Lewis & Ondarko - Best Friends 03 - Now and Zen (2 page)

“Wish I could remember how to do this,” she mumbled. “I have to look up the directions every time.”

Pat reached into the glove compartment for the manual.

The canvas roof began to lift up from the top front of the windshield and to fold accordion style toward the back seat. Suddenly it stopped with a whooo… wheee… crunch. Whooo… wheee… crunch.

“What’s the matter with this darn thing?” Deb asked with annoyance, noticing Pat’s neighbors watching them from the yard across the street. She waved, and they smiled and waved back.

“It’s stuck!” she said grumpily, glancing with embarrassment at the half-raised roof sticking straight into the air as the motor ground over and over. “Maybe if I just push
this
button…” Suddenly, the strains of Van Morrison filled the whole street. “Help,” she said, looking at Pat and frantically pushing one button and then another. Soon the windshield wipers were going to the beat and the lights were blinking off and on, and the neighbors were visibly laughing. Other doors were starting to open around them.

Better than going to the circus,
Pat thought, trying to keep herself from laughing and handing the manual to Deb.

“We have to hurry. The ferry only leaves Bayfield every half hour and we have some signs to put up. We want to get there before our friends so they can find us,” Deb wailed.

“Here, I can do it. Let me help,” Pat replied, standing up and giving the roof a swift push.

“Wait a minute! This is my new car.”

Amazingly, the roof came unstuck and slid down with a satisfying bang.

“Sunny skies all around,” Pat said gaily, settling back into her seat and putting on her seat belt. “Nothing but a relaxing retreat in front of us.”

Deb took a deep breath and started to drive away.

“You might want to turn off the alarm system and radio,” Pat added. She waved to the neighbors, who, still laughing, turned to go into their houses.

It was just another day in a small town.

The idea for a women’s gathering hatched a few months previously, while Pat sat waiting for Deb to arrive for lunch at the Second Street Bistro in Ashland.

The waiter set down a cup of French roast and took away Pat’s wine glass, emptied now of her favorite Pinot Grigio. She’d been savoring the wine when the idea popped unexpectedly into her mind.

As Deb sat down, Pat said, “Do you think we’ll ever have a retreat center like we dreamed about?”

“Can’t have it unless you dream it,” Deb said, smiling, giving Pat back an answer she’d received often enough from Pat.

“True enough,” Pat replied.

Then Deb’s face became serious. “Truth is, we can do it if we really want to. The boys will be out of the house in…” She counted on her fingers, “…in four years. Four years!” she groaned.

“Oh, I know, but no matter how we look at it, we could never afford a place big enough on Madeline Island.”

“Don’t be too sure. Remember what my counselor told me when I was deciding whether to give up my law practice or not,” Deb said. Lay out a plan like a business plan for the next year or two, she said. What would it look like?” It helped then.”

Deb reached for her coffee mug and glanced down at her Paraguayan sweater.

“We could do that,” she added as she took a sip of coffee. “After all, I got to Paraguay, didn’t I?”

“Doesn’t matter. Crunch the numbers,” Pat sighed with resignation. “Think of the backers we would need. We could never afford it. We’d have to kill off our husbands for the insurance money.” She leaned her elbows on the table and looked off in the distance. “Of course, we’d have to make darn sure there was enough money in the policies before we went to such extremes.”

“I heard that, ladies. No planning murders in my place. It’s bad for business. Besides, I thought you two solved murders, not committed them,” called the waiter, as he hurried by with an order.

“Stop that! I don’t even like to hear you joke about it. But you’re right about the money.” Deb sighed, in agreement. “We’d have to win the lottery. What would it cost, do you think, five hundred thousand?”

“Just for starters,” Pat agreed gloomily. “Then there’s fix-up costs, maintenance, a gardener, a masseuse - you know we would need one -and a cook.”

“Even if we did all that ourselves, there’d be no time to enjoy the place, or our guests. We’d be like the chef who never gets to enjoy a great sit-down meal.”

“Too bad. If it weren’t for the initial outlay for the building and property, we could probably make a go of it.” Pat conceded.

Deb looked up.

“Why do we have to?” she asked.

