RV There Yet? (31 page)

While everyone eats lunch in the cafeteria, I sneak back to the RV. Millie's comments have bothered me all morning. I'm not one to cower in the face of a challenge, and doggone her, she's put one out there that I just can't ignore.

With one glance out the window to make sure no one is out and about, I dig in the kitchen drawer for Lydia's keys. I probably shouldn't do this, but I don't think Lydia will mind. I'll just run into town, pick up a gallon of milk so I can prove I took the RV for a spin, and then come back. That will show Madame Librarian a thing or two! Just because I'm fifty doesn't mean I'm not up to the challenge.

After unhooking everything as Lydia has taught us, I settle into the driver's seat, put the key into the ignition, and slowly drive down the path, being careful to avoid trees and buildings along the way. Something tells me Lydia would prefer that. With everyone still in the cafeteria, it's a cinch to edge out of the campgrounds. Now I have to drive a little ways down the mountain, and the fact that I can see the wide expanse of trees and boulders over the cliffs does little to encourage me. Panic rides on the fringes of my mind, but so does Millie's voice. It's that voice that pushes me forward. And just in case anyone wants to know, if I die here, it's Millie's fault.

Confidence sets in once I get about halfway down the mountain. As a matter of fact, I'm feeling like I'm king of the road. Get out of my way, I'm coming through. Yeehaw!

Though I'm directionally challenged, the town is nearby, so there shouldn't be a problem. 'Course, with me, you never know.

Waldo and I are bonding. Wait. Did I just call him “Waldo”? Okay, that's a little freaky. Still, I can't deny the seat feels pretty good, the RV is keeping its groans to a minimum, and I am in control. Turning the radio knob, I stumble upon “Respect” by Aretha Franklin and start singing with her at the top of my lungs, “R-E-S-P-E-C-T”—I mumble the rest because I never did learn the words. Still, I'm thinking Waldo and I could conquer anything today.

Seeing a wide-open space available up near the store doors, I carefully pull into a free spot. “How lucky is that?” I say, giving Waldo a playful tap on the dashboard. Once Waldo is parked, I get out and notice that he's straddling two parking places. Still, I didn't hit anyone, so that's a good sign.

There's a spring in my step as I go into the store, pick up the gallon of milk, and climb back into the motor home. This has been such a quick trip, no one will even know I've left. Yes sirree, I'm feeling mighty fine.

Starting the engine, I put the gear into reverse. Easing up on the brake, I start to back out when a knock on my driver's window stops me and nearly gives me a heart attack. There stands a uniformed policeman. Goodness, what could he want?

Rolling down the window, I look at him and offer my best fifty-year-old birthday smile. “Yes?”

A not-so-pleasant expression looks back at me. “Ma'am, are you aware you're parked in a handicapped zone?”

Gulp. I look in front of Waldo, and sure enough, there's a post with the little handicapped emblem. “Well, how do you like that? They sneaked that one in on me while I was doing my shopping,” I say with a chuckle.

“I need to see your driver's license,” he says in his most professional police voice.

“Oh, sure.” What's the big deal? I didn't mean to park in a handicapped space. I'm normally very careful about all that, but I was so concerned about parking Waldo, I just didn't notice. Oh well, this little matter shouldn't take long to clear up. At least, I hope not, or the group will start to wonder where I am, then they'll notice Waldo is gone, and—

“Do you realize your license is expired?”

An icky taste starts to crawl up my throat. “What? Listen, Officer, I'm sure we can fix this little matter. You see, today is my birthday—”

“Are you suggesting a bribe, ma'am?”

Okay, now he's scaring me.

“No, no, of course not.” My voice sounds weak and old. Definitely old.

“Let me see your registration.” His frown deepens, and his voice does not sound neighborly at all.

This little outing isn't going at all the way I had planned. “Registration?” My voice cracks like a brittle leaf.

“Ma'am, do you have a hearing problem?”

Another gulp here. Reaching above the visor, I pray that Lydia's registration is there. It is. With a triumphant smile, I hand it to the officer.

The expression on his face makes me nervous. “This is not your motor home?” His question slices through my birthday self. He looks cross. As if he might have to call my dad.

Quickly I explain everything to him, about this being Lydia's vehicle, about our trip, and about our efforts to save our camp—hey, it doesn't hurt for him to see my charitable side.

“Unfortunately, I can't check out your story since the computer in my car is on the blitz, so you'll need to come with me to the station.”

“To the station? The police station? Where criminals are hauled off in handcuffs?” My voice is a near shriek, but I just can't help it.

“That's the one,” he says with nary a smile. “Park your RV over there,” he says, pointing, “and I'll take you down to the station.”

I consider making a break for it, but let's get real. Waldo just couldn't handle it. “Am I under arrest?”

“Not yet.” He follows me in his car while I park Waldo away from the handicapped zone. Once I stumble out, the officer opens the door of his car for me to get inside. In the back. Like a criminal. I wonder if it would help if I pointed out that he's stripping the joy right out of my birthday self ?

After some time at the station, Steve brings Lydia and Millie down, and we get the matter cleared up. And let me just say it makes me downright mad when Millie takes a picture of me with the police officer.

“Well, I'll say one thing for you, DeDe, when you set out to try something different, you do it with gusto,” Millie says with a laugh on the way back to pick up Waldo.

“Don't start with me, Millie. I'm not in the mood.”

Not another word is uttered all the way back to the camp. So much for my birthday. I hope this is not an indication of my life in the old lane . . .

