Sisterchicks in Sombreros (27 page)

As soon as we entered the dining room, we realized it was formal night, and we were way underdressed. Nevertheless, the hostess took us to our table.

“I can’t believe it,” I muttered to Joanne. “We have managed to wear the wrong thing to every single meal so far on this ship, coming and going.”

“Who cares?” Joanne smiled as we paraded past the captain’s table where one woman in a strapless gown with diamonds dripping from her earlobes and circling her neck watched us as we walked to our table and sat down.

“Good evening,” Joanne said cordially to the others already seated at our table. “I’m Joanne. This is my sister, Melanie.”

The three couples at our table were all in their early twenties. All three women were dressed in dazzling, revealing gowns. All of them were drinking heavily, and clearly they hadn’t expected us to break into their private party. When one of the men made an off-color joke, he turned to me and apologized, as if I were his mother.

Joanne tried unsuccessfully to start a conversation. I found out from the woman next to me that none of the three couples were married. They were on a business trip. Two of the young women kept fussing with their gowns as if this were prom night and they hadn’t bought the right size. The third woman had an especially high-pitched laugh, and she kept swatting her “date” on the arm and saying, “Get outta here.”

He didn’t, but we did.

Joanne and I lasted through our waiter’s explanation of our dinner selections before reaching over and tapping each other on the leg under the table. I knew Joanne was thinking what I was thinking. Excusing ourselves, we exited the posh company and took the elevator down to the main lobby.

“What a depressing setup,” I said.

“You were thinking the same thing I was. What is that
verse in Proverbs? Something about how it’s better to eat crumbs served with love than a slab of prime rib in the presence of hatred.”

“Exactly. I was comparing that bunch to what it was like eating dinner at Rosa Lupe’s.”

“No comparison. Let’s see if we can come up with some other place to eat.” Joanne headed for the front desk.

The desk clerk informed us that a full buffet dinner was offered to guests on the top deck behind the sushi bar. And, if we didn’t get enough at the open buffet, the midnight buffet would be in full swing at eleven-thirty after the last show.

Taking the stairs instead of the elevator, Joanne and I prepared to eat heartily this evening. We knew we would be dining where love was served because we were dining with our new best friends.

I started out slowly at the salad bar, intending to leave lots of room for the fish and beef. But what filled my plate wasn’t the salads but the potatoes. The selection included scalloped, garlic mashed, and twice-baked potatoes. I think I could have eaten only potatoes for dinner and been content.

Joanne was thrilled with the three different selections of fish and the chicken Kiev as well as the end cut of prime rib. We selected a table by the window. Even though the sun had set and all was darkness on the ocean, we could spot an occasional star flickering in the distance that made us both nostalgic for our simple fireside dinner of camarones on the beach.

“I need a walk on deck before I visit the dessert counter,” Joanne said. “Are you with me?”

“All the way.”

We strolled in the brisk night air and breathed in deeply.

“I have to confess something to you,” Joanne said, as we rounded the back of the ship and headed down the less windy side.

“What’s that?”

“I’ve been thinking about Matthew.”

I smiled, but I don’t think she could see my face.

“I’ve been thinking about him a lot, and I know that’s crazy because I barely know him. The thing is, I’ve had so many disappointments with men over the years that I don’t dare to dream anymore. I wish I’d turned toward him when you told me to, Mel. He has no way of knowing that my heart is toward him, and that makes me sad. Everything you said was true. God’s timing was precise. I just didn’t respond the way I should have when I had the chance. So that’s my confession. You were right. I was too proud to even wave good-bye, and it’s breaking my heart.”

She cried softly. I wrapped my arms around her, and in true Joanne fashion, she sniveled for about a minute and a half and was done. Bucking up, she straightened her posture. “I’m okay. I had to tell you, though. Next time you tell me to turn around, I promise I’ll do it.”

I paused a moment and then said, “Joanne, turn around.”

She did. No one was behind us. She turned to me with a quizzical look.

“I was testing you.” I grinned widely.

“You brat!”

“What? Did you think Matthew would be standing there or something?”

“No.”

“Joanne, listen, at the risk of sounding a lot like you sounded to me on our first night on the cruise, I now happen to believe that God is a big dreamer, like you said. He doesn’t give up. I have no idea what’s going to happen, but I know you’re in good hands.”

“I know,” Joanne said. “I really am content. More content than I’ve ever been before. I thought it would be a good idea if I confessed to you what I was feeling about Matthew instead of holding it in.”

“I’m glad you told me.”

We continued our stroll, and I bravely did something I had never done. I prayed aloud as we walked. It was short and simple, but it seemed like a good idea. Something Joanne would do. I asked God that, if He had any dreams for Joanne and Matthew, He would make them come true.

I considered adding a P.S. along the lines of, “And please make my sister smart enough to respond the right way next time, if you do set up a next time with Matthew.” I didn’t add it, though. Joanne probably had prayed a few of those P.S.’s for me along the way. She had been eager for me to respond wholeheartedly to Christ, and yet she patiently had kept her private prayers for me to herself.

Having completed one loop of the deck, Joanne and I returned to the dessert counter of the upper-deck buffet and treated ourselves to three desserts each. Mine were all chocolate. Small pieces. Joanne found a coconut macaroon, and that satisfied her urge for coconut cake at least for the time being.

All the food in our bellies put us in a strange sort of stupor we hadn’t experienced during the past few days in Mexico. We meandered through some of the onboard shops, trying on jewelry we knew we’d never buy and admiring the craftsmanship of the Mexican silver. The shopping wasn’t particularly special, but it did make up for our not having strolled through the shops in Ensenada.

