Laurie plucked her paper umbrella from her cup and tucked it behind her right ear. “So, where are you supposed to wear these to show that you’re taken?”
I held my tiny umbrella on the pinnacle of my blue, mountain belly. “Right here should work pretty good for me.”
“Oh yes, like it worked so swimmingly for you back there on the sailboat.”
“Catamaran,” I corrected her with an edge in my voice like the activities director who checked us in for the sail had used. “There is a difference.”
We laughed, and I felt a familiar sensation returning.
“I’ll be right back.” It was easy to roll out of the lounge chair and slip my feet into my wide sandals.
“I admire what you’re doing, Hope.”
“What, going to the bathroom every twenty minutes?”
“No. I think you’re amazing for being pregnant and still doing all this. Coming to Hawai’i, I mean. I thought you might change your mind about the trip. I would have understood if you had, but you didn’t back out, and I’m glad.”
“I’m glad, too.”
“I mean it, Hope. You are the bright, sheltering umbrella in the fruity slush of my life.”
I gave her an appreciative grin over my shoulder and took the shortest route to the lobby rest room. When I returned, Laurie was eating a sandwich.
“Do you want a bite of this? It’s really good.”
“What did you order?”
“It’s mahimahi with mango salsa in a veggie wrap.”
“And what is mahimahi?”
“Fish. White fish.”
“Is it cooked?”
“Of course it’s cooked.”
“I’m not sure Emilee would appreciate my trying sushi for the first time while she’s still onboard.”
“This is definitely cooked, and it’s really mild. Here, have a bite.”
After the first tiny bite, I was hooked. “That is so good.”
“I know. Here, have the other half.”
“You sure?”
“Yep. That way we’ll have room for dessert.”
Laurie looked past me and made a sweeping gesture. “It’s really beautiful here, isn’t it? Incredibly beautiful.”
“Yes, it is.”
“I didn’t think it would be like the postcards, but it is. I love those trees. Plumeria, aren’t they? They have such a great shape with their long, slender branches. And this sky is so blue. We rarely see it this blue at home.”
“Same with us.”
“We’re really in Hawai’i, aren’t we, Hope? We finally made it over here.”
“Yes, we are in Hawai’i. Finally. And it is beautiful here. It’s amazing what you start to notice as soon as you get a little pineapple in your system.”
“Pineapple, nothing. It’s this mango salsa.”
“Right, the mango salsa.”
“I have to take some pictures.” Laurie finished her half of the fish sandwich and reached for her camera. Handing me my little umbrella she said, “Here, pop this behind one of your ears.” Laurie always was big on props.
Since I was eager for her to use up that roll of film, I entered in willingly. “Which ear?”
“Either one. Doesn’t matter.”
I posed for her. “This will give us something to laugh about when we’re sixty, right? I mean, if I could go jogging in public wearing skimpy lime green shorts at twenty and laugh about it when I’m forty, then I can pose in a maternity bathing suit at forty, and we can laugh about it when we’re sixty.”
“We won’t laugh,” Laurie said. “We’ll say, ‘Hey, we looked pretty good back then. Better than we do now!’ ”
“Do you honestly think we’ll say that?”
Laurie put down the camera. “Yes, I do. We’ll wonder why we were so self-conscious about our bodies when they were being so nice to us.”
I was twisting the paper umbrella between my fingers, contemplating Laurie’s comment, when she snapped the first picture.
“Hey, I wasn’t ready.”
She snapped another one. “Just pretend I’m not here. Think of how you and I are entering the era of being comfortable. This is the time in our lives when we should focus on contentment rather than appearance.”
“Is that supposed to make me smile for the camera?”
Laurie kept talking with the camera in front of her face. “Gabe’s mom says the first twenty years are all about charm. From twenty to forty, it’s about beauty. Forty to sixty is the contentment season, and then sixty to eighty are the dignity years.”
“That’s profound.”
