“Sorry about that.”
“I don’t mind. The sweetness surprised me.”
“I think that’s because it’s so warm. Would you like a banana, Joanna Banana?”
“Sure, Melly Jelly Belly. What’s on our schedule for today?”
It took me a moment to think before I answered, “Nothing.” I couldn’t remember a day in my adult life when the complete schedule could be listed with that singular word.
“We don’t need to go back to the bank until tomorrow, right?” Joanne asked.
“Right.”
“And we don’t have to talk to a Realtor about selling the place because we’re in agreement that we both want to keep it. At least for now.”
“Right,” I said again.
As if she needed to convince me further she added, “For the investment possibilities alone it seems too soon to sell.”
“I know. I agree. And I’m sure Ethan will agree, too.”
“I’m definitely coming back. We both will have to come back sometime when we can stay longer.”
“And we’ll bring a flyswatter.” I flapped my hand in the air at a pesky fly that was determined to land on my banana peel.
“Flyswatter and what else? I know you’re dying to make a list of some sort.” Joanne didn’t say it in a rude way. She said it like she knew me well enough to understand what was enjoyable for me, and she was willing to invest part of her free day in doing something I considered fun. Her gesture warmed me because it had been a long time since anyone, especially another woman, had volunteered to do something simply because she knew it would be a treat for me.
“Why don’t we do that now?” she asked. “Where’s your little notepad?”
“Here.” I pulled out my pad and pen and started slowly, making sure I hadn’t misread her invitation to join me in a little organizing fest. “We could use new silverware.”
“At least we have silverware here,” Joanne said. “I don’t think Rosa Lupe had much silverware. You know, I was thinking about how we need to leave pretty early Saturday to get back to the cruise ship by five o’clock.”
“Right.”
“What if we leave nice and early? We could stop by the Valdeparisos’ to see how Miguel is doing. We could even take a little gift to Rosa Lupe.”
My task-motivated mind began to compose a list of all the things the dear woman could use like silverware and a few cooking items. “Great idea. What if we pulled all the extra items out of here? We could give them to Rosa Lupe, and if and when you or I ever come back, we’ll keep the list so we know what items we need to replace.”
“¡Excellente! Let’s get at it and make your day.”
Joanne was right. It made me happy to inventory and set aside all the items we felt good about taking to Rosa Lupe. The day before I’d been fairly thorough in throwing out old newspapers and some of Uncle Harlan’s rusted fishing lures. Anything else of his, including a battered pair of fishing boots, I loaded into some of the collapsed cardboard boxes I’d found in the broom closet. Aunt Winnie wanted the big fish, but she might also appreciate these other odd reminders of her husband.
By noon Joanne and I had accomplished the task and had a stack of useful items for Rosa Lupe.
“I hope she won’t take any of this the wrong way,” I said.
“No gift is misunderstood when the heart of the giver comes with the gift,” Joanne said. “I know she’ll see our heart in this. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a hammock waiting with my name on it.”
“It is getting stuffy in here,” I said. “How’s your foot doing?”
“Better. You don’t mind if I take a nap, do you?”
“Not at all, Sleeping Beauty.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I thought I might use some of our water to do a better job cleaning up the silverware and the frying pan.”
“It is siesta time, you know.”
“I’ll try not to disturb you.”
While Joanne turned the shaded hammock into a perfect little nest, I filled a basin with water and went to work on the old flatware. Remembering a trick Jessie used in the Boxcar Children, I padded out to the sand and scooped up a handful, which I carried back and used to rub off some of the ancient fish gut stains.
What do you know! It worked!
Alone in my private bliss, I kept staring out at the serenely beautiful ocean and wishing I had a camera. It struck me that I had seen disposable cameras at the grocery store by the resort. While Joanne slept, I hiked the half mile or so down to the grocery store, bought a camera, a small bottle of ibuprofen, and a cold bottle of iced tea. Life seemed so simple, and it seemed so good.
