RV There Yet? (8 page)

“The fun is over,” she says.

“Okay, you two,” Lydia says between chuckles, “we need to figure out this problem.”

“What's to think about? Unless we have a canoe, I ain't going out there,” I say, pointing to the lake outside our door.

Millie and Lydia give me a hard stare.

“We don't have a canoe, do we?” Millie asks. I'm picturing canoes, Indians, beaver skins. She's probably going to quiz us on the Lewis and Clark expedition.

Lydia shakes her head, then sneezes. “But I do have some galoshes.”

“Oh goodie,” I say, but they ignore me.

Lydia tromps back to the bedroom and comes out with a smile and a pair of what must be size 30 green rain boots.

“Oh, you do have a canoe,” I say, staring at the boots. “Two of them.”

“These were Greg's. I know they're a little big, but they'll get you to the store.” Cough, sneeze. “You sure you don't mind, DeDe?”

I stare at her. Did I say I didn't mind? Um, I don't think so. Those words did not come from these lips. That would be her interpretation. Which is, by the way, just wrong. Reluctantly I reach for the boots, and Lydia looks relieved. No wonder. She doesn't have to go out in the rain. And why is that? “Are you punishing me because I'm younger?”

Millie snorts. “You'll be fifty in a matter of days,” she says, her eyes shining with pure evil.

“At our age, every day counts,” I say.

Millie shrugs. “I don't know, DeDe. There might be lines down or something. Maybe you shouldn't go out there.”

“Excuse me? Did I just hear words of compassion coming from your mouth?” I wag my finger in front of Millie's face. “We want Millie back, and we want her now.”

“Oh, that's cute,” she says. “If you want to fry out there, suit yourself.” She steps out of the way. She's far too accommodating. “But who knows what kind of bugs lurk in those muddy waters,” she calls behind her.

Gulp. I hate bugs, and Millie knows it.

“No, don't go. I hadn't thought of that,” Lydia says, biting her fingernail.

“The bugs?” Millie wants to know.

“We have to get these leaks fixed, don't we?” And I ask that, why?

“No. We'll wait until the water recedes,” Lydia says. “Remember, this trip is not about being in a hurry. We will not risk you getting hurt.” Wow, Lydia's taking charge. I like that. Especially when it means I don't have to go outside.

With a glance at Millie, I smile. “Lydia has spoken.” I pull off my raincoat, and we set to tidying the RV as best we can around the rain-filled pans.

By the time we finish breakfast, the water has found its way to the area drains, and I can see the pavement well enough to walk up to the store without fear of electrical wires or bugs.

It doesn't take me long to pick out a product since I have no idea what works and what doesn't. I also get Millie's film developed, plucking out the pajama picture before she can throw it away.

“Did you find something?” Lydia asks when I step back into the motor home.

Smiling, I hold up my purchase. “Considering I'm clueless as to what we should use on leaks, I thought it best to buy duct tape. Dad always said it works on just about anything.” Lydia helps me take off my coat. “That should hold it until we get to camp and someone can tell us what to buy.”

“Hmm, I guess that's okay,” Lydia says as if we have a choice.

It doesn't take long for the three of us to slap on the duct tape where appropriate, and soon we're on the road again. I resist the urge to play tic-tac-toe on the ceiling.

How curious that Lydia hasn't sneezed once since I've returned. Not wanting to allow bitterness to take root, I brush off the thought. “So where we off to today?” I figure it's always good to be “in the know.”

Millie looks at the map, then at the sheet she printed off from the Internet. “We're stopping in Erie, Pennsylvania, today.”

“Oh, I hear that's a pretty area,” Lydia says.

“Yeah, it is.” Millie opens her Rocky Mountain National Park book. “All right, girls, time for Rocky Mountain trivia.”

“Wait. I forgot to give you the pictures Wal-Mart developed,” I say, handing her the package.

Millie snatches them from me and carefully pulls open the envelope. I hold my breath to see if she'll notice the missing pajama picture. She doesn't. We laugh and talk through each photo. She dates each one, then goes to one of her bins and pulls out a box the size of a shoe box titled “Trip to Aspen Creek,” complete with dividers in it, where she promptly deposits each photo behind the proper date. She brushes her hands together. “Thanks for getting those for me, Dee,” she says with a smile. “Now we're ready for the Rocky Mountain trivia,” she says, opening her book.