“Have to what? Wait a minute… I know that look. I’ve seen it before. It’s like you have a light bulb shining above your head. You’ve gone and had one of your brilliant ideas, and it isn’t even…” She looked up at the clock on the wall. “… twelve thirty yet.”

“No, just listen,” Deb insisted. “Why do we have to have a building at all? There are plenty of inexpensive meeting places on the island. Lots of bed and breakfasts, a church or two, and rentals. We wouldn’t have to run it all year round. We could do a theme retreat once or twice a year. It would be great. Just think of it. And we wouldn’t have to wait for the kids to leave home either.”

“You’re the one who has to worry about the kid thing. I sent ours packing long ago.” Pat was quiet for a moment, a good sign as far as Deb was concerned, because she knew Pat was actually considering it.

“Mmm… No buildings? What about meals, or, you know,” Pat replied, picking up on her friend’s enthusiasm, “you’re right. I’ll bet we could even use the beach on the shoreline for a bonfire at night.”

“Speakers could be at churches or the library. We could keep the costs down. Ask for volunteers. Heck, our friends would love to help us. Restaurants would likely give us a discount when we bring in twenty or thirty people. You know the music camp must do it that way every summer. Let’s find out.”

Excited by their discussion, Deb didn’t even notice she had spilled coffee down the front of her favorite sweater.

“If you build it, they will come,” she said grandly, referring to a line from
Field of Dreams,
one of her all-time favorite baseball movies. She waved her fingers at the waiter to get his attention. “This calls for a celebration. Would you bring us two glasses of the house Chablis with our lunch?”

He nodded his head.

“As long as you’re not really celebrating your husbands’ demises,” he replied.

“Heck, no. We figured out a better way.” Deb turned to Pat. “So, what kind of retreat theme? Feminism… art?”

“No, something more ‘woo woo.’ If we’re going out on a limb, let’s really do something fun! I know! They’ve been making so much about the end of the Mayan calendar in the news, you know, end of the world stuff. Let’s do a summer solstice retreat. A rebirth kind of thing, starting with Tai Chi in the morning and ending with a solstice bonfire and party.”

“What? Are you talking this year?” Deb asked dubiously. “Solstice is only a few months away.”

Pat waved away her objections like she was swatting at a mosquito.

“No big deal. It’s not like the first one will be for a hundred people. We’ll just invite friends and maybe family. Let’s see, maybe thirty or so. Enough to get the discounts. Piece of cake.”

“You always make things sound so easy, but why is it things never turn out that way?” Deb shook her head.

With most people, I can just daydream and enjoy ideas,
Deb thought,
never really having to act on them.
With Pat, she dreams something and voila! It starts to become a reality.
What have I done?

The waiter returned with filled glasses. Picking one up, Pat raised it in salute.

“A good friend once said, just a moment ago, something like: ‘if you don’t dream it, you can’t have it.’ Here’s to a great dream becoming a reality.”

“Okay, Lucy, this Ethel’s in.” Deb lifted her glass and clinked it with Pat’s, and then took a steep swallow. “Here’s to a retreat house without the house. Can’t wait.”

Here we go again,
she thought.

The very next day, the two best friends headed to the Bistro again, reveling in the rare freedom of a day to themselves.

Not everyone is lucky enough to have a best friend. People often say things like: ‘my husband is my best friend,’ or ‘my mother is my best friend.’ Though Pat and Deb love their family members like crazy and would die willingly for any one of them, they are
best
friends. No bones about it.

Feeling the welcome ambiance of the place, Pat and Deb followed a group of women into the large cozy room, which bustled with lunch crowd noise. Pat inhaled the intoxicating scent of homemade soup.

“Come on in!” the owner called from his perch behind the wine bar at the far end.

“Hi, Pat!” greeted a neighbor, who sat chatting amicably at the bar.

Deb recognized several other friends and neighbors in the large wooden booths hugging the red wall on the right.

“Hi, Pastor!” A smiling former parishioner called to Pat from his table in the front window.

“And then he said that the mayor had invited the Catholic priest to say the prayer at council meetings,” Pat overheard a voice whispering conspira-torially.
Life goes on,
she thought as she passed by.

Pat glanced at the bright oil paintings on the wall to the left, the artistic flavor of the month.

