RV There Yet? (27 page)

“What was with that Steve Knight thing?” I ask Millie once we get back to the RV.

Millie lifts her chin. “I don't know what you're talking about.” She bats her eyelashes as though she's a Southern belle. And let me just say she wouldn't qualify as a Southern belle if she clanged from a steeple in Georgia.

“You know what I mean. Smiling and looking at me when Steve was talking.” I pull my sweatshirt from the dresser drawer to prepare for our campfire with the others in ten minutes. I mean, if I'm interested in him, it's one thing, but I don't need Millie pushing me. After that thing with Rob, I'm not ready to rush into anything. 'Course, if I was ready, Steve would definitely have my interest.

“Excuse me. I didn't know it was a crime to smile.” Millie feigns innocence while I stare at her. “Oh, come on, DeDe, no one missed the sparks flying between you two,” she says matter-of- factly while applying white shoe polish to her sneakers.

My heart somersaults here. Either she's right, and I am attracted to him, or I need to see a doctor as soon as I get home.

Lydia, who just finished throwing a bag of marshmallows, chocolate bars, and graham crackers into a paper sack to take with us to the campfire, stops in her tracks at Millie's words.

“Now, you see? You're making Lydia think something that just isn't there. I don't know how many times I've told you two—I'm not interested in another relationship.”
Maybe I've changed my
mind, but you don't need to know that.

“No one is saying you have to have that kind of a relationship, DeDe,” Lydia says. “Just enjoy the journey. You could miss out on a good friend if you shut him out.” Her cell phone rings. She steps outside to answer it while I stare after her.

Closing my mouth, I look back at Millie, who smiles and goes through the door behind Lydia.

Jerking on my sweatshirt, I reluctantly follow. My heart is telling me to give it a try, but I'm not ready to be that vulnerable again. So what if Steve's eyes crank up my blood pressure a notch and his smile, well, could melt me down to a puddle? Who cares if he could pick me up with one arm behind his back? Can I quickly forget what I've been through with Rob? My heart screams yes. My mind says no.

I wonder which one will win.

Millie snaps candid pictures of our little group as each one searches the surrounding area for pine needles and wood branches for kindling. We're soon sitting on logs and hay bales around a crackling fire that shoots tiny sparks into the night air. Millie and Lydia scoot their log a little farther from the fire than the rest of us. Lydia's eyes are red, so I'm guessing her phone call was from one of her boys and the conversation didn't go well.

Not wanting to draw attention to Lydia, I look back toward the fire. It's a good thing I have on my sweatshirt. I'm sitting close enough to the flames to singe the hair on my arms, but I don't care. I love warmth.

A slight breeze stirs through the alpine forest, causing the leaves to rustle and the pine scent to meander our way.

“Isn't this the most wonderful place in the world?” Beverly asks between bites of s'mores.

I close my eyes and breathe deeply. “It really is heavenly.”

“Well, we're close enough to heaven, that's for sure,” Millie says. “I'm surprised I haven't had a nosebleed yet.”

“The stars are so beautiful. Greg used to tell me he would reach up and get one for me.” Lydia lifts a sad smile, and suddenly things turn a bit somber.

“I was really sorry to hear about Greg, Lydia,” Steve says, sitting down beside me on the log. Goose bumps crawl up my arms. The temperature must be dropping.

“Thank you for your card. It meant a lot, Steve, really.”

Steve sent her a card? She never mentioned that—at least, I don't remember if she did. That was thoughtful of him. Too bad all men aren't like that. Then again, who knows what lurks beneath his manners? I mean, what drives him to do the things he does? No one would have guessed Rob's hypocrisy. Least of all me.

“So what do you do for a living, Steve?” If I ask enough questions, we'll eventually find what he's made of.

“I own a boat business in Florida.”

My heart skips to my throat. “You live in Fl—Florida?”

“Yeah, why?” He pops a marshmallow in his mouth and looks at me.

“Um, I just didn't know that.”

“DeDe lives in Florida,” Millie offers.

Attempting an evil glare, I send it her way, but she returns a sweet smile. I have half a notion to pulverize her with a bag of marshmallows.

Steve's eyes study me, and I try not to squirm. Let me just point out that he's sitting so close to me that if he was a magnet and I was a paper clip—well, we'd be inseparable, that's all.

We discuss where we live and the fact that we're about four hours from each other. I'm not going to analyze how I feel about that right now. With his magnetism, I'm having enough trouble just staying on my side of the log.

“Do you remember Ethel Belle?” Steve asks with a laugh.

“Oh, you mean the camp warden?” Eric takes an ambitious bite of his hot dog, dropping a blob of ketchup onto his paper plate.

“That's the one,” Steve says. “Boy, you girls could sure get her stirred up.”

“Now, why are you looking straight at me when you say that?” I'm acting all offended here.

Steve quirks an eyebrow. “Well, let's just say you have a reputation.”

“No, let's say I have a life,” I correct him.

Steve lets out a hearty laugh, and something about that makes me feel warm all over. My dad laughs a lot. Probably makes me think of him.

While moonlight sprays over the camp, we talk about our camp days, the good, the bad, and the ugly. We also discuss the concert and make a rough schedule of the program. Darkness and night sounds surround us.

Lydia's gaze keeps shooting toward the forest.

“Are you all right, Lydia?” Beverly asks.

The question appears to startle Lydia. “What? Oh, I'm fine, really.” Her hand reaches for her throat. “I was just wondering about, well, bears.” Once again she looks toward the forest.

Eric laughs. “Oh, you don't need to worry, honey. I'll protect you.” He wiggles his eyebrows, and Lydia looks as though someone has thrown cold water on her face. Eric doesn't seem to notice in the least.