I only saw one person on my walk and guessed that Joanne was right about this being siesta hour. I also wondered if I was safer because I was in the greater orbit of the new resort. Yesterday I’d barely been able to cross the street in the older part of San Felipe without having a run-in with the law. Here I felt as if I were in “Little America.”
Joanne was still snoozing when I returned to our hideaway. I snapped her picture and then stood back to take a lengthwise picture of the palm tree. The quiet snap of the disposable camera apparently was loud enough to wake Joanne.
“What are you doing?”
“I bought a camera. Smile!”
“No! Not until I wake up.”
“Here.” I handed her the camera. “Take a picture of me by Uncle Harlan’s tree.” I started to pose with my palm resting on the trunk of the grand palm when I had an idea. “Wait!”
“Good grief! I was just about to take it. What are you doing?”
“You’ll see.” I went into the trailer, fished out the black-and-white photo of Uncle Harlan watering the fledgling palm tree, and my hunch was right. He had used the same basin I’d just used to clean the flatware.
“Let me get in the same position,” I said, studying the old photo. Holding the basin just so, I looked up at Joanne and offered a big grin as I poured out the water the same way Uncle Harlan had.
“Now?” Joanne asked.
“Yes! Now!” I tried to bark through my fixed smile. “Take-the-ficture-efore-all-the-water’s-gone.”
“Got it,” Joanne said. “Did you take one of our little cottage by the sea?”
“Not yet.”
Joanne handed the camera to me, and I backed up so I could capture the whole trailer, complete with Joanne in the attached hammock.
“You know, this place isn’t so bad,” I called out to Joanne, pressing the button. “It’s not at all what I imagined, but it has potential. Some patio chairs would help, and a couple of big clay pots with some hearty flowers.”
“Excuse me.” A man appeared in front of the camera. I hadn’t seen him come around the side of our sequestered fortress, and the sight of another tourist made me jump. He was wearing white shorts and a polo shirt with an expensive-looking pair of sunglasses.
“I’m sorry to startle you. I heard you speaking English, and I came over to see if I might ask a few questions.”
I realized he was the one tourist I’d spotted while walking to the store. Apparently he didn’t need a siesta, either.
He pulled a business card from his pocket and said he was looking for a small place to buy for a weekend retirement getaway. He wondered if I knew who owned the “pristine location” on which our trailer was parked.
“Yes, I know the owner,” I said, unwilling to let down my guard with this guy.
“Would you be so kind as to pass on my card, and if they are interested in selling, I’d be interested in talking with them.”
“I’ll pass on the information.”
He gave a courteous nod and went on his way.
“We could be sitting on a little gold mine,” Joanne said, after I joined her in the hammock and we were certain our intruder was off our property. “Let me see his card. California address. That guy is an investor for sure. He’s not looking for a weekend getaway. We’re keeping this place, Mel.”
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“Hey, we already agreed on that this morning. You don’t have to convince me.”
“There is one thing I might have to convince you about,” Joanne said.
“What’s that?”
“I think we should rent one of those sand buggies and go for a ride.”
“What about your foot?”
“Much improved. See?” She held up her wrinkled hoof for my inspection a few inches from my face.
“I don’t want that thing in my face. It is better, though. The swelling is gone.”
“I know. Let’s go have a last romp in the sea.”
“Okay,” I said. “Maybe we can find whatever it was that bit you and run over it.”
“Now there’s a lovely, aggressive thought.”
Joanne and I drove down the road to the rental shack where we were given a condensed course on everything we needed to know about all-terrain vehicles, also called ATVs. We rented the two-seater instead of two separate ATVs. It only seemed appropriate after all the togetherness we had been experiencing.
The real decision came when we had to agree on who was going to drive first. Since Joanne had been so nice about helping me clean and make lists in the trailer that morning, and since renting one of these noisemakers was her idea, I acquiesced and let her drive.
