RV There Yet? (3 page)

“See, the thing is, we don't have cacao trees where I live. You know, those tall plants out in the yard that produce cocoa beans? Those would be the ones. Don't have any. Zero. Zip. Nada. The best my tree can do is produce leaves.”

Millie stares at me. “That's a shame. You'd have been so good at it, sorting the beans and all,” she says with eyes twinkling.

“Could you, by any chance, be referring to my punishment at the camp where Tony and I had to sort through the mounds of green beans simply because Tony put a pine beetle in the green bean tray and I laughed?”

“That would be the one.” Millie winks at Lydia.

“To this day I hate green beans.”

We all laugh. Only they laugh harder than I do.

“Hey, I brought you both a box of my signature truffles.”

“Oh, you're a doll,” Lydia says. “Mocha?”

“Of course. Would I bring you anything else?”

Lydia grins. “My emotions thank you. I won't tell you what my hips say.”

“It's better that way.” I stop and enjoy another bite of Lydia's homemade dinner rolls. “These are absolutely fabulous, Lydia.”

“Don't forget to save room for dessert.”

“You're kidding, right?” Millie says. “Like she would ever pass up chocolate?” She puts the card aside, shoves her glasses back into the case, and drops it into her handbag.

With a shrug I say, “It's good for the hormones.”

“But of course, since you're younger than us, you wouldn't really have a problem with that, right?” Millie teases.

“Right.”

“Hey, won't you celebrate a birthday while we're at camp?” Millie asks.

“I'm not doing birthdays this year.”

“Can't say that I blame you. Fifty isn't fun.”

“Thanks for the encouragement, Millie.”

“Fifty is great!” Lydia says. “We should have a party!”

“No party,” I say emphatically, cutting off Martha Stewart before the invitations can be addressed and sent.

“Why not?”

“My party self will be bingeing that day. If anything, it should be declared a day of mourning.” Millie nods her head in agreement—which I'm not sure I like—while Lydia gapes at me.

“You're no fun.”

“Sorry to burst your bubble, Lydia. I'm just not into the attention this year, okay?”

She struggles to agree. It goes against everything in her nature to ignore a birthday event, but her aversion to arguments wins out. She finally nods.

“Well, now that that's settled,” Millie says, as if brushing her hands of the matter, “I've told you, Beverly says they received a great response with donations from alumni for the camp restoration.” Her eyes spark with excitement. “This is going to be so awesome. I can hardly wait.”

“To tell the truth, girls, if I didn't feel such loyalty to Aspen Creek, I would be afraid to try this trip,” Lydia says.

Millie and I pause to look at her.

“It makes me a little nervous to take Waldo out. I'm not comfortable with that. Greg always managed Waldo. I just went along for the ride.”

Millie pats her hand. “We'll help you, Lydia. This will be an adventure, you'll see.”

I try not to gape here. Lydia's staring at her too.

“Have you been sucking on helium balloons again?” I ask, referring to the time I coerced her into doing that with my birthday balloons at camp. The director had walked into our room and asked us why we weren't at the afternoon session, and Millie said—in her Mickey Mouse voice—“I'm not feeling very well.” With her mouth dangling, Mrs. Woodriff just stared at Millie. If she hadn't spotted the balloon, I'm sure she would have whisked Millie off to the hospital in a heartbeat.

“No helium.” She grins. “Just rediscovering who I really am.” Before we can say anything, she goes on. “Oh my goodness, I forgot to tell you girls. Guess who Beverly said is coming to help at the camp?”

Lydia and I stop our forks midair. “Who?”

“Eric Melton!” Millie's eyes are wide, and she's smiling as she thumps back into her chair.

“Really?” Lydia's right hand reaches up to straighten her hair.

“Eric Melton, aka Mr. Egomaniac? That Eric Melton?” I ask.

“As I live and breathe.” Millie wipes her mouth with a napkin. “I couldn't believe it when Beverly told me. Wonder what he looks like after all these years.”

“Oh, that's right. He didn't make it to the reunion,” I say, noticing that Lydia's face has turned a curious shade of pink.