“This place is better than reading a newspaper,” Deb murmured.

“That’s the deal with small towns,” Pat said, as she slid into the cushioned booth nearest to the kitchen. “The good news is, everyone knows your business, and the bad news is… “

“Everyone knows your business!” Deb chimed in, as she picked up her menu.

“Hey ladies, good to see you back. Should I bring coffee or… ?” the waiter asked with a smile.

“Your wonderful coffee will be just fine. We’re making up an invite and have to be clearheaded. What’s the soup today?” Pat asked.

“Your favorite: wild mushroom. Want a big bowl?” Pat nodded.

“Me, too,” Deb said. “And baguettes, please.”

“Sure, what are you working on?”

In a small town, it is never impolite to be snoopy.

“A fund raiser?”

He was always up for helping out a good cause when he could.

“We’re actually thinking, no, strike that, we’re doing a women’s retreat out on the island at summer solstice. Think your wife would like to come?”

“Solstice? Like a coven thing? What will you call it? Witches Unite? Take Back the Night?’”

“Not bad, but no cigar. It’s kind of a renewal retreat, with a couple of workshops and a masseuse.”

“A masseuse? Heck, with my wife,
I
could use a break.”

“Sorry. No men at this one.”

“Oh well, good luck then. The coffee is just brewing. I’ll be back with it in a minute.” He stopped at the next booth on the way to the kitchen. “Hello, anything to drink?”

“So, what do we want it to say?” Deb asked, getting down to business. “Let’s make sure they don’t think it’s some kind of witch thing.”

“Could be worse,” Pat replied, pulling out her notebook and favorite pen. “After all, the women labeled as witches in the old days were by and large healers and spiritual leaders. How about ‘Come for solstice and a cup of witch’s brew?’” she teased.

“Forget it. My mom would never come with that title. How about, ‘Come to the islands’?”

“That’s a great play on words. It sounds like Maui,” Pat said, writing it down. “But off the record, I know some of our relatives would qualify to come to a coven of the fabled kind, broomsticks and all.”

“Isn’t that the truth! Wasn’t Maui wonderful?” Deb asked dreamily. “Wouldn’t it be great if we could have our retreat there?”

“Focus! We need to get this invitation out in the next few days.” Pat looked up from her writing at Deb. “And yes, it was wonderful. And yes, maybe if these retreats work out, next year we can do Maui. The other island.” They both laughed.

Pat scribbled feverishly for a few minutes and then turned a messy page towards Deb. “How does this look?”

COME TO THE ISLAND!!

YOU ARE INVITED TO A SOLSTICE RETREAT

Okay, Okay, It’s not to Jamaica or to Hawaii.

It’s to Madeline Island and it won’t be the same without you.

COME FOR JUST THE DAY OF THE UPCOMING SUMMER SOLSTICE, OR COME FOR ALL FOUR DAYS.

This is a chance for sisters to be together.

And if you got this invite, we consider you our sister.

There will be book discussions, croquet, and wine.

And of course, a Solstice bonfire, which we hope to make an annual tradition.

Find a schedule of speakers and events, plus places for lodging, listed on the back.

Leave the men and kids at home, and join us for women’s time.

HOPING YOU’LL BE WITH US,

Pat and Deb

Let us know if you’re coming (or not). We’ll be on Island time!

“Here’s your coffee. Soup will be up in a few minutes.” The waiter put down the steaming cups and hurried away to seat a couple at the door.

Stirring in a dollop of cream, Deb scrutinized the writing. “It looks good. We better have real dates and times on it, though, so there’s no confusion. I love the list of speakers on the back. Now we just have to have some. Any ideas?”

Taking the paper, Pat added the dates.

“How’s that? As for the speakers, I made a list. Here.” She pulled a list out of her coat pocket.

“Jeeze, where did you find this piece of paper? I’m just glad you didn’t write it on a used Kleenex.” Reading the list more closely, Deb set down her spoon. “Hey, this says you and I and mostly our friends will be the speakers. What’s with that?” she asked.

“Low overhead. Plus it’s a way to get them there.”

“Always thinking. Do you have something for our daughters to do? I’d love to have them there. Lately, they are so busy. Remember when they just loved to do things with us?”