photo from Stencil-- a Class C motorhome
For the last month, I have been writing what will be a novella, the first of what I expect to be stories of women of a certain age beginning again when something unexpected pushes them out of their lives. As I plan now, these will be contemporary romances, but without the suspense I often have in my books because of their shorter length. That also means they'll not have the spice.
The first one is in the edit mode; so what you see for a snippet may not end up exactly as it will be when it comes out the first of November sometime-- date uncertain.
A day later, when he stopped by after work, her son said nothing as he listened to her explain her plans. “You have to do what is best for you,” Peter said. “You really sold our home?”
“It had been our home, but after the divorce, it was mine. Yes, I did. It sold for more than I had expected.”
“Enough to buy an RV.”
She nodded. "And then some. I’ve been researching what type.”
“Can I ask how you got this crazy idea?”
Well, he still hadn’t accused her of being crazy. “I was on Facebook and there are groups there of those who travel full time with their RVs. I was interested, learned a lot about the life, the problems, and felt I got to know some of them through their blogs. At first, it was just a diversion but little by little I realized I was jealous.”
He let out a breath and stared at her thoughtfully. “I guess you’ve been responsible about it.”
“I haven’t gone looking yet.” She brought up her computer. “This a Class A, but I see it as more than I need for just me. B looks too small for living year round. C though is just right.” It sounded like Goldilocks and the Three Bears. She smiled. “It will be easy enough to handle but still have kitchen, sofa, bedroom, bathroom.”
He smiled and shook his head. “Diesel or gasoline?”
“What do you think would be best?”
“Diesel generally gets better mileage but harder to find it in some towns, especially if you hit into the back country—if you plan to hit the back country.”
He shook his head but grinned. “Okay then. You let us try out different things. I can hardly try to talk you out of the same thing.” She showed him various model options and he offered his opinions. “Want me to go with you?” he asked when he stood at the door ready to leave.
“I don’t think that’s necessary but if you want.”
He grinned. “If you don’t think it is, I don’t either. I love you, Mom.”
They hugged, and then he left with the boxes of photos. One worry she would not have to fret over any longer. Those photos were more about Wendy and Peter growing up than about her anyway.