1. I work for myself (because after a long career, she’d been fired);
2. I live alone (because after a long marriage, her husband had left her for a hot young thing);
3. I am not a doormat (because if the incident on the highway outside Cheyenne had taught her anything, it was that sometimes you had to put yourself first).
It wasn’t easy trying to become a new woman at fifty. She had done everything wrong in the first forty-nine years, and now things were going to be different. As Frieda used to say, you had to decide how you were going to live your life, or someone else would decide for you.
If Karen acted like a mole at times, hiding from society, working out of her fifth wheel, trying to make an independent life, it was only because of her new rules. And when she needed company, the CRS ladies were there, ready to include her in whatever they were doing, even if it was just a walk through the palm-shaded campground or sitting around in someone’s trailer, having a cup of coffee or a glass of wine. She could count on them.
Some of them still worked part time. Rita drove an eighteen-wheeler when the routes suited her, and Doc, a semiretired scientist, still did odd jobs for the government. But the rest of them—Fern and Belle, Candace and Margo from Beverly Hills, and Patti from the Bronx—were all permanent pensioners.
“What are you working on, Karen?” Doc leaned forward, her gray hair gathered into a long braid under a khaki field hat.
“I landed a couple of contracts recently. Mostly recruitments. Headhunting. How about you?” Karen leaned down and trailed her fingertips in the water.
“I’m analyzing metadata for the HHS. They want to know about the impact of sustained Internet usage on the brain.”
“Oh, it absolutely fries them,” said Candace. “I worry about the kids these days. They’re like zombies.”
“It’s not just the kids.” Patti held up her phone. On the back, it had a FDNY decal, the same as her ball cap.“I couldn’t live without this.”
“Me, neither,” said Margo. “I’m on Facebook and e-mail. And I read the morning paper. And there’s weather, fitness tracker, movies—you can’t get away from it.”
Rita nodded. “I even have a dashboard mount in my truck for my laptop.”
Doc grasped at her hat as a freshening breeze whipped the umbrellas around. “Actually, we’re finding it may foster the growth of new brain cells, particularly in older populations.”
“Thank God,” said Karen. “I’m on the computer constantly. My problem is I have to find job candidates by searching the web, and that’s really labor intensive.”
Doc looked thoughtful. “Isn’t there some way to automate the process?”
“Not that I know of. You go one by one—making calls, reading résumés, doing screening interviews on video calls. Sometimes I get anxious, wondering if I’ll be able to deliver.”
“Try stepping away every ninety minutes,” said Doc. “Rest your eyes and your mind. It’ll recharge you as well as a nap.”
“Or just take a nap.” Fern held the jug out and refilled their cups.
“I’m too busy for naps,” Karen said.
“Pretty soon, you’ll be old enough to retire,” said Candace. “Then you can do whatever you want.”
“I’m already doing what I want. I love my work.”
“Uh-huh.” Margo looked at Candace. The two women burst out laughing. “You are one sad case, honey pie.”
Karen took a sip of wine. She’d heard the charge all her life. It didn’t bother her anymore.
Gina joined them, rhinestones sparkling from her visor all the way down to the cuffs of her capris. “Hey, Karen, you never got back to me. I need you to alter that ball gown for me.”
“You sew?” asked Candace.
“Not so much these days.” Karen tipped the cup back, savoring the fruity, cold wine. She enjoyed sewing and had even brought her machine along on this trip for occasional fixes.
“It’s a cocktail dress,” said Gina, winking. “It’s too small in the boobs.”
“Again? You didn’t.” Margo eyed Gina’s front.
“Like ’em?” Gina stuck her chest out. “Went the full double D. So, Karen, I’m going to this New Year’s party.”
“I’m sorry, Gina, I’ve got too much on my plate right now.”
“Can’t you find a tailor in town?” asked Patti.
A red speedboat roared past, drowning out Gina’s answer and distracting her momentarily. Using the boat as a cover, Karen went to see if she could help with the food.