“Well, bears do come up here, but I've never seen them come while we're still out here. We do have to make sure we clean the area thoroughly, though. We can't leave any trace of food, or they'll trash the place before morning, tearing up anything standing in their way of a snack,” Beverly says.

“It's the same with DeDe and her chocolate. Get in her way, and she'll hurt you without blinking an eye,” Millie says before throwing me another innocent smile.

Everyone laughs but me.

“Well, I don't want to be in their way,” Lydia says in a small voice, her eyes still fixed on the forest.

“It's probably a good time to go to bed. We have a big day tomorrow. I'll be passing out work assignments in the morning. Plan to be at breakfast at seven thirty,” Beverly says.

Millie nods.

“Oh yes. Millie has agreed to wake us with her trumpet in the morning.” Beverly smiles as though she's doing us a favor.

Millie sits taller in her seat.

I groan. “Okay, tell me one more time, why did I come here?”

Everyone laughs. No, wait. Millie isn't laughing. Oh, but that's okay, because I wasn't trying to be funny. I flash a sweet smile to Millie. If looks could kill . . .

We all set to work clearing the area and go back to our places. Lydia continues to speak of bears and her fears. Eric's face pops into my mind. I'm thinking Lydia has more to worry about than bears. She has a wolf on her tail.

That's enough to scare anybody.

20

A loud, annoying sound jerks me from a deep sleep. In my fog,
I reach up to thump off the alarm clock, but the noise continues. The trumpeter blares a bad version of “When the Saints Go Marching In,” giving me a headache. That can only mean one thing.

Millie.

Suddenly everything becomes clear. I am stuck in an RV, at Aspen Creek Bible Camp, with two women who used to be my best friends, while a metal rooster crows outside my window. Need I mention that our windows are
open
?

Lydia yawns. “Is it that time already?”

“If, by that, you mean time to hurt Millie, the answer is yes,” I growl, yanking off my covers.

A retreat to the bathroom sounds like a good idea until I can get my attitude under control. Once I've finished washing my face and combing my hair, blessed quiet fills the air.

Millie clambers into the RV and snaps open her trumpet case, putting her treasured instrument inside. She looks up and smiles as big as you please. “Guess I was loud enough. At least I got you up,” she says, wearing a proud expression.

I look her square in the face. “Millie, all of Colorado is stumbling out of bed right this minute because of you.”

I've always had a problem with speaking my mind, and, well, today is no exception.

“May as well get used to it, DeDe. I'm gonna be the first thing you hear every morning and the last thing you see at night.” She grins savagely, sucking all the joy from the room. The woman is evil personified.

Lydia rolls her eyes. “I don't know what I'm going to do with you two.”

“Give it up, Lydia. We can't be helped.” For some reason, my own comment makes me sober. Am I beyond help? Does God think so? I'm the one who turned away from Him, but I hope He hasn't given up on me.

Now that the
music
—and believe me, I use the term loosely—is over, I go outside and run through my memorized Pilates routine and then head back inside.

After my shower, we all hustle around the kitchen—bumping into one another in the process—pulling together a meager breakfast of oatmeal, toast, juice, and coffee. At last, we sit down.

“It's cool that we're parked near a bird feeder,” Lydia says, scooping some sugar into her cereal bowl. “I noticed Cobbler watching the birds eat. I think she enjoys it.”

That sounds as exciting as waiting for a chicken to hatch.

“You want to tell us about your phone call?” Millie asks Lydia without so much as blinking.

Lydia looks at her and hesitates.

“If you'd rather not, Lydia, we understand.” Did I say that? My lips betrayed me. I want to hear what happened.

“No, it's okay,” Lydia says. “It was Drew. He has no intention of going back to school.” She lets out a long breath and shakes her head. “He's so angry. Blames God for Greg's death.”

“I'm sorry, Lydia,” I say.

“There's not much you can do if his mind is made up.” Millie takes a bite of toast.

“I know.” Lydia cradles her coffee cup between her hands. “If only I could make him see.”

“He'll wake up one day. But it won't happen overnight. Believe me, I know,” I say. Lydia's hand pats my own.

“Well, at least I didn't just overlook the school notices. His girlfriend worked at the college, and she intercepted those mailings so I wouldn't know what was going on. Fortunately, they broke up later,” Lydia says, now twisting a napkin in her hands.

Silence hovers between us as we search for words of comfort to help Lydia.

“Millie, I've been meaning to ask you how you got so much time off work,” Lydia says, changing the subject.

“Oh, I thought you heard me tell DeDe. I've been with the library for twenty-five years, and I had accumulated four weeks' vacation. They threw a party for me before I left and gave me an additional two weeks. So I have a total of six weeks. Wasn't that nice?”

“That's really nice. Too bad they can't have the new computer system in place before you get back. Then you could miss the chaos,” Lydia says, taking a drink of coffee.

Millie's face goes from pink to a color pretty much akin to milk toast.

“What's wrong?” I ask.

She waits a moment. “What if they sent me away so they could train someone else on the new computer? What if they are already making plans to replace me? What if—”

“Millie!” The sternness of Lydia's voice catches our attention. “I told you not to say ‘what if.' Besides, they wouldn't do that.”

Millie makes a face. “I'm not so convinced.”

“Have you ever played the trumpet for them?” I ask.

“No.” Millie looks confused.

“You should be safe.”

She glares at me, but at least some of the tension is gone.

“Well, how about you, Miss Chocolatier? Any news on how your business is going?”

“Okay, that's just ugly,” I say.

She tosses a smug smile.

“Oh, come on, Millie. The library wouldn't do that to you. They appreciate the job you've done for them over the years. There is no one more organized than you. I mean, color-coded underwear, Millie. Who does that?”