luck, Mark could fix some of that by being the last man standing in the RV.
And then, maybe he could embark on fixing his own life. First, he’d have to figure out where to start on himself, though.
Luke shrugged, pulled up the blankets again. “Wake me when it’s over.”
Mark dashed out the door, hopped into his Nova and headed across town. Mercy had been growing over the last year as people in Lawford opted to leave the city for land and quiet. The population had stretched by a couple thousand, prompting the opening of a mall, even though it only encompassed twelve stores. Still, it seemed to stay busy, especially with the summer tourists and antiquers.
When Mark arrived, he counted eighteen cars in the main parking lot, a couple in the mall employee area. Damn. How early did these people get up? Once inside, he saw a virtual campground had been set up on the cold white tile of the courtyard. Lounge chairs, beach towels, blankets, pillows. And people—nineteen of them. With the motor home beside them, the whole pristine, antiseptic scene looked like Walt Disney’s version of a campsite.
Mark settled onto the floor at the end of the line and rested his arms across his knees. On his left an elderly woman sat in one of those three-dollar folding lawn chairs. Beside her slept a nearly bald, wrinkled man. They both wore beret-style hats topped with a fat yarn pompom. The old woman was knitting, her needles clacking away in the quiet. Her husband had his head back, mouth open, loud, hock-hock-hock snores coming from his mouth.
“Why hello, sonny. I’m Millie Parsons. Are you here to win the motor home?” she asked, without missing a stitch.
“Yes, I am.”
She reached out a gnarled hand and patted his. “Good luck, dear.” She smiled nicely, then added, “but Lester and I are planning on winning it. We want to go to Florida, don’t you know.” She grinned until all her dentures showed. “And we don’t plan on losing.”
Mark smiled right back at her. “Neither do I.”
Her smile dropped away, she yanked her hand away and went back to her knitting. Click, clack, click, clack. Row after row of pink stitches. Probably making a noose for anyone who tried to outlast her and Lester.
A very unladylike curse sounded from behind him. Mark turned and saw Claire. “I’m twenty-one,” she said.
“Honey, you couldn’t pass for it,” Mark quipped. But in reality, she could. Her straight blond hair was up in a ponytail, a youthful style fitting her smooth, unlined skin. She had bright, almost emerald eyes, and a generous mouth he’d never seen without red lipstick. From ten feet away, it screamed “Kiss Me.” That is, it did to every man but Mark, who had never been her favorite male Homo sapiens.
She was one of the tallest women he knew, lean and athletic, and given to tight, bright-pink jeans and iridescent tanks that never seemed to extend past her belly button. God bless clothing designers who didn’t account for long torsos. Catching a glimpse of the creamy skin above her waistband could become his favorite pastime. She’d finished off the outfit with boots sporting three-inch heels. There was a name for shoes like that, but he wasn’t going to say it in public.
Claire didn’t seem to appreciate his lusty appraisal. In fact, she gave him a most irritated look. “I’m not talking about my age. I meant my place in line. I’ll never get on there now.”
He blew on his finger like a gunfighter who’d knocked out the competition. “Gee, that was an easy bet to win.”
Mark had always wondered what a glower looked like. He knew now—and it wasn’t pretty.
“It’s not over yet,” she said. “Some of these people might be here to keep the others company.” She dropped her large suitcase to the floor and plopped down beside it.
“Who are you? Ginger? Taking along a year’s worth of clothes for a three-hour tour?”
“I’d rather come over-prepared than find out two days into this that I don’t have any deodorant. I might be here for days.”
Mark leaned over and whispered in her ear. “If you want to outlast Lester and his girl here, it might be weeks. She’s got a lot of knitting to do.”
A faint smile appeared on Claire’s face. “I’m prepared.” She arched an eyebrow at his small gym bag. “Are you?”
“I travel light.”
“Then travel out of here and give me your place in line.”
“Claire, darling, you almost sound desperate.”
A flicker of something—fear, worry—flashed in her eyes, but in an instant, she was all Claire again. “No, just determined.” She fidgeted for a few seconds. Then she dug in her handbag and pulled out a bag of Hershey Kisses. She unwrapped two and popped one in her mouth. She offered the bag to him.
He shook his head. “A little early in the morning for a sugar high.”
“It’s never too early, or too late, for chocolate.” She popped in the second, chewed, swallowed. “Give me your place in line. I need that RV.”
“So do I,” Mark said. “Now, move over, twenty-one, and give the big boys some room.”
She crossed her arms over her knees. “I don’t think so.”
He crossed his over his chest. “I figured as much.”
They sat there like two store mannequins for the better part of an hour. A few other people hiked into the mall, suitcases and duffel bags in hand. All but two young boys turned away once they ran a count on those ahead of them. The boys settled down beside Claire and got into a mock sparring match.
At 5:00 a.m., a thin, wiry woman who looked like a steel rail came out from the mall offices, stood before the group and clapped her hands. “Okay, group, let’s begin!” She had a long, pinched face and black hair cut short enough for Mark to see her ears. He could imagine her as a gym teacher somewhere, shouting tortuous instructions with exuberance.
Lester continued hock-hocking away. His wife gave him a jab in the side. He jerked awake, blinking and looking around as though he had no idea where he was or why his wife had done that. “Is it time, Millie?”
“Shush.” Millie tucked her knitting needles into an I Love Bingo canvas bag. “Pay attention to the lady, Lester.”
Millie probably cut Lester’s meat into little pieces before dinner. She seemed the type.
“I’m Nancy Lewis, the community development coordinator for the Mercy Mall. We may be small, but we’re growing,” she said cheerily, using the trademark sign-off for the mall. Nancy smiled perkily and paced along the line. “I’d like to welcome you to the Survive and Drive contest! Only twenty of you will get the chance to win this fantastic motor home.” She ran her hand along the hull with the reverence of one of Bob Barker’s girls. “It’s a very expensive vehicle—an eighty-five-thousand-dollar value. It has a fully-equipped kitchen with gorgeous wood cabinets, a lounge chair, sofa, queen bed and dinette. We’ve added a couple of fold-up stools to provide additional seating. There are three televisions, one up front, one in the living area, and one in the bedroom. The shower comes with a power massage head and a skylight. Power windows, power locks and deluxe stereo system.” She slipped
