Lewis & Ondarko - Best Friends 03 - Now and Zen (3 page)

“Yup, when they were about three, wasn’t it? Pat said sarcastically. “I suppose we can somehow try to guilt them into it. Let me think on it.”

“Good luck with that. Well, we’ve always got our granddaughters. Let’s invite the little ones, too.”

“Soup’s on.”

A waitress set down two big bowls and a basket of bread. Deb picked up her spoon and dipped it into the great bowl of steaming soup. Pushing their papers aside, the women dug in.

And so, it had all begun.

A few days after their planning sessions at the Bistro, Pat was seated in her dining room across the antique table from Deb.

“Where are we tonight? Maui? Tahiti? Jamaica, perhaps?” Deb asked.

They were admiring the well-set table before them. Bone china, real silverware, and crystal goblets with blue plaid napkins folded in fan shapes created an elegant tableau.

Marc emerged from the kitchen, carrying a pitcher of frozen Margarita mix.

“Ladies, can I pour?” Deb and Pat stared at each other in amazement.

Men sometimes believe women dream about bedroom fantasies. They don’t understand that real women dream about husbands cooking for them.

“Sure,” Pat said. “Fill ‘er up.”

“Enjoy!” Marc said with a smile, backing out of the room. “Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes.”

As Marc returned to the kitchen, an aroma of fried onions and red peppers permeated the air. They reached for their drinks and kicked off their shoes.

“This is the life,” Deb said happily.

“What do you think they want?” Pat wondered aloud.

“Don’t care,” Deb answered. “This is worth a good roll in the hay.”

Pat nodded in agreement.

A minute later, Pat’s husband, Mitch, emerged with a white dish towel tied around his waist, carrying a tray of salsa and taco chips.

“Mmmm… looks great. What’s the main course? Grilled chicken again?” Pat asked.

“Nope,” Mitch said with a smirk on his face. “Real men cook Tex-Mex.”

Deb reached over and pinched Pat.

“Who are these men, and can we keep them?”

Pat just looked at her with dazed amazement.

“Did Mitch go to cooking school this year while he was spending all that time in the city?” Deb asked. “I never knew he had it in him.”

“He still surprises me after all these years,” Pat replied. “Most people sleepwalk their way through life doing whatever is easiest.”

“Yeah, yeah, but how did you really get him to do it? Drug him?”

Hearing banging in the kitchen, the women sat quietly. Pat grabbed some chips and scooped them into the salsa.

“Great salsa! Did Marc make it?”

“Oh, you know he makes the best homemade salsa there is.”

Mitch wasn’t the only person full of surprises. Pat and Deb had surprised themselves by being drawn into solving two local murders in the previous few years. Close encounters with death had made them treasure the simple pleasures of daily life. Simple gifts like husbands who cook. Men who not only cook, but who knock themselves out trying.

Life is so good,
Deb thought. As if reading her mind, Pat nodded.

“It sure was nice of Mitch to invite us to dinner. What’s the occasion, anyway? It’s not a special day, is it? Did I forget a birthday again?”

“Nope,” Pat replied, “guys! After Marc bought you a Miata, Mitch decided he wouldn’t be outdone. He just made up his mind he would learn to cook my favorite foods, and here we are!” They both giggled. Pat raised her glass in a silent toast to these loyal men in their lives.

“How are we going to tell them about our retreat?” Deb wondered uneasily.

“You know we always find a way,” Pat said with a wink.

Half an hour later, the two couples sat happily enjoying plates laden with dirty rice, grilled veggies and topped with chocolate mole sauce. Deb smiled at Mitch.

“Mitch, I have to hand it to you. You really have outdone yourself. We’ll have to put this recipe in our next cookbook. How on earth did you do this, anyway?” She rubbed her too full stomach.

“Just something I whipped up,” he replied mysteriously. “Besides, I have to find some way to keep you two around once in awhile. Especially after the trips you have made together to Nevis and Canada the past few years.

“You mean you really like having me around?” Pat asked.

“Sure. Marc and I were talking in the kitchen, and we think the next trip should include us.”

“Well, maybe not the next one. But for sure the one after that!” Deb said sheepishly. “As a matter of fact, we’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.”