“Yes, it is. More of my over-forty sage insights. Now put the umbrella behind your ear and give me your best Honolulumama grin.”
From the profound to the fruity. I went for the left ear. “You know, I think you had a pair of earrings about this size our freshman year.”
“Careful,” Laurie said.
“They were bright yellow, weren’t they?”
“How can you remember that?” She lowered the camera. “They were bright yellow with black stripes. All bees in Santa Barbara thought I was their mother.”
I laughed, and she snapped another shot. Then a sound I’d been hoping for came to my ears. Laurie had hit the end of the roll, and the camera was automatically rewinding the film.
“We could see if the hotel has a one-hour developing service.”
“No, that’s okay, Hope. I prefer the service I use at home. I’ll send you copies.”
I knew then that my mission would be to snag that roll of film when Laurie wasn’t looking and find a way to have it developed here.
Laurie put away her camera while I ambled over to the pool to wet my feet. I stepped into the shallow end and went down the steps until the cool water was up to my knees.
My legs were still white. Winter wonderland white. The clear pool water seemed only to emphasize that disturbing fact.
Laurie joined me, sitting on the edge of the pool and dangling her legs in the water. “I think the tops of my feet got sunburned,” she said. “I always forget to put sunscreen on my feet. You look like you got some color on your face.”
“Really?” I instinctively touched my cheeks. “It’s probably my normal mama-glow instead of sun-glow. I seem to have no difficulty showing a little color in my face lately. It’s these white legs I was hoping to bronze up.”
Laurie’s legs already were warming up with a deep glow the color of Darjeeling tea with milk. The only warm tones that showed up in my skin were brown spotty freckles on my arms and legs.
“I have an idea,” Laurie said. “Let’s pop into the gift shop and buy some instant tan in a can for your legs.”
“You just want to see that guy we embarrassed at the counter last night.”
“Correction.” Laurie scooped up a handful of pool water and let it fall over her knees. “The guy you embarrassed trying to purchase every home pregnancy test on the island.”
“I don’t think I can go back in there if he’s working this afternoon. Poor kid.”
“Then I’ll go in,” Laurie said. “I’ll buy the tanner for you. Before you go home, your skin will be a gorgeous shade of happy cocoa beans. Everyone who comes into the Ladybug Tea and Cakes next week will say, ‘My, my, don’t you look tan! Where have you been?’ And you can brag your little heart out and say—”
“Yeah, I’ll say I went to Hawai’i, and my friend bought me a can of brown spray paint.”
“It’s not brown spray paint, Hope. It’s foam. Or gel. Or lotion, or something.”
“See? You don’t even know because you’ve never used it.”
“So? There’s nothing wrong with a little enhancement of our natural beauty. It’s mandatory if we’re going to experience contentment in this next season of life.”
“First you promise me a pedicure for my uncultured feet and now cocoa-bean legs. How could I possibly turn down such an offer?”
“You can’t. So don’t fight it.”
I wasn’t going to fight it. If Laurie left to go to the gift shop, I could grab the roll of film. But she didn’t go right then. Instead, she ordered more tropical beverages, and we started a little collection of paper umbrellas beside our lounge chairs at the pool.
Laurie’s theory about the forty-to-sixty season seemed to be working. We were both quite content.
When I look back on the decision to use the artificial tanner, I remind myself that even though Laurie initially had the idea, I did give my full consent.
An older woman was running the register by the time we entered the gift shop in the late afternoon. No blushing young man appeared on the premises. That was a big disappointment to Laurie.
Of the two types of skin-bronzing formula available, Laurie recommended the smaller, more expensive one. Budget-minded me went for the larger, less expensive one, even though Laurie offered to pay for it. I told her she could treat me later to an ice cream cone or something. I felt funny having her buy an item that came from the “personal needs” section.
