Tiny House on the Road

by Celia Bonaduce

  “No thanks,” he said and shrugged. “Here’s your receipt.”

  As Vivien pulled away from the store, she sighed. You win some, you lose some.

  At least she had a couch.

  By the time Vivien came to the end of Highway 64 at its intersection with Paseo Del Pueblo Sur and Paseo Del Pueblo Norte in Taos, it seemed to Vivien as if she’d seen all of America. But she realized with a jolt that she’d only been to eight states since she left Florida. Now her trip was almost over and she felt she was just getting started discovering the country. Although anxious to start her new job, she loved the idea that the rest of the country was waiting for her when the time came to move on. She and Shrimpfork would take on the world.

  She drove on until her GPS said she was about fifteen minutes shy of Priscilla Workman’s. A small sign welcomed her to Sandstone, New Mexico. Outside an adobe general store called Marquez and Son, she found a parking space big enough for her truck and Shrimpfork. She could use something to drink—and a look in the mirror—before she presented herself at Casa de Promesas.

  After a quick trip to the restroom to splash some water on her face and add some lip gloss, Vivien looked around the small store. It was well-designed. No need to offer her services to the owners of this place. She studied the contents of the refrigerator case. They didn’t carry her favorite flavored sparkling water. They only offered two brands! Vivien sighed. She’d heard Sandstone described as a sophisticated artists’ colony. Didn’t sophisticated artists want a choice of sparkling water? On the other hand, with a population of under five hundred, maybe a store couldn’t stock everything. The town made Taos, with a population of six thousand, seem enormous. She suspected Taos had a better selection of sparkling water.

  She added a nutrition bar studded with dried cranberries and drizzled with dark chocolate to the two bottles of nutrient-enhanced dragon-fruit water she was carrying and headed to the checkout counter. She could see that there was a really cute guy at the register. She was glad she’d slicked on some gloss.

  “Hi,” she said, putting her purchases on the counter.

  “Hi,” he said, picking up the various items and scanning them. “Two candy bars and two sodas. Anything else?”

  Vivien stared at him, open-mouthed. Was he making fun of her?

  “These aren’t candy bars,” Vivien said indignantly, holding up the nutrition bars. She stabbed at the dragon-fruit water. “And this is water.”

  “Call it what you want.” The young man shrugged. “Those bars have as many calories as a Snickers bar and the water has as much sugar as Coke.”

  “Thank you so much for your opinion,” she bristled, swiping her credit card in a fury.

  “It’s not my opinion,” he said. “You can look it up.”

  “I would,” Vivien said, “but I happen to be very busy right now.”

  “Enjoy your sugar rush,” he said, smiling.

  Vivien stormed out of the store.

  What an ego! Who did he think he was, some sort of self-proclaimed expert? As she threw her groceries onto the passenger seat and hauled herself into the truck, she felt a little guilty being so angry at him.

  After all, she was a self-proclaimed expert too, wasn’t she?

  She pulled out of her parking space and realized she had to double back and pass the store to get to Priscilla Workman’s. She told herself she would not look in the cashier’s direction—she would not give him the satisfaction. It occurred to her that he might not have any more interest in her than Pablo did back at the furniture store, so she stole a peek at the wooden porch in front of the store. The cashier was on it, leaning against a pillar. He smiled and saluted her.

  With a can of coke.

  Vivien pushed the gas pedal all the way to the floor, hoping to make a statement. She slowed when the GPS alerted her to a sharp turn ahead. She eased up on the gas and carefully made a left turn onto a long dirt road. Even on the flat landscape, she could not make out a house on the horizon. Shrimpfork rattled and moaned as Vivien navigated the rough terrain. The truck bottomed out in an angry-looking declivity in the road. Vivien screeched to a halt. Leaping out of the truck, her heart pounded. If the dip was too much for the truck, should she attempt to get the tiny house over it?

