Notes from a Spinning Planet—Mexico (12 page)

But Francesca doesn't want to intrude. She says it would be too much of an imposition. So I beg her, telling her that I need to practice my Spanish and that I want to get to know her better. By the time we pull up in front of a very shabby-looking little house, she agrees to come.

“But I will come and meet you at your hotel,” she says, switching back to English, probably for Sid's sake. “You will not have to come get me. I can ride the transport.”

“Okay,” says Sid. “We plan to leave around ten.”

“You are certain you want me to join you?” she asks as she gets out of the car.

“Yes!” I say eagerly.

“Si,” says Sid. “Very much.”

Francesca smiles. “Thank you!”

“See you at ten.”

We watch as she walks up the dirt path to the tiny house. The walls of the house look so flimsy, almost like heavy cardboard. I'm surprised a stiff breeze doesn't blow the thing down.

“Didn't she say nine people live there?” I say to Sid.

“Something like that.” Sid looks behind her as she backs out of the narrow, dirt driveway.

“Do you think it's her parents and siblings?” I stare at the house, which looks to be smaller than a single-wide mobile home, probably about the size of my parents’ living room.

“Even if the other kids are small, they must be stacked like sardines.”

“And they probably share one bathroom.” I try to imagine nine people waiting in line to use the bathroom.

“You would never guess that Francesca lives in these conditions just by looking at her, would you?” says Sid as we travel back toward Casa del Sol.

“I know what you mean,” I say. “She always looks neat and clean, so pretty and fresh in her pressed shirts. I wonder how she manages, living in a place like that.”

“She probably works just as hard at home as at work. Sometimes I think we Americans forget how easy we have it.”

“I know…we really do have it pretty good.”

We're reminded again of how good we have it once we're back in Shelby's suite. I'm sure these are the fanciest hotel accommodations I've ever had.

“Welcome home,” Shelby says as we go into the kitchen. She's holding up a blender pitcher of something frosty. “I made margaritas to celebrate my new roommates.”

“Oh, none for me,” says Sid. “I think I'm at my limit.”

“Not even a teeny one after all the work I went to?” Shelby frowns. “I even squeezed the limes myself.”

Sid seems to consider this. “Okay, just a teeny-weeny one.”

Shelby smiles. “And a teeny-weeny one for Maddie too?”

“Sure,” I tell her, thinking I can always pour it out. No need to be inhospitable, especially after she went to so much trouble.

“How about if we get into our jammies too,” says Sid. “We can pretend we're having a slumber party.”

“Yes!” says Shelby “That's perfect.”

So Sid and I quickly change into our comfortable, albeit much less glamorous, sleepwear and rejoin her. Then I pretend to sip on my margarita and listen as mostly Sid and Shelby chat. Sid is great at pulling information from people—probably because she's a journalist. I should be taking notes. She learns that, one, Shelbys parents are very wealthy but don't get along too well; two, Shelby is one of two children, but her older brother is estranged from the family; and, three, Shelby doesn't know what she wants to major in yet.

I'm guessing by the stack of thick, glossy fashion mags and tidbits of conversation that Shelby wants to major in something to do with fashion and money. Or maybe it's just a Southern California thing. Trying not to draw attention to myself, I slip over to the sink and pour out the remainder of my drink. Then I tell them I can barely keep my eyes open and I'm going to hit the hay.

“Buenas noches,” I call over my shoulder as I head to the bedroom Sid and I will share. It has two beds, and I have to agree with Sid, the sheets do feel heavenly. Not only that, but the mattress is extremely comfortable. Maybe I wouldn't pick Shelby for a regular roommate, but I cannot complain about her place.

I wake up earlier than Sid, and after taking a quick shower, I tiptoe into the living area and kitchen, where all is quiet. I suspect Shelby's sleeping in as well. I'm happy to have this luxurious place to myself. I
quietly clean up Shelbys mess from last night s margaritas, wiping the sticky spills from the sleek granite countertops and putting the glasses into the dishwasher. I'm surprised to find the blender pitcher is nearly empty, but perhaps those two stayed up late and had more. I sure hope no one has a hangover this morning. After the kitchen is back in order, I decide to make coffee.

