Sisterchicks Do the Hula (23 page)

On Laurie’s left side, less than a foot away, two turtles’ heads popped out of the water. It was as if turtle number one had gone home to get her best friend and said, “You gotta come see this. A couple of humans are flailing around the lagoon wearing big bug eyes and sucking on giant electric eels!”

“Hold very still,” I said, slowly lifting the camera.

“Oh, come on, Hope. I don’t need another photo of me with a rainbow shooting out of my head!”

“It’s not a rainbow. It’s the turtle twins.” I snapped the shot before Laurie could turn.

Down went the turtles. On went our masks and snorkels. In went our bodies.

There they were! Turtle one and turtle two. They appeared as fascinated with us as we were with them. Only they could dive deeper than we could and make a faster getaway. For ten minutes, Laurie swished after them as I trailed behind, using poor Emilee Rose as my safety flotation device.

Two minutes into the trek Laurie motioned for me to surrender the camera to her. Of course.

Curiosity satisfied, apparently, the turtle twins took off.

“Maybe they had an appointment at the spa for a manicure or a facial,” I told Laurie when we surfaced to catch our breath.

“I have one more shot,” Laurie said. “Let me get an underwater picture of you.”

Down I went, both hands waving. A silvery gray fish with a
long snout loitered for the longest time in the water between Laurie and me. I hoped he would show up in the picture.

We flippered our way back to the beach and laid ourselves out to dry in the sun like freshly laundered rag dolls, all floppy and loose with matted hair and ridiculously happy grins sewn on our faces.

“Laurie?”

“Hmmm?”

“I don’t think I let you finish what you were saying about Gabe and the house and how you felt.”

“I was done,” she said without opening her eyes.

“Laurie?”

“Hmmm?”

“I think I know what it means to do the hula. You know how you said we needed to come to Hawai’i so we could learn to do the hula? Well, I think you said it back there in the water. We have to learn to just go with it, to live in that unforced rhythm of grace. We listen to the music, or what did Amy call it? Oh yeah, the mele. We listen to the mele, the poetry, the story of our lives, and then we just go with it and express the story as gracefully as we can. Don’t you think? That’s really what it means to learn to do the hula. At least that’s what I think.”

No response.

Here I had just made this jubilant birthday speech, and Laurie had fallen asleep.
Ah, well, just go with it
.

I closed my eyes and dreamed of blue—blue water, blue sky, blue moon.

When I woke, I noticed something new on the beach a few yards away. A white tent had been set up on the sand. The breeze was blowing through it, causing the sides to billow gently.

A woman in a white smock was coming toward us. “Aloha. Would either of you like to use our on-the-beach spa?”

I looked at Laurie. She was just beginning to wake up. “What?”

“We can have our pedicures on the beach,” I explained. “In the tent over there.”

“Now?”

“You don’t have to come right now,” the woman said. “We will be available to you all afternoon. Let us know how we can be of service to you.” She made her way back to the spa tent.

“What do you think?” I asked Laurie. “Pretty decadent, having my first pedicure on the beach.”

“Anything for the birthday girl.” Laurie sat up in her chair and stretched. “Do they have showers around here? I’m going to rinse off this saltwater residue, and then I’ll go with you, if you want. I mean, if you’re ready for your birthday pedicure now.”

“I’m ready.”

We showered and smoothed back our hair, making jokes about how funny we both looked when we first woke up. “That salon technician must have taken one look at the two of us and thought she better come right over and offer their services.”

“We might need to order up more than just a pedicure,” Laurie said.

“That’s true.”

Laurie and I entered the cool enclosure. It felt private, yet open enough for the breeze to flow through and for us to view the beauty all around. We announced that we wanted to have pedicures, and the woman in the white coat quickly made a call to the salon and had them deliver the necessary equipment as well as another salon specialist.

Seated in regal luxury, we soaked our feet in a warm, sudsy bath and chatted leisurely as the pedicurists massaged our feet and carefully trimmed our toenails. Fruity beverages, complete with the all-important umbrella, were served to us along with complimentary sushi.

I avoided the sushi.

Laurie loved the sushi. She gave me a rousing speech about how, if I wasn’t willing to try something at forty, then I would be less likely to try it at fifty, etcetera. She gave me the whole spiel about not being chicken because we’re sisterchicks and how we weren’t going home with any regrets for not trying something new.

I finally gave in and took dainty bites, making the appropriate expressions of appreciation. And then I was done. With the sushi and the pedicure. I had tried two new things.

When we returned to our cabana-shaded lounge chairs, Laurie asked me for my conclusions on the experience. Then she said, “Wait. I have to go to the rest room.”

“Well, now, that’s role reversal.”

“Here.” She handed me a piece of paper that had the hotel’s daily schedule printed on the front. “Write it out, and I’ll be back in a jiff.”

I had no idea why she asked me to write it out, but I found a pen in the bottom of my bag and had some fun with my review:

Unfortunately, Laurie never saw the written version of my comments because of what happened next.

T
hat Laurie. She didn’t really have to go to the bathroom. Her flimsy excuse should have been my clue that she was up to something.

The writing request apparently had been to keep me from watching her as she came traipsing back through the sand with my birthday cake. Or rather, my birthday cookie. She had special-ordered it at a bakery in the mall last Friday when she went shopping.

The white chocolate macadamia nut cookie was the size of a large pizza, and across the top in chocolate frosting was the word
Aloha
.”