With the instant suntan in hand, Laurie and I stopped by the concierge desk to sign up for a luau that evening. To our dismay, the luau we had agreed offered everything we wanted was booked up. Instead of settling on one of the other luaus, we decided to make our reservation for the next night. The concierge gave us a list of recommended beachfront restaurants within walking distance of our hotel, and we returned to our room to get ready for dinner.
“Are you thinking of taking a shower?” Laurie asked. “Because you should probably take it before you tan up your legs so you don’t wash it off too soon.”
“Good idea.”
I showered and thoroughly patted my legs dry before applying the heavily-scented lotion. It came out of the can in foam, and the little bubbles tingled as I smoothed them over my skin. I made sure to rub the color all the way up my legs so I wouldn’t have an artificial tan line to go along with my artificial tan. I even covered my feet and toes.
Then, because it seemed silly to have cocoa-brown legs while the rest of me remained white, I went for further coverage. Arms first. Then shoulders and neck. I guessed that any part of me that could be seen in a bathing suit should be the same color. I stretched my arms to reach the back of my shoulders and my upper back.
My face was the final territory to conquer. I applied the foamy lotion generously, as the slightly metallic fragrance filled the small, fogged-up bathroom. Task completed, I wiped my hands on the white hand towel, and a burnt orange smear appeared. Sticking the towel under cold water, I was relieved to see that the mark diminished. The hotel certainly must bleach all their towels, so it wouldn’t be a problem to lift out the final tinge. Nonetheless, I understood how my boys must feel when I lecture them about doing a better job with the soap and water before they dry their hands on the towel.
Laurie tapped on the bathroom door. “How’s it going?”
“Good. I’m finished, if you’re ready to get in here.” I slipped into my robe and opened the door.
Laurie looked me over. “How long is it supposed to take?”
“Do you mean I’m not an instant, happy cocoa-bean shade?” I checked my arm. “It looks a little rosy-toned, don’t you think?”
“It’s the lights in here. Not to mention all the red in the wallpaper. You can’t gauge true colors under these lights.”
I noticed that while I showered and “tanned,” Laurie had drawn the curtains to block the intense afternoon sun. The room was too dark to tell if the bronzing potion was working properly.
“Did you decide which restaurant we should go to?”
“Doesn’t matter to me.” Laurie responded.
“How about Beachcomber Bob’s?” I shook the wrinkles out of the one maternity dress I had brought with me. “That’s the one next door, right on the beach with the live music.”
“Okay.” Laurie headed for the shower, but I didn’t think she sounded too convinced Beachcomber Bob’s was the spot for us. I wondered if she was disappointed about not going to the luau since this was supposed to be her fancy birthday dinner. I decided I’d ask her about her preference again, once she was out of the bathroom. First, I had an important appointment with my personal salon specialist.
Stepping out on the lanai, I was immersed in sunlight. The evening breeze greeted me with a ruffled hello.
“Swims with dolphins,” I said to the wind, as if ordering up my favorite hairstyle by name. All I had to do was sit with my eyes closed and let the invisible fingers do their creative styling with my wet hair.
Basking in the comfort of the moment, I thought of the Hawaiian woman on the beach that morning. She said her song came from Psalm 104. I ducked back inside for my paperback copy of the Psalms and returned to the brilliantly-lit lanai to skim the chapter.
GOD, my God, how great you are!
beautifully, gloriously robed,
Dressed up in sunshine,
and all heaven stretched out for your tent.
You built your palace on the ocean deeps,
made a chariot out of clouds and took off on wind-wings.…
What a wildly wonderful world, GOD!
You made it all … the deep, wide sea,
brimming with fish past counting.…
Ships plow those waters.…
All the creatures look expectantly to you.…
You come, and they gather around.…
Send out your Spirit and they spring to life.…
Let GOD enjoy his creation!
Laurie stepped onto the lanai with a towel around her wet hair. “What are you reading?”
“That was fast,” I said, surprised.
“You learn to be fast in a house with two bathrooms and four women.”
“I was reading Psalm 104 in a contemporary version.”