At ten o’clock we wandered into the theater and landed terrific balcony seats for the second performance of “Broadway’s Best.” A waiter came by asking if we wanted to order something to drink before the show began. We both ordered ginger ale to settle our full stomachs. He looked a little disappointed, as if he knew he could make a larger tip on the more exotic drinks.

I noticed when he delivered the ginger ales they came with a bendable straw and a whole maraschino cherry. In other words, a child’s nonalcoholic beverage.

For the next hour we sipped our Shirley Temples and tapped our feet while a cast of energetic quick-change artists performed portions of more than twenty Broadway shows. We decided we would have been even more impressed with their abilities if we’d ever seen one of the twenty Broadway shows.
But the music was familiar and the presentation entertaining.

“Almost eleven-thirty,” Joanne said, as we followed the crowd out of the theater. “Ready for the midnight buffet?”

I said yes, but the truth was I was more ready for bed. It was strange how we had so quickly conformed to the opportunities offered us. After-dinner shows and then dinner again after the shows.

The midnight buffet was really something. We had been told the ice sculptures were worth the viewing, and they were. I counted four different ice sculptures. My favorite was the palm tree that dripped small droplets from the end of each frond and refreshed the plate of grapes and strawberries. It reminded me of Uncle Harlan’s great palm tree.

All the food at the buffet was Mexican. We tried the carne asada, taquitos, fish tacos, tamales, and chicken enchiladas. Every bite was better than the last. We both declared we never had tasted such excellent Mexican food in Vancouver.

“Although we haven’t tried looking,” Joanne pointed out. “What if we make that one of the goals of our weekly get-togethers? We can try every Mexican restaurant in the phone book and decide which ones come closest to this.”

“You’d really do that with me?”

Joanne nodded, sincere in her expression and her words.

“I’ll hold you to it,” I said. “Things like that drive Ethan up a wall. He has his tried-and-true favorite places to eat out and doesn’t see any reason to experience new places.”

“He’ll never know what he’s missing,” Joanne said with a
grin. “Now, do you suppose we could ask Sven to come with a cart and roll us back to our rooms?”

“No kidding. That was delicious and decadent, but I’m definitely not going to eat breakfast in the morning.”

“We’ll see,” Joanne said. “Come on. I’ve been dying to get back to our room and see what kind of animal they shaped our towels into.”

It was a bunny rabbit. I took a picture of Joanne holding it in her lap.

Settling in with the gentle sway of the ship’s motion as we headed north, I thought of how crisp and clean the bleached sheets felt.

Last night we were using our fingers to brush our teeth because we didn’t want to dig in our suitcases in the dark to find our toothbrushes. Tonight we were returning to folded towel animals on our beds, and if we so required, we might have been able to order an assistant to brush our teeth for us.

But we didn’t.

The deep-conditioning hair treatment the next morning at eleven was as much pampering as either of us wanted that day. When we realized how much we were paying for these amenities, even with the discount I received for the body wrap gone bad, it seemed best to forego any other elaborate treatments.

“Perhaps another time—on another cruise,” I said when the spa receptionist informed me she had an opening for a facial, if I was interested.

“Do you suppose we’re learning to be content?” Joanne asked.

“Maybe so. What would make you feel content with the rest of this day?”

Joanne looked at me as if no one had ever asked her that before.

The two of us spent the remainder of the day doing what we both decided would make us most content. We wrapped up in our robes, sat out on our deck, and read aloud to each other while sipping hot tea that room service delivered in sturdy blue pottery teapots with matching mugs. Joanne went for the coconut cream tea while I couldn’t turn down the offer of chocolate mint tea. We asked about coconut cake and ended up with a plate of coconut macaroons that were delivered with the tea.

Neither of us had any complaints.

Well, maybe we had one. In the morning we were docking in San Pedro at eight o’clock. Real life would soon be upon us, complete with winter’s chill and Christmas preparations. A certain hammock and a certain palm tree lingered in both our minds.

J
oanne did a good job
of organizing her things and packing on Sunday night. I was having a bit more trouble.

A notice had been delivered under our door giving specifications for disembarking the ship. We found out several key pieces of information. First, we were to place in the envelope provided our tip for all the services we had been given on the cruise, and we were informed of the expected amount. It added up to more than either of us would have spent, but we didn’t want to put a black mark against Aunt Winnie’s perfect sailing record, so we paid the suggested tip and sealed the envelope.

Next, we were informed that our luggage needed to be packed and tagged and set out in the hall before midnight. That’s where Joanne excelled, and I was running into difficulties. The Harlan mementos I had packed up for Aunt
Winnie were bursting out of the flimsy box, and I was reluctant to leave the box in the hall for the steward to cart off the ship for me.

“The box is the least of your challenges,” Joanne said. “All you need is some packing tape or twine. It’s the fish you should worry about. You can’t leave Mr. Marlin in the hall all night.”

“I don’t plan to. I’m going to carry him off the ship.”

“You can’t carry him.”

“Yes I can. He’s not that heavy.”

“It’s his nose,” Joanne said.

“What about his nose?”

“It’s a deadly weapon. How do you plan to get that ridiculous fish off this ship without harpooning someone?”

“They got it on the ship for us.”

“I know, but the halls weren’t crowded with travelers all trying to disembark at the same time.”

“I can wrap him in the blanket and—”

“It’s not going to work.”

What followed was an argument that must have ranked right up there with the sort of arguments Harlan and Winnie had over this preposterous fish. Joanne said I would never get Mr. Marlin all the way home and I should give up now and throw him overboard.

“Can’t do that,” I said. “Clean ocean policy, remember? Didn’t you read the notice on the back of the door? No throwing anything overboard.”