“He's probably still a jerk,” Millie says with a grunt. “Remember how he always used to run the palms of his hands along the sides of his head to smooth his hair when girls were looking? It's a wonder he didn't rub his head bald.”

Millie has a way of saying things.

“Hopefully his ego has toned down a bit,” she continues before finishing off the last of her broccoli. She turns to Lydia. “Didn't you date him a couple of times?”

Lydia lifts her glass of tea and without looking at us says, “Yes, I did.” Ice clinks against the side of the glass before she takes a drink. “If you hadn't been going steady with Tony, he would have asked you out, Dee.”

“He was pretty cute,” I say. “But I did have it bad for Tony,” I add in a dreamy voice.

“Yeah, lasted for all of, what, two weeks?” Millie laughs.

“Don't knock it. That was a record for me back then.” '
Course,
I beat that record when Rob came along. Rob, the guy I thought might
finally be the one . . .

“Eric really liked you, Lydia; I remember that,” Millie says, pulling me back from my memories.

Lydia says nothing. She gathers dessert dishes and teacups, then serves us cheesecake and coffee.

I fill my glass with a swallow of warm water from the tap to clear my palate, then sip it until it's gone. Once I'm seated, I take a small bite of the cheesecake, close my eyes, and move it slowly over my tongue, savoring the moment. When I open my eyes, Lydia and Millie are staring at me.

“What? Don't you know there is a correct way to experience chocolate?”

Lydia and Millie shake their heads.

“Oh my, yes.” I sit up in my seat. “You should eat it at room temperature. Don't drink something cold before tasting it, because a warm mouth is important for the chocolate to melt quickly.”

Lydia and Millie continue to stare, their mouths wide open, resembling baby birds at mealtime. I'm enjoying this immensely.

“A glossy surface is a must if it's a well-made bar,” I continue like a professor at a French cooking school. “You will notice that all my chocolates qualify.” Getting up from the table, I say, “Be right back.” My luggage is by the door, so I rush to it and pull out a couple of boxes, then run back to the kitchen and take my seat. “Mocha for you, Millie. Lydia, since you don't seem to have a preference, I brought a good mixture of praline, peanut butter, raspberry, and mocha.”

They each grab a truffle and lift it to their noses. I do the same. “See, you break the chocolate into pieces so you can smell the aroma.” Once I break off a piece, we each take turns smelling it.

“Oh yeah, then when I take a bite, I allow the aroma to fill the nasal passage at the back of my mouth, engaging my senses of smell and taste.” Taking a bite, I pause. “Bliss, sheer bliss.”

Millie and Lydia exchange glances.

“Wow, chocolate is serious business,” Lydia says with utmost reverence.

Raising my eyebrows and my chin, I pull my hand to my chest (picture Napoléon Bonaparte here). “A chocolate connoisseur has trained senses to discover the very best chocolate.” My head tips in a slight bow. Then I grin.

Millie doesn't look all that impressed. She shrugs and goes back to her cheesecake.

I put my chocolate away—well, not the broken pieces. Those go on my plate with my cheesecake, and I take another bite. “Didn't you say this was cappuccino cheesecake?”

Lydia nods.

“For some reason, I don't taste the coffee part. 'Course, I like my coffee a little strong, so maybe that's why I can't taste it.” Lifting my napkin, I wipe my mouth.

Lydia blinks. “Oh dear.” She rises and walks over to the counter.

“What's wrong?” Millie asks.

Lydia turns to look at us. “I forgot to add the coffee.”

“It's still delicious,” I say with a shrug.

Lydia rejoins us at the table and shakes her head. “See, I forget everything.”

Millie shrugs. “It happens. Now what were we talking about?”

“Let's see, we were talking about you dating Eric, I think,” I say to Lydia.

“Eric liked me, but he liked himself even more,” she says. “He wasn't the type to stick with one girl.”

“Besides, if I remember right, Greg showed up at camp and swept you off your feet about that time, didn't he?” Millie asks, innocently enough, but suddenly everything gets quiet.

Lydia stares at her with a sort of dazed look. “Yeah, he did.” Her voice is upbeat, but she stares in the distance to a place I suspect she visits often.

Things suddenly feel very awkward.

