Penny gave her answer with such feeling, it sounded as if it were a line from a play. A line she had practiced enough to deliver it on cue with finesse.
“Well, it’s a good thing we came now because Marketta might not have been around if we waited until all our kids graduated from high school.”
“Exactly. And who’s to say that both of us will still be around eight or ten years from now?”
“We will be,” I said confidently.
Penny grew quiet. She stretched out on top of her bed and lay still with her head on her arm. “You’re changing, Sharon.”
“I am? Why do you say that? How am I changing?”
“Subtle little ways. You’re becoming more sure of yourself, and that’s making you daring and courageous.”
“You mean like buying blue underwear?”
“Yes, that and other things like the way you stuck with this trip even though Ben broke his wrist. You used to be more passive.”
“More of a martyr? Is that what you’re saying?”
“No, I don’t think you ever played the role of Suffering Sue. You spent years graciously stepping back and putting your personal preferences on hold so you could accommodate others. Now you’re getting more adventuresome. I think it’s a good thing.”
“Thanks to you and this trip. If you hadn’t invited me to come with you, I wouldn’t be more adventuresome. I’m sure I haven’t said it enough yet, but thank you, my friend.”
“You are welcome, my friend. You know what else I think?” Penny sat up and looked directly at me, as if she were bestowing a blessing. “I think the second half of your life will be much fuller than the first half.”
I thought of Penny’s earlier admonition for me to drop my bucket deep into the well of unexplored possibilities and to clothe myself with strength and dignity. Somehow that image linked in my mind with the stained glass picture of Christ’s disciples casting their nets on the other side of the boat.
“What was it you said the other day, Penny, about our lives being full of shimmering bits of glory? I’m sure the second half of life will be rich for both of us.” I was saying this to a woman who had lived a whole lot of life before she even turned twenty. Even so, I believed the future would be bright for the two of us.
Penny sighed, as if she were contemplating my comment. She didn’t respond.
“Can’t you see us on our return trip to Helsinki when we’re eighty?” I painted a picture of a couple of white-haired, feisty chicks in white tennis shoes. “Of course, by then you and I will be wearing hot pink underwear with sparkles because, you know, we’ll need all the help we can get in the glamour department.”
Penny didn’t laugh the way she had at dinner.
“Hey, I thought my joke was pretty funny.”
“It was.”
“Penny, what’s going on with you? Turn this way. I want to see your eyebrows.”
“You don’t need to see my eyebrows. I’m not hiding some surprise up my sleeve. It’s just that …”
“What?”
“I’m forty-six, Sharon.”
“I know,” I said sympathetically. I flashed back to the night of Kaylee’s concert when I realized I was fully forty-one. “Reality hits pretty hard every now and then, doesn’t it?”
Penny sat up straight and with precise words said, “My mother was forty-six years old when her heart suddenly stopped on an otherwise uneventful afternoon.”
We sat for a moment in shared contemplation.
“You’re healthy and strong and very much alive, Penny. I don’t think you should assume that your heart will suddenly stop just because you’re forty-six.”
“Of course you don’t think I should assume that. All your close relatives are still living. Your genetic disposition is full of promises of longevity.”
I thought about my husband, our children, Jeff’s extended family, my extended family, and suddenly I realized how rich I was in people. Penny was right. All of them were still alive. All of them were in my daily life. I never had considered how Penny’s not being connected to any blood relatives could create a hole within her heart.
We talked deep into the night in our extravagantly comfortable hotel room. Penny suggested we pray together.
I fell asleep in the middle of her prayer. My dreams floated right on the surface of my sleep, like water lilies on a pond. The floating dreams were of Marketta. I pictured her as a round, cheerful woman just like Mrs. Coates, my fourth grade teacher, who used to call me “Little Lamb” and put gold stars on all my homework papers.
The Aunt Marketta of my dream lived in a gingerbread cottage and offered sweets to us. Penny was popping the candies into her mouth while I hid mine in my pocket because I thought I needed to leave a trail so we could find our way home.
I don’t usually remember my dreams, but that one was so close to the surface and so vivid that I woke the next morning feeling as if this hotel room and my adventure with Penny were my real life. Jeff and the kids seemed like a pleasant memory from another time and another place.
While Penny took a shower, I tried to call my family but only got the answering machine. I waited for the beep and said, “Hi. It’s Mom. Everything is fine. Actually, it’s great. We found Penny’s aunt, and we’re going to meet her today. I love you guys. Bye.”
Hanging up, I realized I hadn’t said, “I miss you.”
Do I miss them?
No, I decided that at that moment, I honestly didn’t miss them. Not right then, at least. And I didn’t feel guilty about not missing them, either. I couldn’t remember ever feeling this way. I knew the homesickness with its spiny twinges of responsibility would return eventually, but for now I was a free woman.
Just then the phone beside me rang, and I jumped like a guilty cat. Perhaps I wasn’t as unencumbered as I thought I was.
Ten
A woman’s voice on the other end of the phone asked, “Is this Penny?”
“No, this is Sharon.”
“I am Marketta, Penny’s aunt.”
“Marketta, hello! Penny is excited about meeting you today.”