With my arms around her middle and her hands in place on the throttle, we puttered off down the sand, appearing, I’m sure, like a couple of wacky women stuck in a midlife identity bubble.
Who cared? Hardly anyone was on the beach to see us as Joanne picked up speed, and we zipped through the shallow water, letting out a string of wild “yahoooies!”
We laughed and spun donuts in the sand and splashed through the water like a couple of teenagers.
“This is great!” I yelled. “Don’t you love this?”
“Love it!” she called back over her shoulder.
We motored for a long stretch along the gorgeous beach before I convinced Joanne to stop and let me have a turn. I took the reins and sent our flying machine over a series of small sand dunes. On the last one, Joanne yelled in my ear to stop showing off. I didn’t mind the accusation. The fun part was, she was the only one I was showing off for.
We cruised our way back to the rental shack, feeling the sun on our shoulders. Returning our wide-tire magic carpet a minute before our one-hour rental time was up, we thanked the owner in Spanish.
“De nada.” He handed Joanne our copy of the rental agreement while she and I debated what we should do for dinner.
I had bread and peanut butter back at the trailer along with more carrot sticks. Joanne wasn’t impressed. She thought we should go out to dinner. I was apprehensive.
“You like camarones?” the gentleman at the ATV rental shack asked us.
“¿Camarones?” I asked.
“Fresh today” He pointed to a cart across the street where a man was cooking up something that smelled wonderful.
“Let’s look,” Joanne said. “We don’t have to buy anything.”
As we approached the cart, the man opened an ice chest to show us his catch for the day. The chest was packed with large prawns.
“¿Camarones?” Joanne pointed to the tiger shrimp.
“Sí, camarones.”
“Let’s buy a pound,” Joanne said. “Or a kilo, or however he sells them. We can cook them ourselves. I saw a round grill in the closet.”
Joanne was speaking my language. A Boxcar Children banquet on the beach. I was game.
“One pound, please.” I held up one finger.
“Let’s get two,” Joanne suggested. “Dos. Dos kilos, por favor.”
“Impressive Spanish there, Jo!”
“I’m catching on.” She pulled some money from her pocket and settled with the cart vendor. He handed me the smelly fellows in a sticky plastic bag.
“How do you say, butter?” she asked the vendor.
He shook his head.
“Butter.” She pointed to a half-used stick of what looked like margarine that he was using to grease his grill.
“Mantequilla,” he said.
“Okay. That one may take a little longer for me to learn. Let’s get some butter at the grocery store and see if they have any garlic powder. It wouldn’t hurt to see if they have charcoal as well.”
Mission accomplished at the extremely convenient grocery store, we returned to our beachfront property a little stiff from our dune buggy jaunt. Making fun of each other for hobbling around like old ladies, Joanne and I went to work hollowing out a pit in the sand, setting fire to the charcoal, and placing the grill just so.
Working together, we peeled the plump prawns and rinsed each one before dipping them in the melted garlic butter and cooking them over the red-hot coals.
Our Mexican blankets came in handy once again as we spread them on the sand and settled into the warm pockets of unspoiled beach. When the sun began to lower, so did our voices. The colors that spread across the night sky were fainter and paler than they had been the previous night. The air was still, and we were in no hurry to go anywhere or do anything. Each succulent shrimp was enjoyed as if it were the first time we had ever tasted such a delicacy and the last time we would ever be together.
As the soft blush of the day took her leave, the obscurity of deep night took her place as our dinner companion. She came to our fire wearing a velvet cloak studded with diamonds, and we welcomed her without fear.
“So many stars.” Joanne drew the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “Did you ever know so many stars were up there?”
“They seem closer here, don’t they? If we had a long enough net we could catch some. Like fish.”
“Would that make them starfish?” Joanne asked with a giggle.
“At least that’s more poetic than whatever it was I said in Spanish the other night.”
