RV There Yet? (7 page)

“Told you,” Lydia says.

Though this bird is weird, I have to admit it's pretty cool that she can whistle this tune. In my opinion, that takes some brains—or at the very least a good set of pipes. The video stops. Once the show is on, Cobbler bobs her head and scampers back and forth on her perch. She says something, and I'm almost sure it's “Barney,” then she wolf whistles.

Okay, that creeps me out a little.

“Hey, DeDe, come here,” Millie says.

I go back to join Lydia and Millie. “Are we there yet?”

“Not quite,” Millie says. “We don't see a listing for an RV campground in Albany. Lydia and I were thinking we could stay at a Wal-Mart. I could get my film developed while we're there too. What do you think?”

“Do people camp at Wal-Mart?” I ask, totally oblivious to the camping world.

“Yes, they allow people to park their campers for an overnight stay.”

“Sounds all right to me,” I say.

“There are several; we'll pick the one closest to where we're ready to stop.”

“Waldo won't have any problems finding one. I am, after all, his owner.” Lydia reaches for the radio knob. “Do you mind if I turn on the radio?”

Millie and I agree. I'm feeling a little tired from our late-night talk and the excitement at the convenience store. Okay, the truth is, my body aches from head to toe where Millie pounced on us with all the grace of an elephant.

“Aren't you tired, Lydia?” I'm amazed she's still holding it together since she was up late too. She has to be emotionally drained after all she's been through.

“I'm doing fine. I'm too keyed up to sleep now.” She turns the radio knob and comes upon an easy-listening station.

I no sooner fall asleep on the sofa than we stop at Wal-Mart and call it a day.

“If you want dinner and you don't want to wake up in the middle of the night, you'd better get up,” Millie says.

I yawn. “What time is it?”

“It's about six thirty,” Millie says.

We decide to eat at a Chinese place that's in the same shopping complex as Wal-Mart. Asian spices greet us the moment we enter. I haven't eaten Chinese food in a while—actually, not since I was with Rob. We loved to eat Chinese together. I miss him.

About halfway through the meal, my cell phone vibrates. Thankfully, Lydia and Millie are sitting across from me and don't seem to notice anything. I discreetly pull it from my pocket and look under the table to see that it's Rob. If Millie and Lydia weren't here, I think I'd answer it. He must sense that I'm eating Chinese. We connect on a deep level. Wonder if that's a sign? The phone stops vibrating, and Rob is gone—again.

“Boy, we must be tired,” I say before I finish the last bite of my orange chicken. “We've hardly said three words here.”

“I know I am.” Lydia touches the corner of her mouth with a napkin.

With the snap of my fortune cookie, I pull out the paper and read it silently. When I look up, Lydia and Millie are staring at me. “What?”

“Aren't you going to read it?” Millie asks.

“Um, no.”

“And why not?”

Millie again. This woman never gives up, I tell you.

“Well?” Millie pushes.

With a long sigh, I pull out the paper. “It says, ‘A long-lost friend will come into your life soon.'” I look up in time to see Millie's eyebrows shoot up and Lydia smile.

“Wonder if his name is Tony, George, David, or—who was the other one—oh yeah, Ralph?”

My eyebrows wiggle playfully, and I have to admit there's a teensy bit of hope lifting inside me. Maybe this little journey will help me forget Rob. Not that I need someone else in my life to forget him. I just wonder if there ever will be someone else in my life.

“Just remember to save a couple for us,” Millie says as if she's half-serious, though I don't think she is. She doesn't seem ready for another relationship. Still, I could be wrong.

Tossing my paper aside, I slurp the last of my iced tea. The server brings back our receipts and thanks us for coming in.

“You girls ready to go?” Lydia asks, rising from our booth. Millie follows her, and they start walking away.

“Aren't you forgetting something, Millie?” I call out to her.

She turns around.

I'm waving her glasses. “I think you used them to read your fortune cookie—which you failed to read to us, by the way.”