Belle was just setting down the last dish on a table jammed with casseroles, salads, and platters of turkey. “Would you call everybody? It’s ready.” The women gathered around the table to say grace before loading up. They held hands and bowed their heads. Karen had been raised a Catholic but at this point, she felt more spiritual than religious. Still, she appreciated the spirit of community and fellowship.
“Lord, we ask you to bless our families and our friends and this great country of ours. Thank you also for this beautiful day in Key Largo and for the privilege of good health so that we may enjoy it.”
“And Eleanor,” said Candace.
“Amen.”
As the women returned to their chairs, Gina called out to Karen. “Sit by me. We can talk about my dress.”
When Karen glanced around in dismay, Rita plunked down next to Gina and extended her hand. “Hi, I’m Rita Lopez. I drive a Peterbilt.”
“Lovely, dear.” Gina looked her up and down. “Is that some kind of RV?”
“No, I’m a long-haul trucker.”
“Delighted.” Gina began poking at her food.
“Want to hear about my truck? I just overhauled the motor.”
“No thank you.”
Karen sat on Rita’s other side. “Thanks,” she whispered.
“You owe me.” Rita picked up a turkey leg. “Isn’t this great? I’m so excited to eat home cooking.”
“You must eat at a lot of restaurants,” said Karen.
“Fast food and cafés, mostly,” Rita said. “Or I’ll make something in the back of the truck. It’s not too bad. I’ve got a fridge and microwave in the sleeper.”
Karen had loaded up with both white and dark meat, stuffing, potatoes and gravy, cranberries, and a sampling of casseroles. It was amazing what these women could do with the small kitchens in their RVs. The turkey had been a shared project, with several of the campers volunteering to cook up individual parts of the bird. “How did you fall in with these guys?”
“Rita saw us caravaning,” Margo said. “We were about two dozen rigs. When we all hit the road at the same time, it’s quite a sight.”
“It was a convoy,” said Rita. “You pulled in while I was getting gas, and I couldn’t stop looking. Then I made it a point to strike up a conversation.”
“I believe we were standing in line at the restroom,” said Candace. “You looked like you needed a friend.”
“When we first met her, Rita was a scared little thing,” said Patti. “We couldn’t believe she was driving a big old semi all by herself.”
“How did you get into that line of work?” asked Karen.
Rita looked at her food. “How about we talk about something else?”
Candace patted Rita on the arm. “I used to work. I volunteered a lot when the children were small,” she said. “Now that they’re grown up, I don’t do as much. One of these days, I want to get back in shape and start helping again.”
“I used to run into burning buildings,” said Patti. “Not anymore.”
“You miss it, though,” said Doc.
“Sometimes.”
“So, how do you all organize your trips?” asked Karen. “How do you come together?”
“Fern tells us the itinerary, and if we can, we meet up with the group, usually for months at a stretch,” said Margo. “At first, my daughters were unhappy that I wasn’t available to babysit a hundred percent of the time, but they adjusted.”
�
��That’s a problem sometimes,” said Patti. “People don’t always understand.”
“You get to a certain age, you want to do your own thing,” said Margo.
“I mean, you give them the first half of your life,” said Candace. “The second half is for you.”
“I don’t understand you people,” said Gina. “I usually do whatever I want.”
“Throughout history, man has tried to find balance,” said Doc. “Too much of any one element can result in negative outcomes.”
“Not for me,” said Gina. “Let’s open presents.”
They had agreed on a limit of twenty dollars. Fern, wearing a Santa hat, handed out the unmarked gifts, the randomness of which caused peals of inebriated laughter. Belle got a new tool belt and Fern a bottle of perfume, so they switched. Candace got a yard-art palm tree and Margo a shovel, which drew a frown. “I’ll trade you that for this,” said Doc, handing over a breezy, floral sundress. “It’s attractive, but I prefer slacks.”
