Page 8 of Grown-Up Second Chance

Chapter Three

“Is tomorrow a good day for the mud pots?” Liz asked as we shuffled through the sinks—thankfully there were two—and toilet to get ready for bed. Liz and Kathleen shared the bedroom in the back, while I was stuck making the sofa into a bed every night.

It had seemed logical at the time because I’m a restless sleeper, but the reality was already something I wasn’t looking forward to doing every night for the next year.

And it was only the first night.

As I put on my nightly moisturizer, I answered Liz’s question. “I’ve got a call with a client tomorrow to go over his quarterly taxes,” I said. “He couldn’t schedule it any other time.”

“I thought you were giving up your clients,” Kathleen said as she emerged from the tiny toilet room.

We’d probably get used to being on top of each other all the time, but I was willing my bowels to behave until the other two went to bed so I’d have the illusion of privacy. My body had always made noises at the most inappropriate times, and age hadn’t improved its disposition.

“A few of them wouldn’t take no for an answer,” I said. “Besides, I enjoy the work. I can’t see myself sitting around all day crocheting doilies.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them. A decade ago Kathleen had taken up both knitting and crocheting. She produced amazing garments to wear, and had even sold some at a local artists’ consignment shop.

“You should take up a hobby,” Liz said before things could get out of hand. “Then you wouldn’t be bored. Unless you need the money.”

The toothpaste tube in my hand protested as my grip tightened. The lid, which I’d already loosened flew off and pinged into the other sink, just missing Liz.

She looked down, then shook her head.

“No need to get all dramatic about it,” she said with a grin.

“Sorry,” I said, retrieving the cap.

“So,” Kathleen said, “are you really worried about money? I thought you made out in the settlement.”

“I’m not worried about money,” I declared, putting a large dab of toothpaste on my brush. “Like Liz said, I just don’t want to be bored. And having an extra bit of cash around doesn’t hurt.” I tried to make my voice light, to hide the tight fist of fear that lived in my gut. The one that made me constantly aware that things could, and would, go wrong. I’d adopted Murphy’s Law as part of my catechism years ago. “We’ll go see your mud pots the day after, okay? What’s so exciting about them anyway?”

“The colors,” Liz said. “The way the heat interacts with the composition of the soil produces these incredibly subtle hues. Imagine hundreds of shades of brown.” Her face lit up with the possibilities. “I want to look at them closely, take some pictures, then play with them in my paintings. It will be like going to an art class.”

I loved my sister. I didn’t always understand her, but I loved her enthusiasm for the art world. Even when we were kids she’d produced the most amazing drawings and paintings.

“Will we get to see these experimental pieces in brown?” I asked.

“Maybe.”

Why was she so secretive about her work?

“I hope so,” Kathleen said. “Now will you two stop hogging the sinks so I can get in there?”

~~~

My sleep had been dominated by hissing water bubbling from the ground, a world from which I couldn’t escape. I was grateful when sounds from the back bedroom woke me, although it took my brain a while to clear its mind from the fog of sleep and grapple with the unfamiliar surroundings. Outside, doves were cooing their repetitive song and in the distance, a meadowlark trilled. Soft conversations from other RV sites drifted through the window.

I stretched and swung my legs out of bed. After pulling some pants on under my nightgown, I swiftly changed it for a T-shirt.

By the time I got done in the bathroom, Liz was starting the coffee maker. She was still in pajamas.

“Bless you,” I said. “I forgot to hit the switch.”

“Tough night?” she asked.

“Crazy dreams about mud pots.”

“Sorry about that.” She grinned. “Kathleen’s up, too. She claimed the shower first.”

“That’s because she’s memorized how much hot water we have,” I said.

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