Sisterchicks in Sombreros (7 page)

I was having a hard time moving past the thought that these people were putting snails in their mouths, biting into them, and swallowing. Joanne forked one of the tidbits and gave me a sly eyebrows-up glance before putting the bite in her mouth. I watched her carefully.

“Superb,” she said with calm sophistication.

Superb! Ha!
I doubted she had ever tried escargot before or had anything to compare it with. I also didn’t particularly enjoy watching her enter into a new experience before me.

Not to be outclassed, I reached for a small fork, knowing that if I didn’t take the challenge, this crazy power balance between us would forever be tipped in Joanne’s favor. I had to eat the snail. I mean, escargot.

Drawing the fork to my mouth, I placed the rubbery morsel on top of my molars instead of on my tongue to avoid contact with my taste buds. With two quick, sufficient chews I swallowed. The garlic taste overpowered my senses. With a polite nod to the observing dinner guests, I borrowed Joanne’s word. “Superb.”

Joanne laughed at me. It was a soft, tender, sisterly laugh and not meant to embarrass or demean.

Two minutes later I excused myself from the table. Trying to walk slowly and appear calm, I made my way to the little girl’s room. Apparently snails don’t enjoy being the only visitor in a stomach that, aside from some pulverized airline peanuts, a smuggled chocolate truffle, and antihive medication, had been vacant since breakfast.

I took the long way back to our table, making sure my stomach was settled. The salad I’d ordered was waiting for me. Poached pear with caramelized walnuts. Thankfully Joanne didn’t begin a medical interrogation. She was in the middle of a conversation with Robert, and as I listened in, I ascertained he was in real estate and knew a few things about land ownership in Mexico.

“The bank in Mexico still holds the trust for our property,” Joanne said.

That’s when I knew that in my absence she had disclosed to our dinner guests that we were owners of beachfront property in Mexico. I wondered how her announcement had gone over.

Robert nodded. “Mexican banks hold 100 percent of the control of all coastal and border lands purchased by foreign investors. Make sure you check your dates on your documents. Most trusts only run for fifty years, but the government is obligated to issue a new permit for another fifty years no matter how much time remains on the original trust.”

“That’s good to know,” Joanne said.

“I shouldn’t have gotten him started on real estate.” Marti leaned over and gave the appearance she was confiding in Joanne and me. “I should know by now to avoid the topics of real estate and golf if I want to stay in the conversation.”

The couple across from us talked about water skiing, and Marti clicked out of the conversation altogether. I felt equally disconnected. What amazed me was how my sister came across so warmly responsive to these people she just met. She appeared comfortable with any topic and any combination of table companions.

I felt ready to have Joanne all to myself after dinner. The first thing she asked, once we were away from everyone else, was if I felt okay. I filled her in on the details.

“Do you think the ship’s movement set you off? We could see about getting you a seasickness patch to put behind your ear.”

“No, it was the snail. I didn’t have lunch, remember? But
let’s not talk about the appetizers. The rest of dinner was great. I’m fine now.”

“This hasn’t been a very enjoyable trip for you so far, has it? First the hives and then the nausea.”

“I hope that means everything can only get better.”

“It will,” Joanne said confidently.

“You know what’s strange?” I asked. “All this pampering and fancy food is supposed to be a luxury. We’re supposed to experience a taste of how the other half lives, but to be honest, I’m not impressed yet.”

“This isn’t exactly how the other half lives. Do you know how many millions of people live with barely enough clothing and food to make it through each day?”

I regretted starting my sister on this topic. She was passionate about how clueless people were regarding the conditions the rest of the world lived in. “If even a fraction of the comfortable people in the western world would share just the smallest percentage of their wealth with the rest of the world, so much could be changed,” Joanne said. “I told Sandy I didn’t think I’d be able to relax and enjoy all this lavishness, but she scolded me and said I needed to be thankful that this cruise had been given to me and to learn to receive graciously.”

“It is a gift,” I agreed. “I haven’t been very grateful yet, either. I think it’s hard to receive sometimes when you’re used to being the one who does the giving.”

Joanne nodded.