As I stand here watching it drip, it occurs to me that this is a very nice kitchen, especially for a hotel, where I doubt it gets much serious use. I feel sort of bad to think it's actually a lot better than the kitchen my mom has, and yet she really uses it every day.

I pour myself a cup of coffee, then straighten up the pretty living area too, stacking magazines neatly, fluffing pillows, and setting Shelbys expensive-looking aqua blue sandals by her door. The heels are so high I wonder how she manages to walk in them. Maybe that's why she had so much trouble standing in the bus last night. No wonder she was holding on to Ryan so tightly. Or not.

As I go over to open the drapes, I try to dismiss those troubling thoughts. This is easily done when I see the beautiful view. I open the door and step out onto the veranda, taking in a deep breath of fresh air. The Sea of Cortez seems to be greeting me in all its morning glory today. The varying jewel-tone shades of brilliant blue glistening in the sun are stunning. I stand for a long moment, just sipping my coffee and drinking this all in until I can no longer decline the invitation. I slip on my flip-flops, quietly step outside, and walk down toward the beach.

The morning air is fresh and clear. Already it's starting to get warm, but not uncomfortable. I compare this climate to the tropics
in Papua New Guinea where the heat seemed to soak right into your skin. This is drier and, as a result, feels less intrusive, if that makes any sense. I think I like it better. It'seems cleaner. If I ever choose to live in a warm place, which I probably never will, I think I'd prefer Mexico to anywhere else I've been. Even Hawaii.

The pools and beach are quiet and serene. All the decks look scrubbed clean, and the chaise lounges are lined up perfectly, their white cotton pads looking clean and bright in the sun. Everything is in its place—ready for another busy day. It's obvious this resort is well maintained, and once again I wish Francesca could find a job here. I hate that she seems stuck in that horrible Playa del Monaco.

Instead of obsessing over this, I decide to pray for her as I walk on the beach. Then I pray for our day ahead. I ask God to give us safe travels and an enjoyable time. I ask him to help me with my attitude toward Shelby and Ryan. And I remind myself, again, that I really have no claim to Ryan. Other than friendship, that is. If I'm smart, I'll preserve that.

I don't walk too far. Although it feels perfectly safe, I'm aware I'm alone, and I know I shouldn't push things.

It's about nine fifteen by the time I venture back to our room, and it seems that at least Sid is up since her bed is empty and I hear the shower going.

“Coffee,” she says happily when she comes out in her robe. “Bless you!

“Are you feeling okay?” I ask.

“Yeah, I feel great. Why?”

I shrug. “Nothing.” I don't want to mention the empty blender pitcher.

“Are you feeling okay?” she asks.

“I feel fantastic,” I tell her.

She frowns just slightly, then lowers her voice. “You seem to be handling this thing with Ryan and Shelby well. Are you okay with how it's going?”

I smile. “Ryan is my good friend,” I say. “I'm cool.”

She gives me a little hug. “Good for you.”

Then she goes to get dressed. But even after she comes out, we still haven't heard a word from Shelby. “Do you think we should wake her?” I ask as Sid and I eat a light breakfast of juice and toast.

Sid glances at her watch. “Maybe.” Then she offers to do the deed while I put away our breakfast things. I catch myself wishing Shelby has changed her mind about going with us today. But no such luck.

“Oh, I must've slept in,” Shelby says as she comes in and pours herself a cup of coffee, slopping part of it on the counter. “Let me grab a shower, and I'll be ready to go.”

She disappears back into her room, and Sid and I sit down to wait. But it's already ten, and I remember that Francesca is meeting us here. “I better go see if I can find her,” I tell Sid.

“I'll wait here for Shelby,” she says. “Tell the guys we'll be along shortly.”

