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“Finally.” Gladys replies. “Let’s go. Flo, you set the pace since you’re the one that had a colonoscopy yesterday. Don’t want anything falling out of your pooper-shooter.”
“Gladys! That’s not nice.” I scold as we walk around the RV park.
“It’s okay, dear. Hers is next week. What goes around comes around. Or out.” Flo has a devilish smile and I’ll I can do is shake my head and smile back.
“Enough poop talk. I want to hear about who owns the truck that keeps staying at your place late into the night.” Betty says.
“Oh, me too!” Joan and Gladys say in unison as Flo nods in agreement as she waves at Mr. Phillips who is standing on his front porch waving back at her.
“He’s hot.” Joan says.
“Mr. Phillips?” I ask as I’m hoping to change the subject.
“No! The guy with the truck. Who is he?”
I should have known better with these ladies. Although they are all well over fifty years older than me, they’re like family. When I moved into my grandmother’s trailer in the RV park after my parents died, all of her neighbors and friends adopted me. It was like having another thirty grandmas and grandpas suddenly.
Since hearing of the fire and losing my parents, everyone in the neighborhood started checking in on me and grandma. I never had a babysitter when my grandma was out running errands or working. I had a neighborhood watching over me. To my friends in school, it sounded horrible, but to me, I held onto whatever family I had. And this neighborhood and everyone in it became my family. I love each of them. No matter how nosey they are right now.
“Come on. Spill the beans. Who is he? What’s his name? What does he do for a living?” Joan fires off all the questions they have apparently been talking about with each other.
“Screw that. I want to know if he’s good in bed!”
“Gladys! Again. Not nice.” I scold. Sometimes I feel like the only adult on these walks.
“What?” She fakes innocence.
“Forget her. Who is he?” Flo waves off Gladys.
“Well, for you nosey nellies, his name is Hudson, he’s a firefighter, and we did not sleep together. We’re just friends.”
“Pfft. I call hogwash.” Gladys seems disappointed.
“It’s true. Just friends.”
“Why? Is he married?” Flo asks.
“No, he’s not married. We’re just friends. That’s it. No hog washing, no gossip, no nothing. Just friends.” We’re walking around the last bend and I’m grateful to be almost done with this walk. Or is it an interrogation? Either way, I’m glad it’s almost over. I can see my tiny house from here.
“I have one more question, then.” Betty states as she stops walking.
We all notice two steps later and stop and turn around. “Are you okay?” I ask. She is almost eighty-five. I watch out for them, just as they watch over me.
“Yes. Fine.”
“Then what’s your question?” Joan asks.
Betty looks at me, “Did he take care of you yesterday?”
All four ladies nod, wanting to know if Hudson took care of me yesterday, the twentieth anniversary of the fire. Did he take care of me? Yes, he did. More so than any new friend would have. More so than Adam ever did. He never wanted to listen to me about it. And now I’m feeling guilty for not calling Hudson today. Even to thank him for being there with me and sharing his story of loss. Man, I can be such a bitch sometimes.
I look up at four sets of eyes waiting for my answer. “Yes. He was great yesterday.” I walk ahead, hoping to signal that I don’t want to talk about yesterday. Thankfully, it works, and they catch up to me.
“Good.” Gladys says as we approach my house.
“This is me. Thanks for the walk, ladies. Talk to you tomorrow.” I wave at them as they keep walking.
I go inside and immediately go take a shower. Then I see it. The note Hudson left me. I never took it off the bathroom mirror.
