Page 10 of Born to be Wilder

“That’s the question we’re all asking,” Alejandro answered.

“Do you think she got us a resort?” Doris asked suddenly. “Oh, I could really use a pool. This winter has been endless. Look at that snow.” She gestured mournfully at the drifts along my fence. “I haven’t been warm since November.”

“If Marge got us a resort, I will eat that hat.” Alice gestured toward Roxie, who wore a knitted yellow beanie with a pompom.

Roxie frowned. “Yeah, she was laughing a lot last night. I don’t think she’d be laughing over a resort. She seemed extremely pleased with herself.”

“Damn it,” Alice hissed through her teeth.

Emma reached both arms out toward me, snowsuit rustling, and I took her from Tom. She grabbed my nose immediately, which she had recently discovered was extremely funny, and I made a face that caused her to dissolve into the kind of baby giggle that rearranged your entire cardiovascular system.

“She loves her nana.” Rachel watched us with that soft expression she’d had since Emma was born—something between wonder and contentment, the look all mothers had for their children from babies until adulthood, as I still looked at her that very same way.

“The feeling is mutual,” I said into Emma’s hat.

Then we heard it.

It started as a low rumble somewhere around the corner—a big engine, the kind you felt in your chest before you heard it properly. Emma’s head swiveled toward it with the fascination of someone encountering a new sound for the first time.

The rumble grew and grew.

“Heavens to Betsy. What is that?” Doris asked.

We all looked left, then right, the sound growing louder in the crisp winter air.

When it came into view, a singular sharp gasp moved through the entire group as if we’d all inhaled the same air at the exact same time.

A massive motorhome rolled into sight, slowing down to make the turn onto Wilder Lane. It was enormous, like a tour bus, white with a swooping silver-and-blue design along the side, taking up what felt like the entire residential street as it lumbered toward us. The horn sounded as it approached, and it didn’t honk, instead playing a cheerful, ridiculous little melody that blasted through the neighborhood.

Nobody spoke as it rumbled to a stop in front of my house. The engine shuddered, and we all stood speechless in the silence.

The window rolled down, and Marge leaned out from the driver’s seat. A plastic Viking helmet, two curved horns jutting off either side, sat slightly crooked on her head.

She patted the side of the RV with one hand.

“Meet Bertha!”

The sidewalk erupted in laughter, shrieks, and Alice’s vocal protests. I remained frozen, mouth gaping as Tom wrapped his arms around me and Emma, his body shaking in that big, full laugh that moved my body with him as well.

“Oh, yes. YES!” he shouted. “I knew Marge would deliver!”

Finally, I found my voice. “Marge! What in the hell is that?”

“Our ride and our house for the next week!” Marge beamed from the driver’s seat. “Road trip, ladies… road trip!”

Roxie clasped her hands together and blew a kiss toward the window. “Wow! Honey, that is so neat! I wish I could come!”

Marge winked at her. “We’ll do our own trip soon, baby. Promise.”

Roxie clapped her hands and grinned.

Alice lowered her sunglasses, locking eyes with Marge. “Absolutely not. No. No way.” She shook her head wildly. “Marge. I am not getting in that.”

“Oh, come on, you ninny! Don’t be a party pooper. You’re gonna love it!” Marge flung her door open and climbed down, the Viking hat almost falling off as she dropped the distance to the ground, but she caught it and straightened it. “Damn. That’s a drop. Gonna need a step stool.”

“Marge, is that… safe? It’s so big. Can you really drive it?” Doris hugged Axel tighter like he was her anchor in Hurricane Marge.

Marge scoffed. “Psht. This baby is nothing. Percy and I went RVing plenty of times. Plus, I drove big crap all the time in the army. I’m a natural. You’ll see.”