped out the window, and I get a brief glimpse of him. Though he doesn't turn my way, he looks familiar.
Please, God, don't let it be Rob.
Somehow I manage to keep Millie and Lydia from lingering at the campsite the next morning. Just in case that man was Robâand I'm not convinced that it wasâwhat's the point of hanging around?
“Why are you in such a hurry, DeDe?” Millie asks. “Usually you're the last person to get up, and here you are, dressed and ready to go. What's up?” Millie's eyes tell me she knows me all too well.
“My walk last night and my Pilates workout this morning must have done me some good,” I say with a big smile.
“Where did you do your Pilates?” Millie asks incredulously.
“On my mat outside. Hardly anyone was up except me and the crickets.” Of course, all the while I was looking around to make sure Rob was nowhere in sight.
They both look at me as though they're trying to figure out my brain. Shouldn't take them long. I shift on my feet. Need I mention I'm concerned about the middle-aged spread taking over my body?
“Well, anybody want some breakfast?” I start pulling bowls from the kitchen counter.
Lydia places her hand on my arm. “All right, something is up. You don't eat breakfast, remember?”
Oh, doggone it, that's right. Well, if you don't count the chocolate, anyway. “I guess I'm just anxious to get to the camp,” I say brightly.
They still don't look convinced, but Millie's cell phone rings, cutting off further discussion. “Hello? Well, good morning, Bob. You're sure calling bright and early. Oh dear. I'm so sorry to hear that. Oh my.”
Lydia and I exchange a glance.
“How wonderful!” Millie says with a full-blown smile. She winks at me, then heads toward the bedroom and pulls the door closed behind her.
“Well, whatever it is, it's good news,” I say.
“We could use that after all that's happened with Waldo and Cobbler.” Lydia starts the coffeemaker while I put the bowls on the table.
“How is Cobbler this morning?” I ask, settling into my seat at the table.
“She seems a little better today. Not as fluffed up as she was before.” Lydia hands me a coffee cup and places the creamer and sugar on the table. “And to think it's all my fault she caught cold.” She sits across from me.
“You mean with the air-conditioning?”
She nods and stares at the gray Formica tabletop. “Who could have guessed my hot flashes were that bad?”
Um, me.
“Guess not everyone else felt the same way.”
Now there's a news flash. “My woolen mittens and hat should have been a dead giveaway.”
She looks up, and we both laugh. The coffeemaker perks and rattles, causing the deep scent of coffee to permeate our home away from home.
“If you owned a pair of mittens, I would worry, you being from Florida and all.”
“That's true. It's hard to surf wearing all those clothes.” I smile. The coffeemaker plops the last bit of the brew into the carafe. “Let me get our drinks,” I say, grabbing both of our mugs when Lydia starts to get up. Pouring coffee into them, I carry them carefully back to the table.
“What do you suppose is keeping Millie so long?” Lydia dumps a pack of cream and sugar into her cup.
“I don't know, but whatever it is, she seemed happy about it.”
Just then the bedroom door pulls open. Millie steps into the room to join us. Judging by her expression, her conversation dipped downward. Can we say South Pole?
Without saying a word, Lydia jumps up and pours Millie some coffee.
“Thanks, Lydia,” Millie says, joining us at the table. She rests her hands on the table and stares at her palms. “I can't believe this is happening.”
I touch her arm. “Millie, what is it?”
Lydia places the coffee in front of her. “After all these years,” Millie says, ripping the top off two cream packets. She turns to me, eyes flashing. “After all I've done.”
I've seen that look before. If memory serves me, it was when we got into trouble at camp. Picture charging bull.
“What's wrong?” Lydia asks. “You sounded happy when you were talking on the phone.”
Millie takes a couple of long, deep breaths. “Gertrude Pendleton, a longtime friend of the library, has passed away. It seems her attorney called Bob Greenley, the president of the library board, and informed him that Mrs. Pendleton has bequeathed a large sum of money to the library.”
“Isn't that good?” Lydia asks, both of us clearly confused.
“Well, yes, that part is good.”
“And the bad part is?” I press.
She turns to me with wild eyes. “They're calling a board meeting next week to discuss installing a computer system in the library.”
So that's what this is about. Poor Millie. She lives in the Dark Ages. She still owns the manual typewriter her parents gave her in high school. Not only that, but she uses it.
“It was bound to happen sooner or later.” I mean, hello, her small Indiana town has yet to convert from its card catalog system.
“Well, I say, if it ain't broke, don't fix it,” Millie snaps, lips pursed, eyebrows pulled into a sharp frown.
If there was any doubt before, I have none now. Millie is upset, pure and simple. She never uses the word
ain't
. It's like a four-letter word to her. Oh, wait. It
is
a four-letter word.
“I understand how you feel, Millie,” Lydia says as if she's tiptoeing through the tulips, “but I'm afraid the world forces us into its way of doing things.”
Am I the only one trying to stay current here? “Come on, you guys. It's not the end of the world. The computer is a wonderful invention,” I say.
“You don't understand. I'm the head librarian. I will have to oversee this project. Entering all the books into the system, setting up the cataloging, retrieving holds on books that people have placed online. I will have to know how to run the whole thing.” Millie's voice is tight. She puts her hand to her forehead. “That Bob Greenley has been pushing for this ever since he visited that fancy-schmancy library over in Cleveland, Tennessee.” Millie gets up, grabs the whipped cream, sprays enough to spill over the top of her coffee cup, walks over to the refrigerator, and puts it away. She sits back down and carefully picks up her cup.
“Millie, you're in your early fifties. Don't act old and set in your ways,” I say, bracing myself for the hurricane that's about to hit.
Lydia cuts in. “The computer is not an easy thing to learn. My boys tried to teach me, but I finally gave up.”
“Yes, but you don't use it on a regular basis. Millie will work with it every day.”
“Not if I can help it,” Millie says with a stubborn edge to her voice.
“You surf the Internet once in a while,” I remind her.
“Once in a while is key here. I don't have to do everything on that computer,” she snaps.