“I can’t wait to try it on.” Margo held up the sundress. “And it’s got a wrap with it. How inventive.”
“I made it,” said Karen. “It seemed right for the Keys.”
“You are really creative.”
Karen opened her own present, which turned out to be the book The Four-Hour Workweek, by Tim Ferriss. She looked up and saw Fern watching. “Is this from you?”
Fern nodded. “Thought it might help.”
“What am I supposed to do with this?” said Gina, unwrapping a rhinestone-encrusted dog collar.
Rita elbowed Karen, who bit her lip to keep from laughing.
“I really meant it for Patti’s little dog,” said Belle.
“I got a year’s subscription to this.” Patti held up a copy of a Hollywood tabloid. “Would you like to trade?”
“Definitely.” As Gina began pawing through the magazine, Karen glanced at her watch, a Rolex left over from the glory years. “It’s almost five. I have to run.”
“Back to work?” asked Rita.
“Back to work,” said Karen. As she packed her scooter, Belle hurried over.
“Are you coming to the party on Friday?” she asked.
“Tomorrow?”
“It’s Fern’s birthday. We’re just having a little get-together. No big deal. I know she’d want to see you there.”
“I’ll try,” said Karen, “but don’t be mad at me if I don’t show.”
“You wouldn’t have to stay very long. I’d hate for you to miss it.”
Karen’s answer died on her tongue. What was the point of arguing?
Back at the RV, she went around opening windows, letting the breeze in. Then she plugged in her tabletop Christmas tree and set the new book, poppy-seed mix, and photo next to it.
While the computer started up, Karen massaged her temples. She had a headache from the wine and the sun, and she felt worn out. Yet she still had work to do. Doc’s question nagged at her. Everything else was automated these days. Why not employee recruitment? She could do some of her work in her sleep, so why not create a search engine to handle it automatically?
She heated water for instant coffee, poured it into a thermal cup, and went outside, hoping a brief walk around the campground would clear her head. Karen set off along the perimeter road, admiring the Christmas displays.
At the far end of the campground, where the road began to circle back, stood Eleanor’s trailer. The site wasn’t close to the beach or in view of anything pretty, but Eleanor liked her privacy. Karen admired the woman for her individuality. Even before she had gotten sick, she’d preferred to be alone, and she didn’t let the CRS ladies tell her how to spend her days. Yet they loved her. Karen wondered how a person walked that particular tightrope.
A few minutes later, she hung up the Windbreaker and plugged in her iPod. With Keiko Matsui pounding away on the piano, Karen got out her paperwork and settled in at the dinette.
She opened the folder, making final notes and organizing while her attachments uploaded. Just as she hit send, a breeze gusted in the window and blew her papers to the floor. When Karen leaned down to pick them up, she hit her head on the table, knocking loose a piece of decorative edging, the same one she’d reglued yesterday. Sighing, she set it aside, took another slug of coffee, and returned to the keyboard. It would be a long night.
CHAPTER 7
THE NEXT MORNING, AUNT Marie called. Her voice sounded like she was in a tunnel.
“Are you down in the basement?” Karen pictured her aunt, now in her mid-eighties, climbing down the narrow ladder into the root cellar under the house.
“Yes, but I have you on speaker so my hands are free,” said her aunt. “I’m rearranging jars. How was your Christmas?”
“It was great. Thanks for the poppy seed and the recipe. Are you alone down there?”
“Ach, don’t worry about me. I have the phone. Oops.” There was a loud crash. “Just some tin plates. Nothing to worry about. Listen, dear, I called to tell you I’m thinking of moving into the mother-in-law cottage at Lorraine and Jim’s.”
“That would be great. You’d have your own little place, but there would be people around, too.”
“And then you could come back and live in your house.”
Karen sucked in her breath. It was a bold new ploy and she had to give her aunt credit.
“Lorraine and Jim are thrilled. I’ll probably be out of here in a few weeks.”
