RV There Yet?

by Diann Hunt

  It’s time to make Millie’s day here. “Hey, Millie, where are we going to stop tonight?” My lips are squeezed tightly together so I won’t laugh.

  “Are you sure you’re not fifty yet? You’re beginning to repeat yourself.”

  “Nope, still in my forties.” I’m wearing that little fact like a badge.

  “We’ll go through some of Illinois and then stop around Davenport, Iowa, tonight,” Millie says. “We’re a little over halfway to the camp.”

  “Which reminds me, that’s in a different time zone, so we’ll have to remember that,” Lydia says. She glances at the map. “There’s road construction going on between Angola and Fremont, so we may be redirected. We could take Highway 20, which goes over to this Amish area, and we can connect with our main route around Elkhart.”

  “If you’re going off the beaten path, it’s a good thing I’m not driving,” I say, opening a bag of chips.

  “You’ve got that right,” Millie says. “Hey, can I have some of those?”

  Getting up, I lean the opening of the bag toward Millie. She grabs a handful. Lydia doesn’t want any, so I resume my slug position on the sofa.

  “You know, I think I’ll call Le Diva and check on things,” I say, already punching in the numbers.

  “Great,” Lydia says. “You can tell us what that new shop is up to.”

  “Hi, Shelley? This is DeDe. How are things going?”

  “You remember Katie Graham, the girl who used to work for us?” Shelley asks.

  “Oh yeah. I liked her a lot. Did you run into her or something?”

  “You’re not going to like her after this.”

  “Uh-oh, what’s wrong?”

  “She’s going to work at the new chocolate shop.”

  A gasp catches in my throat. “Is she past the confidentiality time frame?”

  “Yep. I checked. It’s only for three years.”

  I had made an appointment with my attorney to change that. He had a last-minute emergency and had to cancel. Then all that happened with Rob and it simply slipped my mind. That slip could cost me my business. Thanks for ruining my life, Rob.

  “You still there?” Shelley asks.

  “I’m here.”

  “Don’t worry, DeDe. You’ve changed quite a few things since she was here.”

  “Yeah, maybe. The Belgian chocolate is much better than what we had back then.”

  “Yes, and you’ve changed a few of the filling recipes. The cordial and fruit fillings are your best sellers, and you’ve changed those a little. Definitely improved the taste.”

  “Listen, Shelley, call Mike’s office and let them know we need a new confidentiality agreement drawn up. This time I think we should make it for five years. What do you think?”

  “Really? Five years? I don’t know.”

  “Well, Shelley, if we’re going to have competition in town, we need to get tough. We can’t afford to lose people and have them join up with the competition. That could put us out of business real quick.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Shelley scribbles something on paper. “I hate to bring this up, but, um, Rob called again.” It makes me mad that my heart leaps here. Why can’t I control how I feel? I said I wouldn’t go back to him. Why do my feelings betray me? How can I even entertain thoughts of him after what he’s done?

  Quickly I step toward the bedroom so no one can hear me. “What did he say?” I whisper.

  “He said you won’t answer your cell phone, and he needs to talk to you.”

  “It’s all about him and what he needs.”

  Shelley is quiet here. She knows about as much as Lydia and Millie. Funny how I keep this part of my life from everyone. Just can’t bring myself to talk about it.

  “He also says to tell you—” She pauses.

  “Yes?”

  “Again he said to tell you that he’s sorry and he still loves you. He said he will do whatever it takes to make it work.”

  My heart beats wildly. If only that were possible.

  “You still there?”

  “I’m here. You haven’t told him where I am, have you?”

  “Just that you’re on vacation with friends. Why?”

  “Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing. I just thought I saw him.”

  “Well, I didn’t tell him.”

  “Thanks, Shell.” After a moment’s hesitation, I change the subject. “Hey, listen, once I get to Estes Park, I’m sure there’s a place where I can receive a fax. Tell Mike I’ll have him fax the document when I can, and I’ll sign it for him so we can execute it immediately.”

  “Okay, will do.”