“Here we go,” Marc said. “Another adventure for the Bobbsey Twins. Let’s hear what’s up this time. Where are you going now? Wait a minute. Pass the pitcher over here first before you tell me,” he continued, gesturing to the Margarita mix.

Deb smiled at her tolerant husband, as she filled up his glass.

“We’re just going on a little retreat,” Pat said.

“Where to this time?” Mitch asked. “You’re not going back to Paraguay with Deb are you?”

“Not that far. Just over to Madeline Island,” Deb replied gaily, noticing the obvious relief on the men’s faces. “We wanted to spend summer solstice with the important women in our lives. So we’re inviting a few of them to come with us. Just our close circle. You know, our moms, daughters, granddaughters, and a few friends. We’d invite you, but it’s just going to be a girls’ weekend away.

“Do you really think you can get them all to come?” Marc asked skeptically.

“If you plan it, they will come,” Deb replied, catching Pat’s eye.

The two men looked at each other with a knowing glance.

Mitch leaned over to Marc and whispered into his ear.

“What do you bet that this ends up costing us money?”

The next day, one of Pat’s rare attempts at housework was interrupted by the ringing of her cell. She turned off the vacuum and heard a familiar voice.

“Hi, Mom. How are things going?” Pat sat down for a good chat. She always loved when her son called.

“Good, good. How are all my wild babies down there?” Martin had moved his wife and their little family to Houston to take a job managing a lab at Baylor Medical School. Everyone thought it would be a short-term stay. They had been there for eight years.

Too far for grandbabies, Pat thought.

“Busy as usual with both girls in school. JoJo’s going to preschool two mornings a week.” There was a pause. “So we got your invite.”

“I know, don’t think I thought you and the girls could come. I just sent it so your wife could see it,” Pat replied.

“Well, the thing is, she just might be able to come. Her mom wants us to come up for a family reunion, and it’s just about the same time. Even so,” he cautioned, “it’s still two hundred miles to Madeline Island from Minneapolis.”

Wow,
thought Pat. Her mind began to scheme.

“You and JoJo could stay with Mitch at the house, and the girls could come, even if it was for only one night.” Pat started to get excited. “I’ll even pay for the room.”

“Thanks, Mom. We’ll see. Say, I showed the invitation to my team at work, and they thought it was a hoot. We had an extra half hour between lab classes so we started to put together a YouTube video just for fun. I thought you could let the people know that are coming, and they could watch it. What do you think?”

Pat had only half listened, her mind happily focused on the possibility of her granddaughters coming to the retreat.

“Sounds interesting. How would we watch it?”

Just then, there was a knock at the front door.

“Hold on. Someone’s at the… oh, hi Deb,” she called out. “Martin’s on the phone and guess what? The girls might be able to come to our retreat. Isn’t that great?” Pat gestured with a thumbs up sign.

“Hold your horses, Mom. I said maybe. Even if we’re in Minnesota at the right time, it’s still really busy when we’re in town, you know.” Pat could hear him trying to be diplomatic but clearly caught in the middle of trying to please everyone.

“Say, as long as you have Deb there,” he continued, “could you use your new handy iPhone and do a little thing on it? That’s really why I called. We thought we could put it on the YouTube site.

“Like what?” Pat motioned to Deb to stand closer so she could hear.

“Oh, something like your two faces smiling, with hats on and saying ‘come to the island.’ You could maybe do a little samba dance,” he said hopefully. In the background they could hear muffled laughter.

“Is your team all listening to this?” Pat asked. “You are becoming more and more like your grandmother every day,” she added with mock sternness. “And you guys listening; don’t encourage him.” More laughter erupted from the other end of the line. Secretly pleased at her son’s silliness, she gave in.

“Right now? You want us to do it right now? I don’t even know how to do it. Send it from my phone, I mean, not be silly. Lord knows I know how to do that.”

“Like mother, like son. And Mom, for the record, you don’t know how to do ninety percent of the stuff that iPhone can do. It’ll be good for you to try. Just get a pen and write this down.”