Millie walks over and snatches the glasses from my hand. When she turns around, Lydia stands in the way, arms folded across her chest.

“We made DeDe tell us,” Lydia says.

“It said something about losing my glasses,” Millie comments dryly, pushing past Lydia.

A wet sensation on my cheeks lures me slowly to consciousness. My hand wipes across my face.

Drip, drip, drip.

Working through my sleepy haze, it takes me a moment to get my bearings. Something drips onto my face again. My eyes squint to see the ceiling through the darkness. Another plop hits my eyelid, making my lashes wet.

My fingers work the blanket as though I'm reading Braille. The top cover is wet. Okay, either we have a roof leak, or I'm dealing with night sweats that could get me on the Oprah show.

Throwing off the damp covers, I climb out of bed. It's not until I hear the thunder boom and the lightning crack that I realize what's happening. Cobbler's cage is moving, but she isn't making a sound. I peek through the cover. Feathers litter the bottom of her cage. Still, she flutters a moment, so at least I know she's alive.

Carefully I tiptoe into the living room, trying not to wake Millie, when I step on a few more wet spots. My eyes have finally adjusted to the dark. Security lights from the parking lot seep through the cracks in the blinds and front curtains, revealing roof leaks in the hallway and kitchen. With a glance back at the bedroom, I see there's a leak over my bed.

I groan. Lydia will not be happy about this. Her poor motor home. It's showing its age just like the rest of us. Well, anyway, Millie and Lydia are dealing with age issues. I'm just getting started with that whole perimenopausal deal. Makes me feel sort of young. This is a terrible thing to say, but there's just a teensy bit of pride going on in the deepest corners of my heart. I hate to admit that, but there you are.

Of course, now that I've reveled in this thought, I'll probably sprout two new wrinkles by daylight.

Thunder splits through the air, and I jump. The rain is coming down with a vengeance. Quickly I pull pans and kettles from the cupboard and place them on the floor to catch the water. Though I try to keep still, the pots and pans clang against one another and the cabinet.

Unbelievably, I manage to set everything in place without waking Lydia or Millie. The rhythmic
tap, tap, tap
in the pan as the water drips from the ceiling doesn't even wake them.

By the way, Millie's mouth is wide open here. I'm thinking if I could strategically place her mouth under one of those leaks . . .

Stepping closer to the bedroom, I peek in at Lydia. Out cold. She really was stressed about driving. Maybe I should take a turn driving. Then she would realize, yes, it is possible to feel worse.

The rain pelts the motor home, and I turn to see that the pans are rapidly filling up. One by one, I empty the water from the pans into the sink.

Wal-Mart stays open all night. Maybe I should go pick up some buckets. Better still, something for the leaky roof would be good, but I have no idea about that kind of stuff. I'm the kind of gal who would stick gum on a leak.

A damp chill fills the motor home, and I shiver beneath my pajamas. The angry night sky roars and jumps with lightning. A flash of light causes the white polka dots on my blue pajama bottoms to glow in the dark. Suddenly a childhood ghost story plays in my mind. It has to do with a ghoul scratching the top of a car. My heart zips to my throat. I can't think about it. Did I just hear something on the roof? I have goose bumps. Definite goose bumps—and heart palpitations.

If I have a heart attack, heads will roll. Wait. I don't mean heads will roll. My breath crouches in my throat, refusing to leave, while my gaze shoots back and forth in the darkness. I huddle against the refrigerator. More lightning and thunder. The hair on my neck bristles. Think porcupine.

I want to go home. Now.

Something touches my arm. A scream pierces the air. I could be wrong, but I think it came from me. Lightning flashes, and I see Lydia's face, ghostly white. If she lifts a candle, I'm
so
outta here.

Millie stirs in her bed, but a second later, her mouth sags open again. I blink. Hard. Twice.

“Are you all right?” Lydia asks while tightening the belt on her white terry robe.