  She looked under the truck. Even after crossing most of the country, she still knew very little about her truck. But nothing was leaking, and she took that as a good sign. She got back in the truck and started easing the truck forward. She could tell when the trailer hitch was hovering over the ditch. She stopped again, trying to breathe. Maybe this was a bad idea? She put the truck in reverse. Would it be worse if she tried to go backward? If she did go backward, would she have to go back to town? The thought that she might run into the cashier in defeat gave her the nerve to go forward. She slammed the transmission into drive. Shrimpfork crawled through the ditch, coming out the other side in one piece.

  Savoring her victory with the road—and over the cashier —Vivien drove on.

  Chapter 10

  Priscilla peeked out her front window as a dirty orange truck pulled into her driveway. She put on her glasses to get a better look at the trailer-thing the truck was hauling. It looked like a tiny house. A very tiny house.

  Priscilla had seen a TV show about people living in these contraptions, but she dismissed it as some sort of stunt. Nobody could live in one of those, she thought. Especially not one as small as the one pulling around to the side of her house.

  Clay barked furiously, which was a relief to Priscilla. As long as you didn’t know the dog was just getting ready to play, he sounded fierce! Whoever was pulling up to the house had clearly made some sort of mistake—or was up to no good. She wasn’t expecting anybody.

  Still hiding in the shadows of the window, Priscilla watched a young woman—a girl, really—jump out of the truck and dust off her jeans. The girl took off her baseball cap, shook out her curls, twisted the rearview mirror around and studied herself. Priscilla saw the girl fish a small tube out of her jeans pocket—could those jeans be any tighter?—and apply a coat of lipstick. Priscilla dashed away from the window as the girl headed to the courtyard. Maybe everything was all right. Who would put on lipstick to rob a place?

  Whoever this was, she was coming up the cobblestones!

  Priscilla got to the door and made sure all three bolts were locked tight. Clay was leaping to get a look at the visitor.

  The girl strode up the courtyard. Priscilla hid behind the front door, heart racing. She wondered if she could get to the phone and call Marco.

  There was a knock on the door. Clay could barely stand the drama.

  “Hello?” the girl called. “Ms. Workman…I mean, Priscilla?”

  She knows my name.

  “Hello?” the girl repeated. “It’s Vivien Orlando.”

  Who is Vivien Orlando?

  “The…” The girl’s voice trailed off.

  Priscilla pressed her ear to the rough-hewn door.

  “The Organization Oracle,” the girl said, sounding determined.

  Priscilla unlocked the door and swung it open.

  “Oh!” Priscilla said, smiling brightly and blocking Clay’s path. “I had forgotten you were coming.”

  Vivien’s face fell.

  “Not ‘I forgot’ as in ‘I forgot’,” Priscilla tried to explain. She didn’t want the Oracle to think she was senile. “I just mean, I wasn’t expecting you at this very moment.”

  “If it’s inconvenient,” Vivien said, “I could come back… I mean, if you’re busy.”

  “Oh, no, I’m not busy!” Priscilla said, looking sharply at the girl in her doorway.

  “You’re very young,”

  “I’m not,” Vivien said. “I’m twenty-two.”

  “I’m seventy,” Priscilla said. “I just had a birthday.”

  The two women stared at
each other for a minute.

  “Happy birthday,” Vivien said, finally.

  “Thank you,” Priscilla said.

  Clay managed to push past Priscilla. He bolted at Vivien, who stood her ground as the boxer leaped up, placing one paw on each of her shoulders and showering her with kisses.

  “Good dog! Who’s a good dog?” Vivien said, laughing and turning to Priscilla. “Is he a boxer?”

  “He’s the best boxer,” Priscilla answered.

  This Vivien might be the Oracle, but Priscilla had lived long enough to foretell a thing or two herself. Anybody who could embrace her seventy-pound wagging dog and not be afraid was all right.

  “Would you like to come in?” Priscilla asked, stepping away from the door.

  Clay released his guest. Priscilla was happy to see Vivien wipe her boots on the mat before entering. She was liking this girl more and more.

