Sisterchicks in Sombreros (3 page)

I studied the photos, wishing they showed more of the house and grounds and surrounding area. “By any chance do you remember the name of his groundskeeper?”

“No idea. I think it was a Mexican name. Is it hot in here to you?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Imagine! That Harlan of mine left you the beach house. One last trick up his sleeve. That man! No great surprise that he wanted the two of you to have the place. He knew I would never go there. I suppose it’s yours then. Just like that. No papers to sign?”

“Joanne and I have a lot of papers to sign. I asked your lawyer if he could have the bank in Mexico mail everything to us so that Joanne and I wouldn’t have to go down there. He’s checking into it.”

“Mail the papers? I should say not! Such important papers. Why would you want to do that? I for one certainly don’t care
to wait three more years for another letter written in Mexican. No one around here can read it!”

She rose from her Scoot-About and pointed her finger at me. “You must go! To Mexico. And I have the ticket.”

Aunt Winnie had spoken. She reached for her phone and began to make calls.

I didn’t arrive home until after five that evening. Ethan had strung the lights and the front of the house looked cheerful. He was in the garage when I pulled in, so we stood on the cold cement floor as I told him the whole story. The concluding shocker was that Aunt Winnie had decided not to go on her scheduled cruise to Mexico next week.

“She had the travel agent transfer the reservation out of her name and put Joanne and me as the passengers.”

“Your aunt isn’t going on the cruise at all?”

“No, she said it was her Christmas gift so that Joanne and I could go sign the papers at the bank in Mexico and enjoy a little luxury at the same time.”

“Wow.”

“I know. Wow. It’s just beginning to sink in.”

“What did her lawyer say about all this?”

“He came back over after the conference call and gave me some additional documents. He said it was a ‘smart, proactive expression’ for Joanne and me to go because we were bolstering Aunt Winnie’s confidence.”

“Confidence in what?”

“I think he meant her confidence in naming Joanne and
me as joint managers of her estate once she is gone. He said she is still ‘in process’ over that decision.”

“What was he saying? You’re going to be written out of her will if you don’t go?”

“I don’t know. The whole thing is bizarre. I can’t figure out why Uncle Harlan listed me as the primary beneficiary.”

“That’s easy. He liked you better than Joanne.”

“Maybe he thought I was the oldest. Although, it doesn’t really matter because the lawyer said Joanne and I both have to sign in front of a notary before the bank will release the rights on the deed. Once the paperwork is clear, we can sell the house and split the profit.”

Ethan leaned against the workbench. “What if you want to keep the house and the property?”

For the first time in that crazy, carousel-spinning afternoon, I stopped and let the possibility sink in. “I don’t know. What would we do with beachfront property in Mexico? We need the money more than we need a vacation spot we could never afford to go visit.”

“You don’t have to make that decision right away, do you? You’re just going down to Mexico to sign over the ownership, right?”

“Right.”

“If it turns out to be some great mansion on the best beach in Mexico, you and Joanne can decide then if you want to keep it.”

“Yes, that’s my understanding.” I kept my voice calm, but
inside I was beginning to grasp some of the thrilling possibilities I could detect in my husband’s eyes.

“What are you thinking, Ethan?”

He gave me a charming grin. “This is wild.”

“I know. It is.” I paused and added, “Is this all too crazy?”

“Too crazy for what? Too crazy for you or too crazy for your wacky aunt?”

“Too crazy for us. For me. For now.”

“No, it’s not too crazy. Besides, it didn’t sound like you had a lot of choice in the situation. Your aunt made the arrangements, right? You need to go. When do you leave?”

I reviewed the rushed schedule: fly to California on Monday, meet Joanne on the cruise ship, cruise to Mexico, go to the bank, sign a few papers, then cruise back to Los Angeles, and fly home on Thursday.

“Sounds like it’s a done deal,” he said.

I felt little shivers run up my arms. They weren’t chilly shivers caused by the cold garage floor. They were thrilly shivers. I was boarding a luxury liner headed to sombrero-land in two days!

“Are you and Joanne going to play shuffleboard and learn to tango or something?” Ethan asked.

“Tango?”

“Isn’t that what people do on cruises?”

I laughed. “I have no idea what people do on cruises.”

“Looks like you’re about to find out.”

We headed into the house with our arms around each
other. Ethan added as an afterthought, “Why don’t you bring back one of those Mexican blankets? The ones with the stripes.”

“Okay. Anything else?”

“Yeah, show me where you keep the pizza coupons. The delivery guy should be here any minute. Maybe I can place a standing order with him for all the days you’re going to be gone next week.”

I
was about to run
out the door on my way to the airport early Monday morning when Aunt Winnie called.

“Melanie, I want the fish back.”

I had to think a moment. “Are you talking about the fish you made Uncle Harlan take off the wall?”

“Yes, of course. What other fish is there? I want my Harlan’s fish to come home and keep me company.”

“Aunt Winnie, listen. When I get back from Mexico, I’ll help you figure out what to do about the fish.”

She started to cry. “Please, Melanie, promise me you’ll get the fish!”

“I have to go now, Aunt Winnie. I’ll see you in a few days. Everything will work out. Take it easy, okay?”

“Make sure they give you and Joanne extra towels. I always ask for extra towels.”

“I will. Thank you again for setting this up for us.” I sensed she was calming down. “Joanne and I really appreciate it.”

“It’s what my Harlan would have wanted. Oh, I miss him. I should have gone to Mexico with him when I had the chance. A person goes all through life thinking people will always be there, and then they disappear.”

“I know. It’s okay. I need to go now, Aunt Winnie.”

“Yes, yes. Order a dancing lady for me. Good-bye.”