Millie and Lydia go on ahead to the campfire gathering while I change from my paint clothes. Everything in me balks at going tonight. By now everyone knows about my little incident today. I'm sure I've been the object of all kinds of jokes. Steve pictured me as a butterfly. Instead, I'm a jailbird. Well, it's not the first time I've had a little trouble, and it certainly won't be the last. With stubborn determination, I pull on my jacket and yank the RV door shut before I lose my resolve to join the others.

The air smells woodsy and tart from the burning branches. I see everyone sitting around the circle, drenched in firelight, laughing, eating together, but when I step into view, everything grows quiet. Okay, that makes me feel stupid.

“Hey, there's the birthday girl,” Steve calls out. Everyone starts to clap.

That's not exactly what I had expected. All right, I can do this. “I'm surprised you all aren't wearing black,” I say, laughing.

“We thought about wearing handcuffs,” Eric says.

“You've probably had plenty of experience with that, haven't you, Eric?” I snap.

“Whoa,” the Biker Boys say in unison with a laugh.

“Here, Dee, why don't you come over and get something to eat,” Beverly says, throwing a look at Eric. He laughs.

“Next thing we know they'll have your mug shot up at the county library,” Eric continues.

“Speaking of which, who did yours last time, Eric? Maybe I can use the same photographer.”

“Just ignore him, DeDe,” Lydia says with a nervous laugh.

“Come on, DeDe, it's all in good fun. You have to admit what happened today was pretty funny,” Eric says.

Blowing out a sigh, I feel a slight smile playing on my lips.

“See there, that's better.” Eric lets out a gut laugh. “I mean, it was such a DeDe thing to do! Only you could start out on such an innocent adventure and end up in jail.”

Chuckles softly ripple around the group, and once I grin, everyone cuts loose, and pretty soon I'm surrounded by DeDe stories.

“Oh my goodness, do you remember the time you got us thrown out of the sock hop because you snuck in a forbidden record?” Lydia says.

“That was George—whatever his last name was—it was his fault, because he gave it to me for my birthday as a joke, and I didn't know what it was!” Kids can be so cruel.

“Yeah, but what about the time you put a worm in Bob's soda and told him it was tequila!” Millie pipes up.

“Did I do that?”

Everyone in the group who was at camp when we were teenagers nods.

“So I have a reputation.”

“I'll say,” Eric says. “Doesn't seem to have changed all that much. You're still getting into trouble.”

My gaze darts over to Steve, and I wonder what he's thinking of all this. He smiles and winks. I'm feeling better.

“I won't even tell you how she broke into Lydia's RV on our way here,” Millie says. And then of course she follows up by telling them how I fell headfirst into the motor home through Lydia's window.

“Oh, by the way, Shelley sent something for you,” Lydia says, pulling a box from behind her. True to her peacemaker self, she's trying to change the subject for me. She hands me Shelley's package.

“Truffles!” I scream.

“She said something about it not being safe for anyone if you're without your chocolate,” Millie adds.

“Oh, that's cute,” I say. “Real cute.”

“She sent enough for everyone,” Lydia says, pulling out another box of twelve.

“Actually, she sent one for all of us, two boxes for you. Now that's a good friend,” Beverly says.

“She's the best.” I look up at Millie and Lydia. “Next to you guys, of course.”

“We all have a little something for you too, DeDe,” Beverly says, bringing out a chocolate cake with candles.

Millie, Lydia, and I lock eyes.

“We didn't plan the party, honest,” Lydia says, crossing her heart with her finger. “It was all Beverly's idea.”

Beverly smiles as big as you please. “And why not? This is a special occasion.”

No point in fighting it. Besides, I never argue over chocolate cake—unless it's for a bigger piece.

The group sings to me, and it's very nice—well, okay, there are a couple of people singing off-key, putting me in mind of
The
Gong Show
—but still, it's nice. I make a wish and blow out the candles, and everyone laughs.

“I'll cut the cake while you open your presents,” Beverly says, walking away with the cake. I'm wondering if I can trust her with that.

Looking to my friends' smiling faces, I'm warmed by their generosity. “How did you have time to get anything?” I ask, totally confused.

“Well, you made it easy on us. We went shopping in Estes Park while you were in jail,” Millie says. Then she snaps more pictures. The woman should join the paparazzi.

“While I languished in a dirty cell, you were out shopping?” Do my ears deceive me? “I wondered what took you so long to get there.”

“Kind of you to help us out that way,” Millie says with an ornery smile.

Lydia hands me a package. When I open it, I find a Pilates CD with a note of apology for making all the desserts during our trip.

“Guess it's my turn,” Millie says, handing me a gift. I pull off the wrap and uncover a book titled
The Joys of Turning Fifty
. I can't help noticing it's a thin book.

“Thank you, Lydia, Millie.”

Eric acts almost bashful as he walks over to me and hands me his package. “It's from me and the boys,” he says, pointing to the Biker Boys.

“Thanks, guys.” Inside the box is a Looney Tunes shirt with Tweety Bird on the front. I laugh. “Does this make me an official member of your Looney Tunes group?”

“It does,” Eric and the boys agree.

“All I need now is a Harley.”

A shadow crosses Lydia's face.

“Don't worry, Lydia. That's not going to happen anytime soon.”

She relaxes.

“Aw, come on, Lydia, they're not so bad,” Eric says.

Everyone laughs. Lydia ignores him.

“It sure doesn't seem right without your parents here, Beverly,” Lydia says, referring to Mr. and Mrs. Vandenplas, who used to run the camp when we were kids.

“Yeah, I miss 'em. Especially now that Will's gone.”

“It amazes me that you shoulder the responsibility of this place,” I say.

“It's not as much fun as it used to be. After living around this camp most of my life, I'm itching to get out and see the country,” Beverly says.

“Really?” Lydia looks at her curiously.