“Is that the ‘garlands of hosannas’ verse?”
“No, this is the chapter that the woman on the beach this morning said she was singing. Listen to this.” I read Laurie the parts I had just skimmed.
As I finished, she said, “Hope, I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry? Why? This is beautiful. I wish I’d known what she was saying in Hawaiian when she was singing this.”
“I’m sorry because I made fun of you this morning, when you said you thought she was an angel.”
“It was the way the light was coming through her white hair,” I explained.
“I know, but I thought she was some crazy, Mother-Earth-hugger type of woman when you said she was singing to the ocean.”
“No, she was definitely worshiping God. The right God. The only God. You could just tell.”
“Read that last line again.”
“ ‘Let GOD enjoy his creation.’ ”
Laurie slowly brushed her hair. “Do you suppose God enjoys us? I mean, I know He loves us and provides for us, but do you think He enjoys us as His artistic creation?”
“I’m sure of it.”
“I never considered that before.” Laurie lowered her head in quiet contemplation. “It seems that the artwork—the creation—that an artist enjoys are those pieces that mean something personally to him. At least that’s how it is with the photographs I enjoy the most. I know it’s the same with Gabe. I just never thought of God as enjoying His creation or having parts of it that mean something to Him personally.”
“Like us,” I added. “Humans seem to be the object of His affection.”
“I like that. The object of His affection.” Laurie looked out at the ocean. “Would you mind if we didn’t go out to any of the touristy restaurants for dinner tonight?”
“No. Whatever you want. You’re the birthday girl.”
“I’d like to eat dinner right here, just the two of us, with God’s huge stage in front of us providing the dinner show.”
We ordered a scrumptious dinner complete with coconut cream pie instead of birthday cake. Laurie started a new roll of film and used her remote clicker so she could take shots of both of us while we ate on the lanai, all d
ressed up, barefoot and wearing our orchid leis looped twice around our heads like birthday crowns.
“Tell me about your new house,” I said, as we started in on the pie.
“Potential new house,” Laurie corrected me. “It’s only a few years old. Something like five thousand square feet.”
“Five thousand?”
“I know. It’s huge. That’s the crazy part. It has four bathrooms. Well, actually, three full baths and a downstairs half bath. Here we spent all those years in a house with two bathrooms, and now that the girls are gone, we’re thinking of moving into a mansion.”
“Is it a mansion?” I asked. “I mean, would you consider it a mansion?”
“I would, but I don’t know if any of the neighbors would. This particular house is small compared to the rest in the area we’re looking at. It’s on the east side of the bay and has some acreage.”
“Do you like the house?”
Laurie’s mouth twitched back and forth, as if she were swishing her answer around before spitting it out. “Not really. It’s a gorgeous house, and I agree with Gabe that the price is great and the potential is all there. I just don’t want to move.”
“I can see why that would be hard. You’ve been in the same house since the day you guys were married. A lot of life is wrapped up in that home.”
“Not to mention all the family we have in the immediate area. You know, the more I think about it, Hope, the more resistant I am to moving anywhere. If we were going to make such an upheaval in our lives, we should have done it years ago. Not now. We’re too busy to move.”
“Even with the girls out of the house?”
“Especially now that the girls are out of the house. And that’s another thing.” Laurie put down her fork. Her face was turning as red as the wallpaper. “If we were going to move, why didn’t we move years ago, when we had three daughters who all wanted their own rooms, not to mention their own bathrooms?”
“No money?” I suggested flippantly.
“Oh, that’s right,” Laurie said, playing along. “I keep forgetting.”
“Do you really? I mean, does it seem as if your life has always been what it is now?”
“Sometimes. I miss the way everything was simple back when we were first married. We had so little money it meant our options were few. Now it seems all we do is have meetings with people who tell us what to do with the money that keeps coming in.” Laurie gave a funny little sigh. “I’d complain, but who would feel sorry for me?”