I had no idea what her last statement meant, but I wasn’t about to pursue it.

“I’ll check on her while you’re gone,” Ethan said, as he backed the car out of the driveway. It was snowing lightly, and I wished we had left earlier for the airport.

“Thanks. I know I’m leaving you with a lot of loose ends.”

“Don’t worry about it. I can handle it. The girls will be fine. You need to relax. Contrary to whatever it is you’re telling yourself, it’s not your responsibility to keep the world spinning. You can take a couple of days off from running the universe, you know.”

True, I had jumped into pulling everything together for this trip at tornado speed, and in the flurry possibly I’d made too many lists and tried to organize too many fronts. It was also true that Ethan probably thought his comment about taking a break from running the universe was supposed to help me feel at ease about leaving, but it only made me mad. That’s how I left him at the airport, with one of those brick-wall kisses that don’t fool anyone.

The first thing I did when I landed in Los Angeles was to call Ethan and apologize.

“You know how I meant it,” he said. “I was trying to say I hope you enjoy the trip. Relax. Don’t worry about anything here. I have it covered.”

“Thanks, Ethan. I did sleep some on the plane, and I feel better.”

“Good. Now all you have to do is have fun and sign some papers.”

“I love you,” I said.

“I love you, too.”

I grabbed my suitcase at the luggage carousel and ventured outside in my long coat and boots, moving through the crowd with mock confidence, as if this were all an elaborate dream and I was playing the role of a jet-set actress who knew exactly where she was going and what she was supposed to do next.

The sun’s glare caused me to squint as I read the names on the sides of all the vans lined up at the center island. A couple in shorts were boarding the van marked “Fiesta Cruise Shuttle.” I hurried to get on with them. As soon as the three of us were settled in the last remaining seats, we pulled out of the airport and slowly made our way down the crowded freeway. I kept my head turned toward the window, watching for palm trees. A few popped up here and there, standing proud and solemn despite the congestion and the panorama of asphalt and concrete.

Letting out a deep breath, I began to believe I really was
here. I was going to Mexico. I pulled out the two photos Aunt Winnie had given me of Mexico and studied them some more. If the palm tree Uncle Harlan planted had survived, it would be over forty years old. I wondered how tall it was, and if he ever had used it to secure the end of a hammock.

The shuttle van pulled off the freeway, and I could see our cruise ship docked and waiting. As we drove closer, the ship seemed larger and larger. Stepping out of the van, I stood beside the others while a porter came along and tagged our baggage. In front of me the ship dominated the view. It was huge. Far up on the top deck I could see people leaning on the railing. They were so high up.

An unexpected queasiness came over me, squeezing my stomach and siphoning my breath. My courage had sprung a leak, and I was shocked to realize I was sinkingly terrified.

What am I doing here? I can’t do this. I can’t go on that ship. I can’t go to Mexico. I don’t belong here. I need to go home. Right now
.

Perspiration poured down my neck. It took every shred of nerve for me not to let out a shriek and run after the airport shuttle as it pulled away. I’d never had a reaction like that before in my life.

Calm down!
I commanded my racing heart.
What are you doing? Look, those people are boarding, and nothing terrible is happening to them. Relax!

“May I see your paperwork, ma’am?” the porter asked.

“I don’t have any paperwork.” My throat felt tight. The next sentence came out with a cough. “I was told to ask for Sven.”

The man stepped away to call Sven, and I tried to breathe in slowly through my nose and release the fear-tainted air through my mouth. What was I frightened of? The ship? That was ridiculous—even though it was a tremendously gigantic vessel.

The porter returned. “Sven will come meet you. He apologizes for not being on hand when you arrived. Is this your only piece of luggage?”

“Yes.” I realized that compared to the other travelers on the shuttle, I appeared to be as sparsely packed as a hobo. Stepping to the side, I watched all the other, non-freaked-out passengers with their smiles and eager expressions. They were wearing shorts and T-shirts, and I stood there in my winter coat and boots feeling like a Canadian goose who had flown too far south for the winter.

An older woman in a floppy hat laughed at something her husband said as he handed the porter a five-dollar bill. It struck me that I only had Canadian dollars. That small fact sent my thoughts on a different mental track. I started to plan how I would exchange money when I registered. Knowing that I had a task to fulfill somehow brought my blood pressure back to normal. Charting out my course of action provided a strange sort of comfort. The panic was gone.

“Ms. Holmquist,” a deep voice spoke beside me.

I turned and looked up at Sven, my aunt’s personal steward. Every time Aunt Winnie went on a cruise, she was assigned a staff person who made sure she was settled in with
what she needed. Aunt Winnie made it clear to the travel agent that Joanne and I were to receive the same first-class attention to which she was accustomed.

Sven handed me an envelope and let me know with his engaging accent that he would see to my luggage and walk me through the reservation process.

“Do you know if my sister has arrived yet?” I asked.

“Yes, she is in your stateroom. This way, please.”

I was relieved that Joanne was on board. Everything was falling into place. Neither of us missed our flight. Sven would help me with all the details Joanne and I hadn’t had time to figure out with our hasty departure. This was going to work out fine. I could do this.

“This card needs to be with you at all times,” Sven told me after I exchanged my money and was given my room key. It looked like a plastic credit card. “You will use it to charge expenditures to your room. Also, the time and specified dining room is printed on the card for your dinner reservations.”

We passed through another checkpoint where I slid my plastic card into a machine, looked straight ahead, and had my photo taken.

“I think I blinked,” I protested.

“Doesn’t matter,” the woman in the cruise uniform said. “It’s only for identification after you disembark in Ensenada.”

She sounded like a recording. I wondered how many thousands of digital photos she had taken of passengers during her career and how many had protested like me.