  We talk a little longer about the new store that’s soon to open. Shelley does her best to relieve my concerns, but let me just say if there are no chocolates in my future, things could get ugly.

  We slow to a near stop.

  “Oh no, Lydia. You’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere. We shouldn’t be on this road. You’d better not try to go in any farther,” Millie warns.

  “What’s wrong?” I duck my head to look out the front window.

  “We took a wrong turn somewhere. Now we’re stuck in some kind of old railroad overpass,” Millie says.

  “I can’t believe they still have these.” Lydia’s upset, and now that I see how tightly we’re wedged inside the overpass from top to bottom, I can see why.

  “You’ll have to back it up,” Millie says as though it’s not a problem whatsoever.

  “I can’t back it up! I’ll damage something.” Lydia’s voice is on the verge of hysteria. The color of her face is blending with the purple in her blouse.

  “Well, you have to do something, or we’ll have to camp out here.” Millie just won’t let up.

  “I’ll just go forward,” Lydia says. Her chin is definitely hiked here.

  She presses on the gas, which produces a loud, screeching noise but not much movement. I’m guessing the RV is getting scalped.

  We come to a halt. “We’re stuck,” Lydia says. Her white-knuckled hands are holding the steering wheel in a death grip.

  “Are you sure we can’t back out?” I ask.

  “I don’t want to cause any more damage. I’m afraid to back out.”

  “Okay, girls, there’s got to be a way around this,” I say.

  “Well, I’d like to know what it is,” Millie snaps.

  “Take a chill pill, Millie,” I say, matching her snarl for snarl, and edge toward the door.

  “What are you doing?” Lydia is breathing heavily and looks close to tears.

  “I’m just going to assess the situation.” I’m trying to maintain calm here, which is more than I can say for my friends.

  “Oh, that’s going to help,” Millie says with definite attitude.

  Ignoring her, I push through the door. Graffiti colors the overpass. Big orange letters spell out, “George loves Alice.” Yellow paint says, “Suzie loves Bobby,” and big red letters spew out a few choice words I can’t repeat. Stepping out of the overpass, I edge into the sunshine and see that we’re on an old, deserted country road. We’ll be lucky if someone stumbles upon us in the next month, and if they do, we can only hope they’re friendly. No sooner do I think that than a white van comes down the road toward us. Hopefully it’s a model citizen.

  When the driver sees our predicament, he steps out of his van. “Hey, lady, you need some help?” A man who is young enough to be my kid walks up to me.

  “We’re trying to figure out how to get out of here.”

  “Looks like your air-conditioning unit got stuck under there,” he says, pointing at the top of the RV.

  “Right. We can’t go forward, and if we back up, we’ll tear up the unit.”

  “You know, this happened to a friend of my parents once. They eventually had to deflate the tires so they could get on through.”

  “Smartest thing I’ve heard all day,” I say with a grin.

  His eyes brighten. “You want to try it?”

  “Let me check wit
h the owner. Be right back.” I go inside and explain the situation to Lydia. She not only agrees; she appears greatly relieved that there actually is a solution—or at least the hope of one.

  The young man gets something from his car and brings it over to the RV. Stooping down, he sets to work on the tires. He places the instrument—I think it’s called a tire gauge, but then, I’m not exactly Jeopardy contestant material—on the tire valve and releases air in short spurts. One by one, he takes care of each tire. By the time he’s finished, the motor home is a bit shorter. We thank the man, then inch our way through the overpass. Pulling into the nearest gas station just down the road, we pump air back into the tires, and soon we’re on our way.

  The air-conditioning is making a strange sound, but it’s still working, and that’s all that matters as far as Lydia and Millie are concerned.

  Me? I’m just wondering once again about the wisdom of taking this trip. Judging by the fact that Millie is stone-faced, staring straight ahead at the road, and Lydia is chewing on her pinkie nail again, I’m thinking they’re wondering the same thing.