My eyes start to roll back in my head.

“Pay attention,” Millie snaps at me before flipping through the pages.

She can get her own film developed from now on.

“Okay, here we are,” she says, running her fingers down the crease in the book so the pages will stay open. “Little mounds of discarded cone fragments called middens are left near Bear Lake by what kind of animal?”

“Um, what would be a bear?” I say, laughing.

Millie glares at me.

“Get it. Bear Lake,
bear
?”

Still glaring.

“Um, I'm guessing that's wrong?”

“You guessed right. Finally.”

“Oh, I know,” Lydia says with far too much enthusiasm. “A chickaree.”

“Correct!” Millie says.

I cross my arms in front of me. “Oh sure, play favorites.”

“Don't be a sore loser, DeDe.” Millie turns the page.

“What's a chickaree?” I ask, further proving my ignorance.

“A red squirrel.” Lydia nails it before Millie can take a breath. “Derrick did a report on mountain wildlife for school,” she says, referring to her oldest son.

“
Somebody
needs to get out more.”

Lydia shrugs.

“Here's one,” Millie continues.

“Didn't you say we were going through
one
piece of trivia per day? All this knowledge is making my head hurt.”

Millie peers at me over the rims of her glasses. “It's good for you.” She sits taller in her chair as though she's part of a debate team on competition day. “Besides, I feel inspired today.”

“Now there's one for the books.”

“Oh, you're funny,” Millie says without cracking a smile. She pushes her glasses back up her nose. “What lives in rotting logs?”

“Excuse me, do we want to know this?”

“Yes, you do. Now, what's the answer?” Millie sounds suspiciously like a librarian.

“Hmm.” Lydia is really thinking here. I can tell, because she's not noticing that every other car on the freeway is passing us. “Well, there are bacteria in those logs.”

Millie's eyes are sparkling over the thought of bacteria. She so scares me.

“Fungi?” Lydia asks.

“Yes! Bacteria and fungi contribute to the decay. The cycle of life is just so amazing,” Millie says.

“Who knew?”

“Lydia did,” Millie says dryly.

“Does she win a star? 'Cause if she wins a star, I'm so mad.”

Lydia giggles.

“All right, I'm done. We don't want DeDe's brain to blow a circuit,” Millie says, closing her book. She pulls off her glasses.

“Okay, smarty-pants, what is the name for the chocolate mixture that is made by combining semisweet chocolate and boiling cream, stirring until smooth?”

“I have no idea,” Lydia admits, still playing along.

Millie tries to act disinterested, but I can tell she's trying to figure it out.

“Give up, Millie?”

“I'm too tired to think of it right now,” she says. Still, I imagine the neurons in her brain are stretching and jumping around like participants in an aerobics class.

“Ganache,” I announce before she can think of it.

She frowns.

“I didn't want you to strain your brain,” I say with a sweet smile.

Millie shrugs. She's a good sport, really—a little weird, but a good sport.

We travel a ways and finally come upon a road sign that says, “The Chocolate Dessert Bar.” “Oh, can we stop there?” I ask, pointing to the sign.

“Absolutely. We're enjoying the journey, remember?” Lydia says.

“Are we there yet?” I tease.

“Where?” Lydia asks. Obviously her mind is somewhere else.

“You said we're on a journey. I said—oh, never mind.” It's just not worth it if I have to explain myself.

Lydia pulls the motor home off the interstate, and we travel a little ways down the road until we spot a white wooden sign with the name “The Chocolate Dessert Bar” scrolled across it in fancy gold letters. A profusion of colorful flowers lines the front of the white aluminum-sided structure, complete with a picket fence. Millie takes a picture of Lydia and me in front of the sign. Then I take one of Lydia and Millie.

Candles flicker from linen-clad tables around the room once we step inside. The walls resemble milk chocolate, and all the trimmings are in gold.