So I grab my straw cowboy hat and head outside and walk around the parking lot until I spot Francesca sitting on a stone bench in one of the pretty garden areas. I can tell she's not all that comfortable
being here, although I'm not sure why, but I go straight to her and apologize for being late. Soon the guys join us. I introduce her and explain that Sid and Shelby will be along shortly

Ian has a couple of maps, which he shows us, but the route looks pretty straightforward. Basically you just head north and stay on the main highway.

“Ian said it's okay for me to drive the Jeep,” says Ryan. “That way he can ride with Sid.”

“But I thought you had to be twenty-three or something,” I say.

“We're all right,” says Ian. “The rental agency we used only required the driver to be twenty-one, and we signed Ryan up.”

“I promised to drive carefully,” says Ryan with a wink. “No speeding or driving on the wrong side of the road like they do in Ireland.”

“You'll probably do a better job of it than me,” says Ian, “what with that staying on the right side of the road business.”

“You girls want to ride with me?” Ryan asks Francesca and me.

“I guess so,” I say. Now I'm thinking this is a nice little twist. But I'm also thinking the backseat might be a little crowded. Still, if there are only three of us, it might not be so bad. And I'm guessing Francesca will be more comfortable in back, which means I can sit up front with Ryan. Okay, I guess I'm still hoping Shelby won't make it.

But that's not the case. It's nearly ten thirty by the time Sid and Shelby join us. Shelby, as usual, looks totally great. She has on a very short pair of khaki shorts and a tight-fitting orange tank top that shows off her midruf. If she has a hangover, she sure knows how to hide it. I introduce her to Francesca, whom Shelby seems to eye with a bit of suspicion—perhaps because Francesca's so pretty or perhaps
because she's not dressed very fashionably in her simple denim skirt and plain white blouse. But I think Francesca and I look like we go together. I'm wearing baggy denim shorts and a white T-shirt.

Naturally, Shelby wants to ride in the Jeep with us. “This looks like fun,” she says. “Are we taking the top down?”

“You might want that shade,” warns Ian. “I suspect it will get pretty hot out in the desert where we're going.”

“Oh.” Then she opens the front door and pops the front seat forward to expose a narrow backseat. “Should we flip to see who's riding shotgun?” she asks me.

“No,” I tell her, stepping into the back. “That's okay. Francesca and I will ride back here.” Francesca climbs in behind me and seems relieved.

“All right,” calls Ian. “I'll lead the way. You stay with me, Ryan.”

“Aye aye, Captain,” calls Ryan as he adjusts his sunglasses and then pulls a straw cowboy hat from the back of the Jeep.

“Hey, what's up with the cowboy hats?” asks Shelby. “Did I miss the memo?”

Ryan chuckles. “Great minds, ya know?”

It's a pretty small thing, but I feel good that we're both wearing cowboy hats. “I live on a farm,” I tell Shelby as Ryan starts the Jeep. “This is just standard farmer attire on a sunny day.”

“I'm just a cowboy wannabe,” says Ryan as he takes off behind Ian and Sid.

I yell a little
Yahoo!
inside me. It's not like this has suddenly become my dream date or anything. But I suppose things could be worse. Besides, didn't I give this whole thing up to God anyway?

rancesca helps me practice my Spanish as we ride up the highway. It'seems we're barely out of town when all signs of population disappear. It's like we're out in the middle of a desert now. But you can still see the Pacific Ocean off to the left. I ask Francesca questions about her family and am surprised to learn that she has lived most of her life as an orphan. Speaking slowly in Spanish, she tells me that her father abandoned their family when she was about seven years old. Her mother worked as a maid to support Francesca and her two younger sisters, but when Francesca was nine, her mother was hit by a car and killed. After that, she and her sisters lived in an orphanage in La Paz. The home is run by an elderly American couple who insist all the children speak English, which explains her good grasp of the language. It is this couple who helped her find work and housing.