  * * * *

  Vivien looked around Casa de Promesas as Priscilla led her to the living room. While the sprawling adobe exterior of the U-shaped house was impressive, the inside of the house was spectacular. The circular hallway with its whitewashed walls and hardwood floors spilled into an enormous living room with muscular wood beams across the ceiling and curved archways around the windows. Leather couches and chairs faced a huge stone fireplace. She couldn’t see the entire house from where she stood in the living room. The house shot off in various directions, and a stairway in the hallway pointed the way to the second floor. Vivien took in what she could. What she glimpsed looked very masculine for such a little bird of a lady.

  The house also appeared to be very, very organized. The bookcases were a perfect study in form and function—books lined up alongside Southwestern-style vases and black-and-white photographs in silver frames. This was not the cluttered mess Vivien was expecting.

  “Your house is beautiful,” Vivien said.

  “Thank you,” Priscilla said. “It’s a lot of house for one person, but I’ve been here all my life and I’m used to taking care of it. I know where everything is.”

  Vivien hoped this was not going to prove to be the shortest assignment in history.

  “Would you like something to drink?” Priscilla offered, along with a choice of overstuffed chairs. “Or something to eat?”

  “No thanks. I just had a…” Vivien settled into the lush cushions. She remembered the encounter at the general store with the snarky cashier. “I just had a snack.”

  Priscilla perched elegantly on the edge of a matching chair. Clay raced in and took up the rest of the chair, dwarfing his mistress.

  “So!” Priscilla “You’re here.”

  “Yes. I drove across the country.”

  “Did you?” Priscilla asked. “How was that?”

  “It was interesting. The United States is huge.” Vivien cringed. What a lame thing to say.

  “So I’ve heard,” Priscilla said. “I don’t do much traveling myself.”

  “There’s nothing like it.”

  The conversation screeched to a halt again.

  Vivien thought she might ask for something to drink, just to try to avoid the awkwardness of the conversation. Priscilla sat smiling at her, but said nothing.

  “Do you… Do you have any questions for me?” Vivien prompted.

  Vivien wondered if she sounded too hardcore, getting down to business so soon.

  “I do,” Priscilla said, pointing toward the driveway. “What is that you’re towing?”

  Vivien just blinked.

  “I’m sorry,” Priscilla said quickly. “Was that rude of me?”

  “No,” Vivien said. “Not at all. As a matter of fact, everywhere I go, people ask about the tiny house.”

  “So it is a house?”

  “Yes. It’s only sixty-four square feet, but has a kitchen, bathroom, and sleeping loft.” She hoped she’d be forgiven for exaggerating the amenities of her house on wheels.

  “Do you plan on living in it?” Priscilla asked, eyebrows furrowed.

  “That’s the general idea, yes.”

  Did Priscilla think she wanted to move into this house? Vivien added quickly, “I have a reservation at an RV park just outside of town. I won’t be in your way.”

  “Oh, you wouldn’t be in my way,” Priscilla said.

  Oh no! This lonely old lady wants me to move in!

  Vivien silently prepared a little speech about how grateful she was for the invitation, but she preferred to keep her personal life and professional life separate— although if her interaction with the furniture guy and the cashier were any indication, there wasn’t going to be much of a personal life. She cleared her throat, but Priscilla spoke first.

  “I have ten acres here, with several Mexican nut pine trees,” Priscilla said. “You could pull under one of those for some shade, if you want to stay on the property.”

  Vivien flushed at her own presumption. Just because she found herself excited at the prospect of being on her own, why did she assume Priscilla might be craving company—especially Vivien’s company?

  “That would be wonderful,” Vivien said. “Thank you.”

  “I hope you’ll be comfortable.”

  “I’m sure Shrimpfork and I will be just fine.”

  “Shrimpfork?” Priscilla asked. “Is that the name of your house? Like Southfork from Dallas?”

