When we get back to the motor home, Lydia decides to bake. I’m thrilled. It might get rid of the RV’s “old man” smell. Millie goes through the outer storage bins, one by one, and straightens them.
Since I can never refuse Lydia’s desserts, I pass on the chocolate truffle in my drawer. Instead, I get out my Pilates mat and go through my routine.
The air is unusually cool for this time of year, so to save on our problematic air-conditioning, Lydia and Millie have turned it off and opened the windows. Lydia’s clanging around in the kitchen, and before long, the smell of chocolate wafts through the screens just as my Pilates workout is finished.
“Boy, something sure smells good.” A woman’s voice pulls me from my bottled water. I look up to see her and a man coming toward me. Great. Now we’ll have to share our dessert.
“Howdy, we’re the Camerons.” The man stretches out his hand, grabs mine, and gives it a hearty shake. “We’re from Tennessee. My name is Roy, and this here is my wife, Betty.”
“Hello. My name is DeDe. I’m from Florida.” And just for the record, we’re not sharing.
“And I’m Lydia from Maine,” Lydia says on her way out of the motor home.
And I’m John-Boy from Walton’s Mountain—okay, bad attitude.
Lydia shakes their hands. “I’m waiting for the brownies to cool, but you’re welcome to join us when they’re ready to eat.”
Doggone it. No chocolate binge tonight.
“That would be great,” Roy says, rubbing his hands together. “Honey, I’ll go get our chairs and be right back.” Betty nods and smiles.
I’m dying to call out, “Don’t tell your friends about the brownies, okay?” but I don’t want to face Lydia’s wrath.
“Millie, come outside; we want you to meet a new neighbor,” Lydia says. After cleaning the outer bins, Millie went inside to straighten who knows what. Millie would hide in the motor home all evening if we didn’t force her to come out when people are visiting. Besides, she’s straightened the RV so much, it resembles a ruler.
She pushes through the door and is obviously fighting everything in her not to throw us a dirty look. I smile sweetly, and she tosses a glance that says she’ll deal with me later.
“Hello,” she says.
“Howdy. My name is Betty Cameron,” the woman says to Millie. She’s a fairly thin woman, about five foot four, and appears to be in her early sixties with gray hair cropped at the nape of her neck. Delicate laugh lines bunch at the corners of her eyes when she smiles. She’s dressed in jeans, a comfortable pink top, and sensible sneakers. She looks pretty hip for a woman her age.
“I’m Millicent Carter. Millie for short.”
“Where you from, Millie?”
“Indiana.”
Roy’s boots crunch the pebbles on the roadway. “Howdy.” He pulls his Stetson from his head, runs his hand through his hair, then extends it to Millie. “The name’s Roy.”
I hide my giggle when Millie stares at his hand a moment before shaking it.
Roy unfolds the chairs for himself and his wife, and they sit down.
“Are you folks on vacation?” Lydia asks pleasantly.
“Oh my, no. This is what we do. This is our home,” Roy says.
It amazes me to find so many people doing this RV thing full-time. I can’t imagine the draw.
“Yeah, that’s right. We sold our home back in Tennessee, and now the United States is our home,” Betty says with outstretched arms.
“Do you have any children?” Lydia wants to know.
“Sure do. Two daughters. They each have two children of their own,” Betty says. “We sure love to spoil those grandkids.”
Lydia frowns. “But don’t you miss them? The children and grandkids, I mean?”
“Sometimes. But we see them on a pretty regular basis. One lives in Tennessee, the other in Michigan. We head home anytime they need us or if something special is going on in the kids’ lives, like important events, birthdays, celebrations of any kind, that sort of thing.”
“You do that?” Lydia presses.
“Absolutely. Nothing more important than family,” Roy says, leaning back in his chair. “And with our motor home, we can pretty much go whenever and wherever we please.”
Lydia studies them a moment. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“People are always thinking about what they think you have to give up, and they don’t consider all the things you gain by having a portable lifestyle.”
“I suppose.” Lydia nips at her nail. It’s a wonder she has a nail left at all with the way she’s always doing that. “What about emergencies, though?”
“See, the thing is, most kids move away from home anyway. It might take us a little longer to get to them this way, but we’ll get there. They know we’re never too far to come help them if they need us,” Roy says.
“And sometimes we take the grandkids, when they aren’t in school. They’ve traveled out west with us, and it’s opened plenty of discussion on geography and history. They’re richer for it.”
“That’s really neat,” I say, smiling at them and then at Lydia, who appears to be feeling better about the idea.