“Oh, Laurie, you’re so good to me!”

“I try.”

“All we need is a couple glasses of milk.”

A waiter, whom I hadn’t seen approach us, held out a tray with two glasses of milk.

Laurie laughed at the surprised expression on my face.

“You thought of everything.”

“Not everything. I forgot the candle.”

“That’s okay. I already know what my wish is. I thought of it while we were getting our pedicures.”

Laurie was all ears.

“My birthday wish is that you and I fetch our sunglasses and drive around until the moon comes out.”

“Are you serious?”

I nodded.

“Hope, you were a bundle of nerves the whole way here, and I wasn’t going all that fast.”

“Are you trying to talk me out of this?”

“No, I’m all for it. You know I’m all for it. Why are you all of a sudden for it?”

“Simple. I am forty years old today, and I never have been behind the wheel of a red convertible.”

“Oh, so
you
want to do the driving.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” Laurie stood and collected her belongings. “Come on, Mustang Mama. Let’s hit the highway.”

I’m not sure why driving our red-hot rental car was such a big deal for me. Maybe it was the closest I would ever get to feeling “cool.”

With sweatshirts in hand, we loaded up the car, which the parking attendant had brought around to the hotel’s front. For fun, I was wearing my purple orchid birthday lei, even though
I’d had it with me all day at the beach, strung over my lounge chair. It was wilting fast, but I didn’t care. It might not be a full garland of hosannas anymore, but it was still a string of yippee.

I had to slide back the seat to create enough room for Emilee between the steering wheel and me. Readjusting the mirrors, I pulled out my sunglasses. “Ready?”

“I was born ready. You know that.”

Easing down the wide driveway, I put on my blinker to turn onto the street. No cars could be seen coming in either direction.

“It’s all clear,” Laurie said with a twinge of impatience in her voice.

“I know. I’m just getting used to how this car feels.”

“Sorry,” she said. “Don’t mind me. I was terrible at teaching the girls to drive. Gabe had to teach all three of them because I picked at every little detail. I’ll be quiet.”

“You can say whatever you want. I’m not going to guarantee that I’ll listen to anything you tell me, but you can say whatever you want.”

“Okay, then turn left at the end of this road.”

I followed Laurie’s directions, and we ended up on the uncrowded freeway. My right foot seemed to respond in direct correlation to the wind in my hair. The faster the ends of my crazy hair danced across my forehead, the heavier my foot became.

Oh yeah! It’s a lot different when you’re the one behind the wheel!

“Whoo-hoo!” I hollered to the open air.

Laurie laughed. “We’re not even going the speed limit yet!”

“I know. But this is fast for me. Just let me enjoy the moment at my own speed, will you?”

Laurie pinched her finger and thumb together and pretended to zip shut her lips.

The wind whipped the ends of my hair. My foot grew heavier.

A small pickup truck zoomed past us with two surfboards hanging out the back. The truck slowed down until we came up alongside it. The two shirtless teenage boys had their arms out the open windows and were pounding the outside of the doors, as if trying to make their beat-up old pony go faster. They sped up and then pulled back, smiling at us and pounding their doors some more.

I realized they weren’t trying to make their pony go faster. They were making fun of us because our pony wasn’t going as fast as theirs.

The guys sped up. Fragments of their laughter shattered against the windshield and fell on my ears.

“I think that was a challenge,” I yelled to Laurie.

She responded with an expression that was half a shrug and half a dare-you-to-do-it gleam.

I have to say that the upside of all Darren’s years of coaching is that I’ve never been intimidated by high school boys who think they’re hot stuff. Well, except when I was in high school, and the high school boys really were hot stuff.

“We can take ’em,” I said with a snarl.

Laurie did a double take, apparently at the look on my face. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her grab the side of the passenger’s seat. “Punch it!”

I floored our little cherry roadster and flew past the surfer boys in one unbroken straight line.
Zoom!

There! Ha! What a rush!

In my rearview mirror I saw the defeated driver take his horse from the playing field by turning at the off-ramp.

“We showed them!” I declared with pride.

Laurie’s eyes were wide, but she didn’t say a word.

As quickly as the spurt of fiendish adrenaline came over me, all sensibilities returned, and I brought our Mustang back to a steady canter. Point proven, I was content to slow way down and take in the scenery.

The one bit of scenery I didn’t expect was the bright flashing lights on top of the car that was rapidly coming up behind us.

“Laurie, is that what I think it is?”

“Oh, my word. Hope, pull over.”

“We can outrun ’em.”

“Hope!”

“Kidding! I’m only kidding. See? I’m pulling over. Nice and slow. Just stay cool. I’ll handle this. Where’s my purse?”

“In the backseat. Here.” Laurie pulled out my wallet. Under her breath she said, “We are so busted.”

“Good afternoon.” The officer looked in the car at Laurie and me.

I would never readily admit this, but I leaned back a little extra so the officer could see that I was pregnant. Who would give a pregnant woman a speeding ticket?

He adjusted his sunglasses. “You’re not on your way to the hospital or anything, are you?”

“No, sir.” I felt as if I were eighteen. And here’s something else I would never readily admit. I loved it!

“May I see your driver’s license?”

“Sure. I’m guessing the registration is in the glove compartment. This is a rental car.”

“Oh, really?” he said with a smirk.

Laurie pulled out the rental papers and handed them over with a meek expression. “It’s her birthday. She just turned forty today.”