“This is why I called. Do you know what time you will be coming?”
I told her we had a bus schedule and had talked about arriving in the early afternoon, if that was convenient for her.
“Yes, that is good. And when will you be leaving?”
“I’m not sure. Before dinner, probably.”
Marketta didn’t respond. Did I say the wrong thing?
“I mean for you to stay with me for all the days of your visit. Not just the afternoon. Is that not your plan?”
“We don’t have much of a plan,” I answered plainly and then cringed at my honesty.
“You must stay with me. I have been making my home ready. Please tell Penny I say you must do this. You must stay with me.”
“Okay.”
Just then someone from room service knocked on the door with the breakfast Penny had ordered.
“I’ll tell Penny. We’ll come to your home early this afternoon.”
“With your suitcases!” Marketta said firmly before hanging up.
Well, at least with Penny’s suitcases, I thought as I opened the door and motioned for the young woman to bring in our coffee and croissants. She nodded and left the tray on top of the desk.
“Is the food here?” Penny opened the bathroom door, and a cloud of fragrant steam followed her out.
“Right here. And guess what? Your aunt just called, and she expects us to stay at her house. She said she’s been making arrangements.”
Penny stood still. The thick hotel towel wobbled slightly in its twisted turban on top of her head. “She wants us to stay with her?”
“Yes. I couldn’t say no very graciously.”
“Why would you say no?”
“I didn’t know if you wanted to stay with her.”
Penny sat down and blew her nose. “Of course I want to stay with her. I want to wrap her up and put her in my pocket so
I can have my very own relative for the rest of my life.”
“She’s expecting us early this afternoon.”
“Perfect. Do you have any sinus medication in your purse? I think I’m getting a cold.”
“Yes. Help yourself. The white ones in the plastic bag are the nondrowsy sinus pills.”
The phone rang. Penny reached for it and listened. She interjected a few words like, “Oh … Uh-huh … Okay … What?” Then she burst out laughing. “Yes, yes. I got it.” She jotted down a few notes. “Thanks. Bye.”
“Who was that? Marketta?”
“No.” Penny sat down and laughed. “Are you ready for this?”
“I don’t know. Am I?”
“That was baggage claim.”
My heart sank. If Penny was laughing so hard, the news couldn’t be good.
“Did they find my suitcase?”
“Sort of. You know how they print out the tags with three letters for the airport?”
“Yes?”
“Well,” Penny laughed another twenty seconds before finishing her sentence. “Your suitcase tag was apparently printed with H-E-K.”
“Penny! Where is H-E-K?”
“China!”
I stared at her.
“Your clothes took a trip without you! They went to China all by themselves.” Penny rolled over on the bed laughing.
“Where in China?”
Penny drew in a quick breath. “I wrote it down. It’s some place called Heihe, China!”
I didn’t think it was funny at all.
For the first time in my life, I wanted to tell Penny to shut up. However, being such a politely repressed best friend, I said nothing. I stood there, arms folded across the front of me, scowling like a crow.
Penny noticed my stance. She held up her hands and pulled back her laughter. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t laugh. It’s not funny.” Then she motioned that she was zipping her lips.
I marched over to the breakfast tray, breathing deeply. With a knife in my clenched hand, I tore into my croissant as if it were a chicken I was deboning.
“Did they say anything else? Like when I’ll get it back?”
“Apparently it’s not easy to get luggage out of customs once it’s in China.”
“Ever?”
Penny shook her head. “I’m sorry, Sharon. It doesn’t look as if you’ll get your luggage back. The guy on the phone said they were going to file the claim for you. The reimbursement will go to your home address within a month.”
I took a swig of coffee and returned the cup to the saucer with a clatter. “Did they say how my suitcase got there?”
“A typo?” Penny suggested.
“I can’t believe this.”
I pictured the wife of some Chinese customs officer trying on my clothes. Certainly she would rage that the next time her husband brought home some loot, it better be of more value than the items in my worthless suitcase.
“Okay.” I allowed the slightest grin of irony to pull at the corners of my mouth. “I’m not going to let it bother me. I’ll need to go back to the department store to buy a few things before we leave for Marketta’s. Do you think we have time to do that this morning?”
“Sure,” Penny said. “Do you need anything else?”
“A few cosmetics, and I guess I’ll need a suitcase of some sort.”
“Perfect. Onward we go! Are you going to take a shower?”
“Why? Does your bionic nose tell you I need one?”
“No, my bionic nose is out of order,” Penny said with an exaggerated sniff.
I showered, Penny packed, and we checked out of the hotel before ten. Our departure was much less memorable than our arrival. The same was true of our shopping trip. I knew what I wanted and made quick decisions, putting everything on the credit card that I had brought along for emergencies. My decisions were a lot less painful than making purchases at home because I hadn’t figured out the exchange rate, so I had no idea how much I was spending. Plus, I figured the airline would compensate me.
We caught the 1:05 bus to Porvoo. Penny was sneezing like crazy. One of our purchases when we bought my cosmetics was a box of tissues.
“I never took those cold pills this morning,” she said once we were settled on the bus. “Mind if I fish them out of your purse?”