“I suppose I could rent it,” Karen said, “with all the oil workers in town.”
Her aunt fell silent, probably calculating her next move.
The house was ancient, but it had weathered tornadoes and blizzards and floods. Her great-grandfather had built it prairie style, with dirt packed into the space between the interior and exterior wood walls. The flooring sagged in places, and the plumbing was temperamental, but during the oil boom, housing was so prized in Dickinson she’d have no trouble renting it out. Besides, she could use the income.
“But the boom’s petering out, and besides, renters can be hard on a house,” said Aunt Marie. “The neighbor down the street rented hers, and they slept six to a room, lined up on the floor. They ruined the plumbing, and oh, the filth.”
“The only reason you should move is if it makes you happy,” said Karen. “Not because you’re trying to make room for me.”
“I would be happy if you were back in Dickinson. And I’m not the only one.”
“Who’ve you been scheming with, Aunt Marie?”
“Not scheming. Just talking. The professor came by a couple days ago to drop off his homemade chokecherry jelly. It’s so good I told him he could sell it. That man can do anything. You’re missing out.”
“We talk on the phone.”
“You know what I mean. Men like Curt don’t grow on trees.”
“I know,” Karen said. She loved being with Curt, loved waking up in his big farmhouse, loved going on digs with his geology classes, loved everything about him. But she’d been married for almost thirty years, and her divorce had only become final a few months ago. Right now, she liked the feeling of being on her own—even if it was in a shabby trailer in Florida.
Aunt Marie sighed. “You know I’m not getting any younger. I’d sure like to spend more time with you, and I can’t travel anymore.”
“I promise I’ll come home in the spring, okay?”
“To stay?”
“To visit.”
“I’ll be looking forward to it.”
Karen hung up, gathering her clothes and towels for a trip to the Laundromat. As she hunted for quarters, she thought about Dickinson. After all the years in California, returning to her hometown had been deeply satisfying, even though for the sad occasion of her mother’s funeral. She’d enjoyed renewing old friendships and getting to know her family again. Leaving hadn’t been easy, but she had told herself it was just for a promised rendezvous with the CRS ladies in Florida.
The problem was, she hadn’t said when she’d be back, and w
hen anyone asked, Karen had dodged the answer. In truth, she didn’t know when she’d be back, or if. After thirty years in one place, she wasn’t ready to decide where she’d settle down. She knew she could work from anywhere if she set up a human resources consulting business, and until that grew, she would delay the decision.
Of course, there was always the little voice in her head asking why she was working so hard trying to get the business up and running when she could simply move home and live in her old house? Employers were screaming for staff. There was such a labor shortage she could probably flip burgers for twenty bucks an hour.
Sure, I’d like to see that.
Karen stopped what she was doing. All her life she’d been accused of being in her head too much, but this time either the voice was real or she was having a stroke.
Where are you?
Where do you think?
Karen looked around the trailer, half expecting a curtain to move. She placed the laundry basket by the door.
So what are you going to do?
I’m going to make up my own mind, Karen thought, just as you would have. Frieda, at ninety, had demonstrated curiosity and self-improvement right up until her death. Karen wanted to do the same.
The Laundromat was crawling with snowbirds, and she was lucky to grab a couple of washing machines. After dumping in all her clothes, she found a chair in a quiet corner and opened her spiral notebook. It was time for some serious strategizing. What contacts did she know from her career in the health-care industry, and what services could she offer? As she thought about the various companies and offices in California and the Southwest, the page began to fill with names and ideas. She transferred her laundry into a couple of dryers, selected her first target, and dialed the number.
“What a nice surprise.” Peggy’s voice was raspy from cigarettes. “I thought you died, kid. What can I do you for?”
Karen laughed out loud. She’d always enjoyed working alongside the older woman. Even now, she could picture Peggy’s craggy face, her smile askew, bright red lipstick bleeding into the wrinkles around her mouth. After a few minutes of catching up, she said, “I’m looking for work.”
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