“Oh my, this is lovely,” Lydia says. “My Red Hat group would love this.”

An elegant light fixture with four cream-colored globes hangs from the ceiling's center. Spotted with creamy flecks, a cocoa-shaded Oriental rug in the shape of a truffle hugs the hardwood floor and muffles our footsteps as we follow the hostess to our table. She seats us across from a brick fireplace that has fake logs burning in the hearth.

“I feel underdressed,” Lydia whispers.

“Too bad we don't have some white gloves,” Millie says with a grin.

We all laugh as loud as is proper for society ladies—which is a good thing considering Millie's Alvin laugh and all.

In no time we finish our rich chocolate cake and hot coffee, then head back to the RV—after I buy a truffle for each of us.

“These aren't as good as yours,” Lydia says after taking a bite.

“You can tell the difference?” I'm feeling proud that Lydia noticed.

“Sure can. I must be learning something about this chocolate business.”

Millie takes a bite. “You know, I believe I can tell too. This chocolate is slightly more bitter and almost has a fruity taste—which is odd since there's no fruit in it.”

“True. It depends on the beans. Researchers are still trying to find out why some beans have hints of fruits, raisins, and numerous other flavors while others do not. Some beans make great chocolate; others don't.”

“It is interesting,” Millie admits. “Hey, it's my turn to drive,” she says upon seeing Lydia head for the driver's door. “I won't take no for an answer, Lydia.”

Lydia shrugs. “Just remember, you offered.”

Funny that no one asks me to take a turn. I'm okay with that. We climb back into the motor home with Millie behind the wheel.

“Boy, I'm stuffed, but that sure was good cake,” I say, settling into the sofa for a snooze.

“Wasn't it, though?” Lydia says.

Millie looks over the map before pulling out. In the quiet of the moment, Cobbler suddenly breaks out in his Andy Griffith number.

Lydia looks at me. “Sounds like Cobbler is ready for her Barney fix.”

“I'll take care of it.” I feel like a slave to this creature. She whistles, I jump. “Still, I have to wonder how healthy it is for a parakeet to be addicted to Barney Fife,” I call over my shoulder.

Why do they always ignore me?

“Here you go, Cobbler.” Shoving
The Andy Griffith Show
video into the VCR, I trudge back to the front.

“Thanks, DeDe,” Lydia says.

“No problem.” Stretching my legs out in front of me, I lean back on the sofa. My eyes no sooner drift to a close than a cell phone rings.

We dive for our handbags. Well, Lydia and I do, anyway. Millie's driving.

“It's mine.” The caller ID reveals that it's not Rob—phew!— but my business partner, Shelley Cooper, who is holding Le Diva together while I'm gone. “Hi, Shelley. How's it going?”

“Sorry to bother you while you're on vacation, Dee, but I wanted to check in with you.”

“I'm glad you did. I've tried to call you a couple of times but couldn't reach you. So what's up?”

“Things are going well here,” she says. Silence.

“Is everything all right?”

“Now, don't worry. I'm sure everything will be fine,” she blurts.

“Houston, we have a problem.”

“No, no, I'm sure it's not a big deal.”

“What's not a big deal?”

“Well, it's just that—um, you remember that new structure they were building down the road?”

“Yeah.”

“It just opened.”

“And?”

“And it's a candy store.”

“Our town is big enough for two candy stores.”

“On the same block?”

“All right, so?”

“Two candy stores that specialize in chocolates.”

“Oh.”

“Actually, they offer chocolates and gourmet coffee.”

“Okay, we were talking about doing that.” My mood is inching southward.

“We shouldn't be too worried, though. The owner has to be all of fifteen,” Shelley says as if she's adding a bright spot to my day.

“Fifteen?”

“Okay, twenty-five, tops.”

Audible gulp here. Mine. “Twenty-five?”

“Uh-huh. A mere baby. What would she know about running a business?”

“Exactly.” I'm thankful Shelley is forty-two. We understand each other.

“I just didn't know if you would want to run a special or anything.”

“Let me give it some thought.”

“Okay. Oh, and one more thing,” Shelley says.

I'm wondering if I want to hear this. “Yes?”