“Remember how we called Mrs. Woodriff ‘The Warden'?” Lydia asks, changing the subject.

“Ethel Belle Woodriff, The Warden,” Millie and I echo together with a laugh.

“Oh boy, we were so in trouble for breaking curfew with her around,” I say.

“Because she knew we were always up to something.” Millie turns to me. “Especially you. How I let you talk me into such things, I'll never know. I'm telling you, books are safer than friends.”

“Oh, come on, it's much more fun
doing
something than just reading about it. Besides, it's not like you didn't want any part of spraying her bed with sugar water. If I remember correctly, you were all too eager to participate.”

Millie brightens with the memory. Just as quickly a frown appears. “Well, how were we to know it would attract every mosquito and ant within a twenty-mile radius?”

We burst into laughter.

“For putting up with us, the woman probably is wearing a huge crown in heaven as we speak,” I say.

Hand over her chest, Lydia says, “She was a saint.”

“Amen,” Millie and I say together.

We talk awhile longer, reminiscing about our camp days. Lydia lets us know her motor home has had a recent checkup and should be as good as new when we start our trip. That makes me feel better—slightly—but I still don't understand why we can't all pitch in for Hiltons along the way. At least they leave chocolate mints on your pillows.

Finally, we all grow tired and climb the stairs to our rooms.

“Now, I want one of you to stay in my room.” Lydia raises her hand before anyone can protest. “Don't argue with me about it, because it will do you no good. When someone visits, I give up my bed. It's the most comfortable bed in the house.”

Millie and I both fudge here. We're a bit uncomfortable with the idea of taking Lydia's bed. It just doesn't seem right. Besides, we know there isn't a bed in her house that is uncomfortable.

“Where will you sleep?” I ask.

“In one of the boys' rooms. One of you will be in the guest room.”

No one says anything.

Lydia pulls a coin from her pants pocket. “Heads or tails,” she says, flipping it in the air and catching it. She turns to me. “DeDe?”

“Heads.”

“Heads it is,” she announces.

Just then my cell phone rings. Slipping the phone from my purse, I see Rob's name on the screen. I toss Lydia and Millie a smile, then tuck my ringing phone back into my purse.

“Aren't you going to answer that?” Millie asks.

“I'll call them back,” I say.

“Okay, well, put your things in there,” Lydia says, pointing.

Once we settle into our respective rooms, I pull out my phone. Why does he keep calling me? Can't he get it through his head that it's over? With a deep breath, I shove the unwanted feelings away from my heart like a mess of clothes behind a closet door.

I glance around Lydia's bedroom. While the rest of her house and yard looks a bit unkempt, this room appears immaculate. Books, magazines, and forgotten projects clutter my bedroom back home. To make matters worse, I'm almost sure every disease known to humankind lurks beneath my bed.

The funny thing is, this room smells a little musty. Not like Lydia at all. Maybe she hasn't opened her windows in a while. Hauling my squeaky luggage across the hardwood floor, I heave it onto a chair, pull out my pajamas, then put them on. I plop on the bed and stretch out. It is heavenly, but how can I sleep without a book? The one in my suitcase is too emotionally draining right now. Glancing at the nightstand, I figure Lydia might have some reading material, so I open the drawer. It's empty. How odd.

Shame on me for being so nosy, but I walk over to the dresser and peek inside. Sweaters line the drawers. Clothes for the fall and winter. It suddenly occurs to me.

Lydia doesn't sleep in here.

She appears as upbeat as always, but now I'm wondering if it's all a front. We'll have to help her through this. Walking over to the bed, I climb between the satin sheets. My thoughts drift from Lydia's grief to her RV sitting in a pile of weeds.

I'll turn fifty on this trip. Fortunately, I haven't slowed down long enough to think about that. But here in this house, seeing my friends, seeing the RV, well, things are changing, that's all.

Scrambling out of bed, I pull the cold cream from my suitcase and smear it on.

Unfortunately, there are some things even chocolate can't fix.

2

Just after breakfast, the three of us take our coffee, paper, and
pens into the family room, ready to make our lists for the trip. While Lydia and I settle into our seats, Millie snaps a picture of the moment, then joins us. Same old Millie.