“It has to be freeing to live that way. Nothing really holding you down, doing what you want to every day,” Millie says.
Roy stretches out his legs and puts his hands behind his head. “There’s nothing like it, I’m telling you. Smartest thing we ever did, ain’t it, babe?”
“Sure is,” Betty agrees.
“Mind if I start a fire?” Roy asks.
“That would be great,” I say eagerly. I’ve rarely been warm since I left Florida.
We talk about the area and the fact that we are headed on to Colorado. While Roy gets the fire started, our conversation ventures on to Aspen Creek and our antics at youth camp.
“Oh, that’s great,” I say, warming up to the fire. Lydia and Millie scoot away from the flames.
“Hey, do you guys remember the time we sneaked into Mr. Baldwin’s room and decorated it for a surprise birthday party?” I ask.
“Yeah, and we got into trouble for it. Remember?” Millie glares at me as though everything is my fault.
“Try to be nice and what do you get? Heartache,” I say.
Millie and Lydia groan appropriately with me.
“It wouldn’t have been so bad if you hadn’t used his deodorant stick to write on the mirror. That’s why he got mad. Remember? He said it was too personal,” Millie says.
“Yeah, but later he told us he thought it was funny. They just didn’t want the other kids to get any ideas or the whole camp would be in chaos,” I say.
“Uh-oh, sounds like you gals are a little on the ornery side,” Roy says with a chuckle.
“You know, Millie, I’d forgotten that ornery side of you. After you got married, you were much more subdued.”
A shadow crosses Millie’s face. “Marriage has a way of maturing us.”
“Oh, so that’s my problem,” I say with a laugh, attempting to keep things light. “I’m not married, so I haven’t matured.”
“You said it; I didn’t,” Millie comments with all the warmth of an ice cube.
Roy laughs. “It hasn’t matured us all that much, has it; Betty Girl?”
She giggles and shakes her head. “Maybe someday we’ll act our age.”
“Do you remember when Mrs. Woodriff was trying to teach us the basics of swimming, and she almost drowned?” Lydia asks, her eyes wide.
“Oh boy, do I ever. I thought she was a goner for sure,” Millie says. “Wasn’t it Eric Melton who jumped in to save her?”
We think a moment. “Yeah, I believe it was Eric,” I say. “It was the one and only time I saw him put someone else above himself.”
“He did struggle with that, didn’t he?” Millie says with a chuckle.
“I think deep down there was good in him, though,” Lydia says, and we look at her. “Well, he did save Mrs. Woodriff, after all,” she says a bit defensively.
I want to press her about how she truly felt about Eric back then, but with strangers sitting here, it just doesn’t seem right.
“How are you folks tonight?” A woman in her early forties stops on the road beside us. A lacy white tie holds her dark brown hair in a friendly ponytail and knots into a fine bow at the top. Fringy bangs fall just above her perfectly arched eyebrows. Cranberry red colors her full lips. She’s dressed in sporty jeans, a navy sweatshirt with a white border at the neck, and sparkling white sneakers with froufrou sequins and white laces.
“We’re fine. Would you like to join us?” Before the woman can answer, Lydia is already grabbing our extra chair from the storage bin.
“Thank you.” The woman situates her slight frame in the chair. “I’m Eloise Beamer,” she says.
We all exchange greetings while Lydia goes into the motor home to retrieve the brownies. I wonder if she made a double batch. I’m thinking seconds are out.
“Oh my goodness, what is in this?” Eloise asks. “Is it pudding?”
“Chocolate syrup,” Lydia answers.
Eloise closes her eyes to chew. “Delicious.”
Another chocolate connoisseur. The world just can’t have too many.
“So where are you from, Eloise?” Roy asks. I’m wondering if he’s keeping a log.
“Well, I was born and raised in Colorado, but I travel all over. Live in my motor home.”
“Is that a fact? We were just telling these lovely ladies that we do the same—live full-time in our motor home,” Roy says.
“But you’re so young. How do you provide for yourself ?” Betty asks.
“I’m a writer.” She closes her eyes and takes another bite of brownie. We allow her a moment of silence. She must have a regular exercise regimen to love chocolate that way and still maintain her figure.
“What do you write?” Now she has Millie’s attention.
“Suspense,” she says.
Millie thinks a moment and then suddenly slaps her knee. “Eloise Beamer! I’ve read a couple of your books!” Millie is wide-eyed and breathless. She stands to her feet. “This is a real treat,” she says, walking over to shake the woman’s hand.
“Oh good. Somebody other than my mother is reading them.” She laughs. “I hope that means you liked them?”