We strolled side by side in silence through the lobby area
and decided to check out the photo gallery on the lower level. The pirate photos weren’t posted yet, but the picture of the two of us in sombreros was adorable—not because we looked so great in goofy, oversize straw hats, but because we looked like us. And we looked young and happy even with our silly pose. Without hesitating, we each ordered a copy. The picture seemed to represent for both of us how to enter into this gift with delight.

Deciding that a stroll on deck would enable us to enter into the joy of the journey, we headed out on the side of the ship where we had gone earlier for the lifeboat drill.

Pausing at the rail, Joanne and I stood close together, peering down many stories below. Subtle glimmers of white-laced waves let us know we were truly at sea, moving south through the calm Pacific waters. I lifted my chin to the bracing wind, drawing in a deep breath. The night air carried with it a mysterious hint of the vast ocean that surrounded us, hidden in the dark cloak of night. Moist droplets of salty air clung to our eyelashes.

Laughter floated our way from the pool area behind us. We turned to see that several people were soaking in the elevated hot tub under a wide canopy. The steam rising from the elaborately designed area made me think of a cartoon scenario where unsuspecting victims were roasting in a cannibal’s stew pot. Only these roasting people looked happy about their predicament.

Below the hot tub the large and brightly lit swimming pool
was void of night swimmers for good reason. The water wildly sloshed from side to side, creating a confined tidal wave.

“I think I’m the one who’s about to feel seasick now,” Joanne said with a laugh. “We’d better keep walking.”

Rounding the side of the ship, we spotted Robert walking toward us. He waved and greeted us by name. On a ship filled with nearly two thousand people, it was nice to be recognized.

“Beautiful night, isn’t it?” Robert called out. “I’m supposed to walk off my desserts before meeting Marti for the Broadway Hits Review at nine o’clock. If you two don’t have plans, you’re welcome to join us.”

“Thanks,” Joanne and I said in unison.

“You know, I didn’t mention this at dinner because I knew my wife would kick me under the table if I dominated the conversation with real estate talk, but I have an associate who is developing some property here in Baja. He bought his acreage in the late seventies and just now is turning it into a golf resort. It’s coming along nicely. About eighty acres. If it would help you to have his name and number, I’d be glad to give it to you.”

“I don’t know if we’d have anything specific to ask him,” I said. “I’m sure our property is nowhere near that size.”

“I thought he might help to clarify some of the details on the deed or help you to find a notary you can trust. Do you know if your property is north or south of Ensenada?”

“I’m not sure. It’s in a town called San Felipe.” I realized as I said the name that one of the many tasks on my to-do list had
been to locate San Felipe on a map. I couldn’t believe that detail had slipped past me.

“San Felipe?” Robert repeated. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, San Felipe.”

“Is that near where your friend is building his resort?” Joanne asked.

“No. Actually, San Felipe is on the east coast of Baja. On the Sea of Cortez.”

“Are you saying San Felipe isn’t close to Ensenada?” My stomach rumbled deeply, and I felt sick all over again.

“It’s on the other side of the Baja Peninsula. My guess is San Felipe is about 150 miles east of where we dock tomorrow.” He tilted his head. “If you don’t mind my asking, how do you ladies plan to get there?”

I was lost. I felt as if I’d just failed a geography pop quiz. I had assumed far too much knowledge from my neurotic aunt and her less-than-competent lawyer. This stunning news flattened me.

“We’ll rent a car,” Joanne said optimistically.

“It’s too far,” I sputtered. “Even if we rent a car, the ship only docks in Ensenada for the day. We would have to drive to San Felipe and be back to the ship by five o’clock. We can’t do that.”

“Sounds like you’ll have to adjust your plans,” Robert said.

“We need a map,” I said.

“We need Sven,” Joanne said. “Let’s go to the lobby and see if he can sort this out for us.”

“You know, renting a car isn’t a bad idea.” Robert followed us to the elevators, where I kept pushing the Down button as if my anxiety would hurry up the mechanical contraption.

“You could rent a car in Ensenada tomorrow, drive over to San Felipe, stay a few days at your uncle’s place, sign the papers at the bank, and then drive back to Ensenada.”