A few minutes later, Pat looked down at the page of instructions. She clicked off to the sound of “Love you, Mom.”
All women should have a son,
she thought fondly. Pat turned to her friend.

“So I turn it on like this.” She pressed the button. “And voila, we’re on!”

“Wait a minute! We need to get the hats and decide what we’re going to say.”

“Here, you hold it. I’m afraid to turn it off. I might not get it going again. Say something witty,” Pat called over her shoulder as she ran out of the room.

“Well, Martin, hope you can edit this out because your crazy mother has gone to get hats. Here she comes back,” Deb said with relief in her voice.

“To Martin and the team at his crazy scientist’s lab: First, I hope this makes it to you,” Pat began. “We had this scheme, I mean, idea, to have a retreat for women at solstice, and here is my co-conspirator to tell you about it. Take it away, Deb.” With that she turned the lens to her friend, who was donning a bright yellow Madeline Island all-weather hat.

“Pat, what are you doing?” Deb asked in anxious alarm. Pat made rolling motions with her hands, and smiled encouragingly.

“Hi,” Deb began as she waved her hand. “If you’re watching this, you already know I’m Deb. You probably have received your invite to experience summer solstice on the healing island of Madeline. You don’t have to bring anything but a happy soul and a joyful heart. If you’re missing either of those right now, don’t worry. You’ll find them if you come. Take it away Pat.”

Startled, Pat turned the phone towards herself.

“Worried about the end of the Mayan calendar?” she improvised. “Want to spend solstice in a meaningful fun way? Join us. No work, no husbands, no worries.” Moving right next to Deb so the phone would hopefully pick up both of their faces, she continued. “Bring your mom, bring your friend, bring your daughter if she’s talking to you, but come; the island is calling.” Deb started to giggle, but Pat began to sing slightly off key to a Jamaican beat:

Come to the island, don’t worry about a t’ing.

Come to the island, catch onto your dream.

Come to the island,
(Deb came in harmonizing)

Don’t worry about a t’ing, come to the island,

Life can be more than it seems.

They laughed and did a little dance and the camera bounced around as Pat moved it.

“Sorry. I have to stop,” she finally said, “because like a lot of women of a certain age, I laughed so hard, tears ran down my leg.”

“Pat, you can’t say that on YouTube,” Deb said, laughing out loud.

“Have you ever seen YouTube? This is mild.” Pat turned back to the screen. “Anyway, you’re invited, so leave the kids and significant other at home and come.” Waving, Pat touched the recorder off, and then pressed the buttons as instructed to send the video to her son.

“You didn’t really send it?”

“Of course. Don’t worry. Even if they do finish making it, which is doubtful, and then go to the bother of putting it online, no one will ever watch it.”

She should have known better to say something like that. It was as if she had sent a challenge off to the universe. Though Pat and Deb usually pride themselves on being in charge of whatever they do, the Goddess, in the end, has always had a silly sense of humor.

There goes a woman who is lucky,
one might judge if one saw Deb driving down the road in a red Miata. After closely looking at the lines about her eyes or taking a moment to stop her and chat, one’s initial impression might change to:
There goes a woman, who, in spite of life, has made her own good luck.

On the way to the Bayfield dock, Deb carefully drove the speed limit through the little town of Washburn. She was always cautious of the ever-vigilant police officer. Spotting his car hiding in the weeds near the Sioux River north of town, Deb gave her horn a push and waved her hand at him. The strains of
Slow down, you move too fast
floated like incense through the air behind them. The officer stared stoically ahead as if he had heard it all before, biding his time until the next opportunity.

Half an hour later, in the heart of Bayfield, Deb pulled into the back of a long line of vehicles that stretched to the end of the ferry parking lot.

“Do you think we’ll get on this time?” Pat worried aloud.

“Sure we will. This is peak season, but they have the big boat going, so there’s plenty of space,” Deb reassured.

As they pulled onto the ferry, the women noticed a trim, middle-aged man waving them forward to their resting spot on the deck. He tipped his ferry baseball hat towards them in recognition, revealing a tan and well-weathered bald head.

“Hi, Mike.” Deb was on a first name basis with all the captains from her numerous trips to the island, but she knew Mike because of his longtime volunteer work in the community.