“Loved them. Couldn’t put them down,” Millie says. “Caused me a few sleepless nights, I tell you.”
“Great. Always good to keep the reader up at night.”
“I don’t know how you write that stuff without getting spooked out,” Lydia says.
“Sometimes I get a little creeped out,” she says. “Especially if I’m camping in a secluded spot up in the mountains. One never knows when a bear will come knockin’.” She finishes the last of her brownie and gives her paper plate to Lydia, who is already collecting everyone’s trash.
“I should have asked sooner, but is anyone up for coffee?”
“We’d better not. Caffeine keeps us up at night,” Betty says. “ ’Course, if we had one of your books, it would be all right,” she adds, looking at Eloise.
“I just happen to have a couple of extras in my home. If you all want one, I’d be glad to give them to you,” she says.
This woman’s presence sure has kicked Millie’s adrenaline up a notch. She’s practically salivating. Picture mad dog here.
“You want to walk with me, Millie?” Eloise asks with a wide grin. That request alone could send Millie to her heavenly reward, but she’s tough. I’ll give her that. She eagerly agrees and pretty much floats alongside Eloise as they head for her RV.
We decide on coffee after all, and I help Lydia prepare it. By the time we have the mugs in place, Millie and Eloise are back with books. They pass a couple of copies to each of us. Mediterranean Nights, An Eerie Cruise, and Death by Chocolate. Okay, I don’t think I want the third one. It just hits too close to home.
We ooh and aah appropriately over every book and settle in to our coffee and the warmth of the crackling fire. The mosquitoes are a little bothersome, but nothing like I experienced before. Besides, tonight the only skin exposed is my face. By the time I get to Aspen Creek, I’ll be utterly unrecognizable if the mosquitoes have anything to say about the matter.
We talk a little more about the full-time RV life, which, by the way, I still fail to see in a positive light, but I’m obviously becoming a minority as I look at Millie’s and Lydia’s expressions in the soft glow of firelight. They’re being won over, no doubt about it.
Okay, I admit I feel better about the whole RV experience than I did when I left home, but you won’t see me running out to buy one. Instead, I hold fast to the hotel-room-with-a-view thing. If you throw in a coffeemaker, the Internet, and a complimentary breakfast, I’ll sign a lease.
Finally, as the evening winds to a close, we say our good-byes, put away the chairs, and turn to go inside. By the looks of things, we’re doing so in the nick of time. Loud engines rev and snarl just down the road. We look up.
The moon and camp lights cast enough beam to tell us more than we care to know. It’s the Biker Boys, and they’re headed our way.
“Hurry up, get the blinds down,” Lydia says, her voice in a panic. She rushes up the steps to the driver’s seat and yanks the curtains shut.
“What’s wrong, Lydia? They’re not going to bother us,” I say, trying to get her to see how paranoid she’s acting. “Some guys on vacation, just like us. No big deal.”
Pulling the blinds down at the kitchen window, she turns to me. “It may be no big deal to you, but I’m not comfortable with it, DeDe.”
“I’ve pulled the ones in the bedroom,” Millie says like a military sergeant on secret maneuvers.
“I don’t get you two. You can’t live in fear all your lives,” I insist.
“No, but you don’t have to be stupid, either,” Millie quips.
“Oh, good grief.”
“Shh, they’re almost up to Waldo,” Lydia says, peeking through the side blind at the door.
We can hear them laughing and carrying on outside, and for a fraction of a heartbeat, I feel a little tense. Those two are getting to me, that’s all there is to it. Pulling open my work notebook, I try to concentrate on some things I can do to improve my Le Diva candy, but Millie and Lydia are scampering around up front, whispering, and peeking out the blinds. It’s ridiculous.
“DeDe, come here!” Lydia says barely above a whisper.
With all the energy and grace of Igor, I haul my body out of the bed and drag myself out into the kitchen. “What is it?” I’m in a foul mood, and it shows.
“Look at this guy. There’s something familiar about him, but I can’t put my finger on it,” Lydia says.
“To me he looks like every other old geezer who refuses to grow up,” Millie says.
She has such a way with words.
With a heavy sigh, I pull back the blind and peek out, feeling silly for doing so. “Do you mean the man with the short braid down his back?”
“Yeah, that’s the one,” Lydia says.
He’s turned around, and I can’t see his face. One of them drops something, and they stop while he picks it up. Then they move on. Braid Man never turns back around. “They’re gone,” I say, dropping the blind back in place.
Lydia and Millie heave a sigh of relief. Their shoulders drop, and they instantly relax.