“Beautiful entrails,” Joanne remembered.
“Oh, yeah.”
We chuckled.
“I love being with you,” Joanne said.
“Me, too. I wish we could have gotten along this well when we were growing up.”
“I know.”
“I’ve been thinking about your moving to Vancouver.” I’d actually been thinking about how Matthew said he lived in Vancouver, but I didn’t bring that up. Instead I said, “I think when you get there, we should plan a time to meet every week or at least every two weeks.”
“Organizing us already,” Joanne said with a tease in her voice.
“I’m just saying that if we don’t have a set time, life gets hectic, and then all of a sudden it’s been two months and we haven’t seen each other, even if we live only a few miles apart.”
“I agree. It’s a good idea. We’ll schedule sister time as soon as I relocate. Assuming, that is, that I can make this change. If I can, I’d like to transition by the end of the year, but that might be too ambitious.”
“I don’t think so. It’s good to have specific goals. Besides, you know you’re welcome to stay with us as long as you want.”
“Thanks, Mel.”
“De nada.” I scooted closer in the sand to my big sister and rested my head on her shoulder.
She rested her head on top of mine, and together we watched a shooting star streak across the sky. Then, as if I weren’t there or as if she didn’t mind that I was, Joanne talked aloud to God, telling Him how great He was and how amazing His creation was. She unabashedly poured out her heart to Jesus Christ, and that’s when I knew she really, truly was in love with Him.
When we snuffed out our fire and shuffled back to our little casa, Joanne gave up her idea of sleeping all night in the hammock and opted for the fairly comfy bed inside. She tumbled into bed and almost immediately entered the Land of Nod. I lingered on this side of Nod in the Land of the Bright-Eyed Slumberless.
It wasn’t as if I was lying in the dark listening for bandidos. I just couldn’t fall asleep. Life seemed to be closing in on me.
Not life as I knew it in Langley. There, lif
e was all about schedules and timetables. I felt secure when I was operating with the unbendable reality of numbers. Columns and lists and dependable routines were the equation that equaled life in my understanding. All the beauty I knew came from paint by numbers, following the rules. I could do it. All of it, and somehow make it pretty.
But tonight on the beach by the fire listening to Joanne talk to Christ the way a woman confides in her best friend, I saw no numbers or columns or rules. Only broad strokes of vibrant colors nearly visible in the darkness. Her passionate dialogue with Christ made me desire oh so much more than what my life of formulas had produced for me. The elusive remedy seemed so close I could almost feel it breathing on me.
I turned to face the small window above my bed that I’d left open. A line from Joanne’s Augustine quote kept chasing around in my wide-awake brain. It was the part about God bathing us. I couldn’t remember exactly how it was phrased. Reaching for my flashlight, I flipped the switch and spotted Joanne’s journal sitting on top of the counter where she had left it. I knew she wouldn’t mind if I read that quote again.
Flipping through the pages I found the word Augustine at the top and started to read. “You have made us for Yourself and our hearts are restless till they find their rest in You.”
That wasn’t the quote I was looking for.
Further down I found the part I remembered—the haunting portion she had read to me on the ship. “You were with me, but I was not with You. You called me, You shouted to me, You broke past my deafness. You bathed me in Your light, You wrapped me in Your splendor …”
That was it. “You bathed me in Your light.” That’s what I was trying to remember.
Joanne had written sideways down the edge of the page:
My heart has heard you say, “Come and talk with me.” And my heart responds, “LORD, I am coming.” Psalm 27:8, NLT.
Closing Joanne’s journal, I turned off the flashlight and reclined in the darkness.
In the deepest part of my spirit I heard an echo of the words I’d just read: “Come and talk with me.”
The thought was so distinct that I responded with one of my usual defenses: Why? What did I do wrong?
No further thought came to me. Could that truly have been God shouting at me? Breaking through my deafness? If that thought was from God, had I responded the right way?