“We’d miss the boat,” Joanne said.

I felt like saying we’d already missed the boat in more ways than one, but I kept my lips sealed. I was trying to think.

“You’ll miss the return trip on
this
cruise,” Robert said. “But these cruise liners come down here twice a week. Instead of sailing home on Wednesday, you could catch the next big bucket home on Saturday.”

His suggestion had merit. However, the last thing I wanted to do was step into an even more unplanned and unregulated situation.

“You know, Joanne.” I tried to sound as if I’d thought this through. “Maybe we should finish the cruise, go home, and start all over with the San Felipe part. We need to put more time and organization into our plans instead of running headlong into chaos.”

“This isn’t chaos, Melanie. We’re on a free luxury cruise that’s taking us within … what?” She turned to Robert for backup.

“One hundred and fifty miles, roughly.”

“Within one hundred and fifty miles of Uncle Harlan’s beach house. How can we turn around and go home when
we’re so close? What would our options be? Wait for the bank to send the documents?”

“You don’t want to do that,” Robert said. “Not after what I saw my friend go through with his paperwork for the golf resort. It takes months. Years sometimes.”

“We know,” Joanne said. “It took the bank in San Felipe three years to notify us that we were the beneficiaries.”

Robert let out a low whistle.

Joanne was on a roll now, and I knew she wasn’t about to let up. “It doesn’t make sense for us to go home and then turn around a month later to fly back to Mexico. Do we even know if San Felipe has an airport? You and I could end up flying back to Ensenada and driving the 150 miles anyhow. We might as well do it now.”

I didn’t want to do it now. I didn’t want to take off in some rental car and drive across Mexico to a fishing village where it was unlikely anyone spoke English. The lure of beachfront property held little appeal to me at the moment. I didn’t want to be away from home for an additional three days. Luxury cruise or not, I didn’t want to be here at all. I was losing the tug-of-war I’d been having all day with the anxiety monster, and my unhappy gut was telling me fear was about to take me down.

“We need to think this through,” I said as calmly as I could.

Everything felt out of balance. I was supposed to be the bossy one, not Joanne. I was supposed to have all the facts about the distance from Ensenada to San Felipe, not Robert, the dessert connoisseur.

The light above the elevator door flashed, notifying us that our ride would be here in a moment. Robert pulled a business card from his pocket and wrote on the back. “Here’s our suite number, and this is my cell phone number. If Marti and I can help in any way, please let us know. And you know what? I’ll say a little prayer for the two of you.”

“Thank you.” Joanne reached for the card. “We appreciate your help. I think God must have some sort of surprise in mind for us. He seems to be directing us to something we certainly didn’t dream up.”

Robert grinned. “God is like that, isn’t He? Always dreaming up adventures we could never imagine.”

Joanne flashed a warm smile at Robert as the elevator door opened. The two of them seemed to be members of some special God club. I had the same feeling around them that I’d had around the Sisterchicks. I didn’t belong.

Robert gave us a wave as the elevator door closed, and Joanne and I rode it to the lobby level. The crew member at the front desk paged Sven, and within a few minutes our personal steward appeared. With calmness and steadiness, Sven listened to our plight and made several recommendations. The one that made the most sense was the one I liked the least.

“This is unusual,” he said twenty minutes later, when he handed me a printout of our rental car reservation. “But we are always pleased to make accommodations for our Platinum Crown members. As a reminder, when we dock in Ensenada around nine o’clock tomorrow morning, you need to have
your luggage ready. Anything you don’t wish to take with you to San Felipe, I will store for you, and it will be waiting for you on your return trip at the end of the week.”

I took all the papers from Sven, thanked him again, and numbly made my way toward the stairs.

“Wow,” Joanne said.

“Yeah, wow. This isn’t at all what I had in mind for this trip.”

“I meant ‘wow’ about the music. Just listen to that.” Joanne leaned on the railing that circled the sunken center stage area of the lobby. A classical guitarist was positioned next to the grand piano where the musician had been playing when we first entered the ship. The guitarist’s head was bent forward in concentration as he strummed what sounded like flamenco music to my untrained ear.