“Are you kidding me—were you two really that worried?”
“Listen, DeDe, you never know. We are three women traveling alone, after all,” Millie chides. “And we do have a broken window,” she throws in to make me feel guilty.
“I wonder if Eloise worries about those things,” I say, taking a seat at the table.
Lydia and Millie grab a chair too, but they say nothing.
“Yeah, I don’t think she does, either. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be traveling the countryside by herself. You need to lighten up. Life is too short to spend it worrying about every little thing.” I get up and pull a cup from the cupboard to pour myself a drink of water.
“You should talk. It’s not like you don’t fear some things,” Millie challenges.
“Such as?”
“How about love?”
“What?”
“Come on, DeDe. We all know you’re afraid to fall for someone for fear you’ll get your heart broken again.” As soon as Millie says the words, I can tell she wishes she hadn’t.
That makes two of us.
Her voice gets softer. “It’s just that we all have things to work through. Fear is always an issue for women. I mean, what woman walking down a dark street doesn’t look over her shoulder to make sure she’s not being followed?”
“I understand that, but we can’t let it paralyze us.” My own words ring in my ears, and I wish I could shut them out. Is that what I’ve done? Allowed my fears and guilt to paralyze me?
“We’re here to listen, if you ever want to talk about it,” Millie says.
“You don’t understand. It’s complicated.”
“We can do complicated, can’t we, Lydia?”
Lydia gives a shy nod.
Knowing that what I’m about to say could change our friendship, I take a deep breath. “Rob and I broke up because”—pausing a moment here to gather courage—“he was married.”
Lydia gasps. Millie’s eyes grow as wide as coconuts.
“It never entered my brain that he was married.” I stare at my fingers. “Still, all the signs were there. He was only available at certain times. Said he didn’t have a land line, only a cell phone.”
“Well, that’s true for a lot of people,” Lydia says in my defense.
“Yes, but there were other signs, and I ignored them.”
“Did you have an inkling?” Millie wants to know. Maybe she sees me as “the other woman.”
“No—I don’t know. Sometimes I thought things weren’t quite right, but I never considered that he was married. I thought maybe he was losing interest in me, you know?”
“So how did you find out?” Millie prods.
“His wife called me while I was with him at dinner.”
“Oh no,” Lydia says.
“But I didn’t tell him she called. I met with her the next day. She showed me pictures of him with their family.”
“They have children?”
“Yes, two girls.”
“How do you know this wasn’t an ex-wife?” Lydia asks, trying to excuse me.
“Because they were recent pictures.” For a moment, I just stare at the table and say nothing. “As soon as I knew for sure, I broke it off.”
Lydia puts her hand over mine. “I’m sorry, DeDe. That had to be very painful. But you shouldn’t blame yourself. He lied to you.”
“Yes, then I kept it from both of you.” They don’t say anything, but Lydia just keeps patting my hand. “There’s more. He’s been calling my cell phone and my store.”
“Well, he’d better not call you while I’m around, that’s all I can say. I’ll make him wish he hadn’t! Besides, he’ll get the idea soon enough if you just ignore him,” Millie says.
“See, there’s the problem. Though I’m convinced now that it isn’t love that holds me to him, I still struggle with the temptation to hang on to him.” Tears fill my eyes and spill onto my cheeks. “How could I be tempted by that? I know it’s wrong.”
“Everyone is tempted by something or other,” Millie says with a rare show of compassion. “It’s what we do with that temptation that matters, Dee.”
We have quite a lengthy conversation about how I need to let him go. As much as it pains me to hear that, I know they’re right. If only my heart will obey . . .
“Thanks for letting me talk it out.”
“This is what being a friend is all about. Getting each other through the hard times,” Millie says. “I know I don’t always communicate sweetly like Lydia does—”
“Not even close,” I say with a laugh while wiping away my tears.
A smile breaks out on Millie’s face. “Guilty as charged. Still, I want you to know there is nothing I wouldn’t do to help you in any way I could with whatever you needed. And right now you need to get away from that slime bucket.”
We laugh, exchange hugs, and talk a little while longer. Finally, we go to bed. Eventually, Lydia’s rhythmic breathing whispers into the night air, while the sound of Millie’s snoring drifts into our room. When I close my eyes to sleep, our conversation plagues me. My honesty, my fears that they’ll think less of me, thoughts of Rob, his wife and family. If only I could make it all go away.
No matter how I twist and shift about, I can’t seem to get comfortable. A night walk would do me good, but I stay planted in bed. There’s no way I’m going to let this RV lock me out again.
And just for the record, I’m not afraid.