  Millie’s driving, and Lydia is on the passenger’s side, talking on the phone and looking none too happy. I try to give her some privacy by making small talk with Millie. Lydia finally gets up from the passenger’s seat and walks to the bedroom at the back end.

  “Is everything all right with her?” I ask Millie.

  “She’s talking to Derrick. It must have something to do with a girl, because I heard her say she thought he had broken up with her.”

  “Oh. I was afraid it was something serious.”

  “Well, college romances can be serious, especially if you’re the mother who is unhappy about your son’s partner.”

  “I guess so,” I say, having no idea since I’ve never been a mom. It’s odd to think that I never will be a mother. My brother hasn’t married yet, either, so I can’t even be an aunt. At this rate, my poor dad will never know the joys of being a grandpa. He’d make such a great one too.

  Lydia’s voice carries from the other room. Millie and I look at each other when we hear the alarm in her voice.

  “That doesn’t sound good,” Millie says.

  “I know.”

  We wait awhile, trying to ignore the muffled sounds coming from the bedroom.

  “Be right back. I’m going to check on her,” I say. “Will you be okay, or do I need to look at the map for you?”

  Millie’s eyebrows rise. “If it’s all the same to you, I’ll pass on that one.”

  “Suit yourself.” I step around the passenger’s seat and tiptoe toward the bedroom. Though her voice is muffled, Lydia is talking to someone. Sobs. Then silence. After I’m sure she’s off the phone, I knock on the closed door.

  “Lydia, are you all right?”

  Silence.

  “Lydia?”

  The door slides open, and a red-eyed Lydia emerges. “I’ll just come up and tell you both at the same time,” she says.

  I turn around, and Lydia follows me to the front. Once we’re seated, she waits a minute to catch her breath or gather her courage, I’m not sure which.

  “Derrick is seeing this girl. I didn’t tell you guys about her because I thought it was a done deal. Now he tells me they’ve never broken up.”

  “Is she that bad, Lydia?” I ask.

  “She’s a very sweet girl, but she and Derrick don’t share the same beliefs.”

  “In what way?” Millie wants to know.

  “She’s an atheist.”

  Now, my walk with the Lord hasn’t been what it should be over the years. As a matter of fact, right now we’re not really on speaking terms, but an atheist? It amazes me that anyone could doubt God’s existence—especially since the whole world is drenched with His presence. “I’m sorry, Lydia.”

  Tears form in her eyes. “Oh, it gets better.”

  We wait.

  “He says I always think the worst of him and his choices but that I act like Drew is perfect. When I tried to convince him that wasn’t true, he dropped the bomb.”

  Grabbing a tissue, I hand it to Lydia. She wipes her nose.

  “Is he getting married?” Millie asks, voicing what I was wondering.

  “No, it has nothing to do with Derrick. It’s Drew.”

  “Drew? Is he okay?” I ask.

  “He won’t be when I get through with him. It seems after Greg died in November, Drew failed to show up for his classes or his finals afterward. He dropped out of school second semester, and he’s been working ever since. I don’t know why I was never notified. Maybe in my grief, I somehow managed to overlook the college mail. I don’t know.”

  “Drew dropped out of school?” Millie asked.

  “Yes.”

  Poor Lydia has enough to deal with, and now this.

  “I’m sorry, Lydia. Maybe he just needs time to work through it. I felt the same way when Mom died. My classes that semester were a total bust, and I had to take summer school to make it up. The school worked with me, though, knowing my situation. I’m sure the university would cut him some slack if he talked with his counselor.”

  “Yeah, that’s a good point. How did you get through it? The grief over your mother?” she asks.

  “Well, at first I couldn’t get over how life went on as usual for everyone after Mom had died. It upset me terribly. I wanted to scream for everyone to stop what they were doing. Things were not the same and never would be again, couldn’t they see that? At least, that’s what I thought. But somehow I muddled through it. Aspen Creek helped me too, no doubt about it.”

  Lydia brightens. “That’s right! I remember the summer you came, and you made a commitment to the Lord that very week.”

  Guilt twinges my conscience. “Uh, yeah, that’s right.”