“Ask me after they insert the pacemaker.”

Lydia giggles, then tugs on my arm to lead me back to the bedroom. “We have to get something for these leaks. I'm afraid if we wait, Waldo's interior will be ruined.”

I have no idea why she's whispering. We couldn't wake Millie with a Mack truck.

Lydia walks over to Cobbler's cage, peeks under the towel, then turns to me. “She seems to be keeping warm enough.”

She obviously hasn't noticed that I'm quivering like the leaves on an aspen tree. “My interior isn't exactly toasty warm,” I say.

Lydia's eyes twinkle. I'm relieved to see that the ghoul is gone. I much prefer Lydia's twinkle self over her ghoul self. Though her eyes are still a little weird-looking. Just how well do I know her, anyway?

She coughs, then sneezes.

“Are you getting sick?”

She shakes her head. “Allergies. Damp, musty smells make my throat itch, and I sneeze.”

“Oh, I'm sorry. So you think we need to get something for the roof ?”

She nods and wipes the tears from her eyes. “I hate to ask you, I really do—”

Suddenly I know what it means to turn a deaf ear, because although her lips are moving, I hear nothing.

“I wouldn't ask you to go if I could do it myself”—sneeze, cough—“but as you can see, I'm a mess.” Lydia smiles sweetly.

My mother always said it was the nice ones you had to watch out for.

“Okay, I'll go.” My voice betrays me. Reluctantly I shrug on jeans and a sweatshirt. Then, before I can blink, Lydia is shoving a raincoat and umbrella my way.

“What's going on?” Millie cracks open her eyes.

“Millie, you could sleep through a flood,” I say with my hand on the door. She should be doing this instead of me. My grumpy self turns from Millie to peek out the door. Oh well, at least the rain has slowed to a light sprinkle. “See you guys later.” My fingers shove on the knob, then I stop and turn back. “Oh, I forgot to ask—what am I getting?”

Lydia squeezes her lips together and thinks a moment. “Just something to fix leaky roofs?”

“Okay, that pretty much narrows it down.” I turn and shove open the door. Without looking down, my leg plops to the first step outside our door and causes a splash. An icy chill runs up my skin, causing me to gasp.

“What is it?” Lydia asks behind me.

With a shiver, I turn to them. “Anybody receive a divine message about an ark lately?”

5

“What's the matter, Dee?” Lydia says, trying to see past me out
to the Wal-Mart parking lot. She looks confused. Join the club.

“Grab me a towel,” I say over my shoulder.

Lydia scrambles for one and brings it to me. She hovers near the doorway and peers outside. “Oh my goodness, Millie, come see this.” Lydia steps out of my way while I lift my sopping pant leg from the rainwater. Paint me pink and I could be a flamingo lawn ornament.

Millie peers around me to get a view of the parking lot. “Oh my, the lot is flooded,” she says.

“Like I've always said, you're quick.”

Lightning sparks again, giving me a good glimpse of Millie's pajamas. “Whoa, Gloria Swanson sighting!” I yell. “As in silent film star. Call the paparazzi.” Peals of laughter make my balance waver slightly. Millie's pj's resemble a black-and-white-striped bathing suit from, well, let's just say way before Esther Williams was ever born. Wisely I stay just out of reach so she can't push me into the water.

“They're comfortable,” Millie says, making a face at me.

Millie rushes over to grab her camera and snaps a picture of the flooded lot.

My eyes lock on her camera.

“Don't even think about it,” she warns.

In that fraction of an instant, I snatch the camera from Millie's hands before she knows what hit her. Her arms flail about as the flash goes off, catching her in full pajama drama.

“DeDe Veihl, you give that back to me this minute,” Millie barks.

“Millie, I'm thinking that picture could win us ten thousand dollars on
America's Funniest Home Videos
,” I say, laughing uncontrollably. Like the poor sport she is, Millie grabs the camera out of my hands.