  “I guess,” Vivien said. “The guy who built it named it.”

  “He must have a good sense of humor. But then, he built a sixty-four-square-foot house so he must have a great sense of humor.”

  Vivien made a mental note to check out Netflix and see if she could find this Dallas.

  “Well, then,” Priscilla said, looking at a turquoise-studded watch on her reedy wrist. “Why don’t we call it a day? We can start first thing tomorrow morning.”

  Vivien still had no idea what they were going to start first thing in the morning, but she knew when she was being dismissed. She stood to go. Clay took that as a sign to slobber her with more kisses.

  “It’s a pleasure meeting you,” Vivien said to Priscilla over the boxer’s ears. “I guess I’ll go find one of those trees and get settled.”

  “That sounds fine, dear,” Priscilla said, seeming more at ease now that the conversation was over. “Just follow the driveway around back—you’ll see them.”

  Vivien started the truck and found herself looking over Priscilla’s property. Unlike the tidy backyards and lawns of Florida, Priscilla’s acreage fanned out from the house against a rugged backdrop. The driveway ended abruptly—and then the desert took over. There were clumps of wild grasses, a smattering of spiky yucca plants and three large trees on the banks of a dried creek bed. It was not a landscape that shouted “welcome.” Vivien didn’t really know what Mexican nut pines looked like, but decided that the only trees big enough to offer shade were probably a safe bet. By the time Vivien got the tiny house leveled under the trees and set up with its off-grid capabilities, she was ready to unpack the truck and officially call Shrimpfork home.

  Chapter 11

  Everything Vivien knew or even suspected about organization was going to be put to the test as she unpacked boxes from the truck bed. She stared into a box marked “Kitchen,” in which there were ladles, pots and pans of all sizes, cutting shears, and salad tongs.

  She realized that she was going to need to ditch more than half the contents. It seemed like she’d packed her truck a lifetime ago. How could she ever have been so naïve as to think she’d have room to store a candy thermometer? She looked the kitchen up and down. She didn’t even have room to store candy.

  Instead of the service for six she’d packed, Vivien pulled out two knives, forks, and spoons, two plates, two bowls, two mugs. She debated, but decided to keep two small glasses as well.

  I have to be strong.

  But what if she had a
couple of people over for dinner? She added a third mug. Then another knife, fork, spoon, and bowl. That was it! Staying in the box were the other three sets, plus all the salad plates, two sizes of glasses and her tea kettle.

  The next items to be tossed were the hangers, since there was no closet. All clothing had to reside in the loft, which had two long built-in dressers. But she’d have to move the mattress every time she wanted to get to them. She decided the drawers would function as deep storage—stuff she wouldn’t need every day.

  As she scooted around the loft on her hands and knees, the best solution for her clothes seemed to be to keep everything folded in baskets and lined up against the far wall. Tiny house living was going to take more than organization—it was going to take a real commitment to staying neat!

  She surveyed her clothes—half of those should go too.

  Her concentration was interrupted by Clay’s barking. She smiled. The dog sounded as if he were closing in on Shrimpfork. Vivien had not had a dog growing up—her parents were cat people—but she was grateful she’d met so many of them, starting with Bale’s Thor, on her trip across the country. Clay was a lot of dog to get used to if you’d only dealt with standoffish cats. Vivien crawled over to one of the windows and looked down.

  Her smile faded immediately. Clay was happily barreling toward her, accompanied by a human on the other end of his leash.

  It was the cashier from Marquez and Son.

  “May I help you?” Vivien called out the window.

  She shimmied down the ladder, opening the door and looking at Marco expectantly. Clay strained at his leash, desperate for love.

  “Hello to you too,” Marco said.

  “Is there something I can do for you?” Vivien tried again.

  “Priscilla says you’re an oracle,” Marco said. “So shouldn’t you already know the answer to that?” he said, grinning.

  “Excuse me if I don’t laugh,” Vivien said. “I’ve heard that joke a million times.”