  “Boy, you were on fire too. You couldn’t stop talking about Him.” Lydia laughs. “I mean, you were still hurting over your mother, but it was like someone had handed you the gift of peace wrapped in paper and a bow.”

  “Yeah, I remember. My sense of loss was still great, but knowing I didn’t have to go through it alone made all the difference.” Funny how I’d forgotten that after all these years.

  “Thanks for reminding me of that. It gives me hope for Drew.”

  “Would you like to have your seat back?” I ask.

  “Sure.”

  We both get up.

  “Uh-oh, looks like the RV needs a drink,” Millie says.

  “How do you know?” Lydia asks, the usual worry line between her brows in place.

  “The heat gauge says so.”

  “I guess you’re not the only ones who have hot flashes,” I say, laughing at my own joke.

  They’re not amused.

  “There’s a gas station right up the road,” Lydia says, nodding.

  “Let’s pull in there. And I tell you what, I’ll take over since you’ve been driving for a while.”

  “You don’t need to do that. I haven’t been driving that long,” Millie protests.

  “My mind needs to be occupied with something right now,” Lydia says.

  “All right then.” Millie pulls in to the rest stop. She hands Lydia the keys. We climb out of the RV.

  “Oh, I’d better get the container to fill with water,” Lydia says, stepping back inside.

  Once she returns, we walk into the small station store. “We’ll have to wait a little bit ’til the radiator cools so I can get the cap off,” Lydia says.

  “You know, the first thing you should do is set Drew up with a counselor, someone who can help talk him through the grieving process,” Millie advises.

  Lydia thinks a moment. “I suppose you’re right.”

  “That does help,” I say. When I returned from Aspen Creek, I discovered the counselor at camp had arranged for me to see a counselor back home. It helped a lot to be able to talk about how I was feeling—the denial, anger, all of it.

  We enter the no-frills bathroom, complete with graffiti, and I help Lydia get the w
ater she needs. It’s kind of tricky because the container is too big for the sink, but somehow we manage.

  “The temperature is probably around the low eighties, so it’s a near perfect day,” I say.

  “It is nice. Now if I can just get my boys straightened out.”

  Lydia is never one to stay down long. She might get in a tiff about something, but she’ll talk herself out of it as quickly as it comes. She’s one of those who always sees the silver lining in the darkest rain cloud.

  “I’m going to grab a snack,” I say. “Anybody else want anything?”

  They shake their heads, so I go grab my pretzels and come back to join them. When I edge closer, I notice that Millie and Lydia are waiting and they’re not getting inside.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask when I come up alongside them.

  “Um, it appears that I’ve locked the keys inside the RV,” Lydia says with a nervous giggle.

  This trip just keeps getting better . . .

  12

  The heat does little to improve our plunging dispositions. Okay, so that’s one menopausal symptom I share with Millie. Attitude. ’Course, Millie and I have always had a slight edge to our happy selves. Unfortunately, now we could ride a broom.

  The locksmith told us he would be here an hour ago. Yet here we stand, leaning against the RV, waiting at a gas station. The air smells of diesel fuel and overheated engines. Lovely. Lydia digs in her purse, fishes out a hair band, and gathers her hair in a ponytail. Millie’s expression says one word could make her erupt like Mount St. Helen’s. Me? I just want more chocolate.

  “There he is,” Millie says.

  We all look toward the red truck coming our way with the words “Joe’s Locksmith” on the side in big white letters. He swerves into the parking space and jumps out. He’s probably close to fifty years old, dark hair fringed in gray along the border of his face. His skin appears weathered, as if he grew up in Florida rather than the Midwest. His midsection says he’s enjoyed one too many potlucks. He pulls his baseball cap off, wipes his forehead, plunks the cap back on his head, and smiles.

  “You the ones called for a locksmith?”

  Lydia steps forward. “Yes, we are.”

  He looks at Lydia and smiles, obvious pleasure in his eyes. “Is this the RV?” he asks, walking toward us.