“Help yourself.” I handed Penny my shoulder bag while I searched through my shopping bag for a pair of socks. I liked the new clothes I’d purchased. I liked my new underwear, even though I hadn’t admitted that to Penny yet. I especially liked traveling light. I was amazed that I needed much less than I thought I did to function every day. Warmth was the key, and my new socks were a fuzzy dream come true.
Penny slept on the hour-long bus ride with her chin tucked to her chest, her head bobbing as we rolled down a smooth, modern highway. Tall evergreens and winter-bare birch trees shivered as we passed, sprinkling occasional flecks of snow left from the last storm. The afternoon sunlight spread a transparent picnic blanket over the passengers on the other side of the bus. All was leisurely and felt strangely familiar.
I decided that was because of the birch trees. We had eight birches in our backyard that were at least thirty years old. I knew what birch looked like in every season. I imagined this stretch of road was enchanting in late summer, when these ancient birch trees rustled their leaves in wild applause for the dancing breezes.
We pulled into a full parking lot next to a small bus station. I noticed that the cars were all plugged in. A cord ran from under the hood of every car to a box on a pole, like a parking meter. The sight made me think of the old Riverside Drive-In Movie Theater we went to when I was a child. Every car at the drive-in pulled a sound box on a cord to the partially rolled-down window. Here, the cords went under the hood instead of onto the window.
“I wonder if all the cars are plugged in to keep their engines warm.” I nudged Penny.
She kept sleeping.
“Hey, this is our stop,” I told her. “Wake up, sleepyhead. We need to get off now.”
Penny didn’t budge.
I froze. A terrifying bolt of emotional lightning coursed through my body.
“Penny? Penny, wake up.” I shook her. “Penny!”
“What?” She lifted her head slightly and gave me a snarling glare.
My hand thumped against my chest and covered my heart as if I were about to pledge allegiance. “You scared the patochy out of me.”
“What’s wrong?” She moistened her lips and looked up, squinting.
“We’re here. You fell asleep, and we’re at our bus stop. We’re in Porvoo.”
“Oh.” Penny tried to stand up and had to grab for the seat in front of her. “I went under, didn’t I?”
“Come on. The driver is waiting for us to get off.”
I had to steady Penny as she shuffled down the aisle. As soon as we were outside in the biting air, waiting for our luggage to be removed from the bus’s underbelly, Penny shook her head, breathed deeply, and said, “Okay. Which way? Do you see any taxis?”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. A little tired. Come on, let’s grab our bags and get out of this cold air. I don’t think it’s doing my sinuses any good.”
We had to ask someone in the station to help us call a taxi. Fortunately, the driver spoke English, like everyone else we had met. Being limited to only one language was humbling.
Penny fell asleep on our ten-minute drive to Marketta’s. The narrow streets were slick in some spots with ice, which kept our speed down. The houses were charming, lined up next to each other side by side like turn of the century town houses. Lace curtains covered thick-paned windows. Some of the slender front doors were painted deep shades of blue or burgundy.
It started to snow as the taxi pulled up in front of a tall, nondescript beige building that looked like an apartment complex but larger than anything we had in Chinook Springs.
“This is it, Penny. We’re here. We’re at Marketta’s.”
&
nbsp; “Okay, okay.” She shook her head and opened the taxi door as if she welcomed the cold blast. “How much do we owe you?” Penny paid the driver while I wrestled our luggage to the covered entry of the apartment complex.
We pushed the intercom buzzer and entered the number of Marketta’s apartment. Marketta’s expectant voice echoed back, “Penny? Is that Penny?”
“Yes, Penny and Sharon.”
“Good. Come!”
A buzz and click caused the front door to open, and we gladly entered the silent, warm building.
“Where’s the elevator?” Penny put down her heavy bags and looked around. “No elevator? Only stairs?”
I hoisted my new, light travel bag over my shoulder and reached for one of Penny’s. “Come on. This is why we took all those morning walks. We can do this.”
Up we went, thighs burning, lungs aching, shoulders spasming. Up to the seventh floor. I thought for sure I was going to pass out.
We dropped our bags by Marketta’s door. I leaned against the wall, catching my breath while Penny dabbed her forehead and flushed cheeks with a tissue. Then she blew her nose. “Go ahead,” she said, motioning to me. “Knock on the door.”
“No, you knock.”
I can’t explain why I said that or what I was feeling at that moment. Yes, I was a little timid about being in unfamiliar territory. But more than that, I felt as if this was Penny’s trip. Her aunt. This was her door to knock on. I didn’t want to take any of it away from her. She was the trailblazer. I was the one who always followed.
Penny gave me a peculiar look, half upset, half confused. Her eyelids fluttered and she said, “I feel …”
Before I could grab her, Penny swooned into a limp puddle on top of the luggage.
Eleven
The door to Marketta’s apartment opened. A solid woman in her early seventies with short, straight, silver gray hair peered at us in astonishment.
I went down on one knee and was patting Penny’s face. “Breathe, Penny! Open your eyes! Breathe! She just passed out,” I explained. “The stairs …”
Marketta grabbed Penny under her arms and single-handedly hoisted her off the luggage. “Penny?”