Sisterchicks in Sombreros (22 page)

“I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

“Joanne! You were the one who offered him a ride, not me. You have been the one all along saying that God has unfulfilled dreams for you.”

“You’re right. I missed it entirely. It can’t be a coincidence that we met when we did. Oh, wow, God might really be doing something here.”

Returning the same expression my sister gave me on the ship when I confessed that I had control issues, I grinned at her. “Oh, really?”

“Hey, be nice,” Joanne said.

“I am being nice. I’m giving you some free emotional advice to balance out the free medical advice you give me. My advice is to release whatever bungled-up disappointments you have from the past and turn your heart toward this new relationship. Trust me, Jo, when we were driving away, if you would have turned around and seen him the way I saw him, you would know right now how much he wanted you to come back.”

Joanne let out a long sigh. It was a mind-cleansing sort of sigh. “You’re right.”

“I
love
it when you say that,” I teased.

We rocked silently for a few moments while Joanne seemed to be sinking into deep contemplation. I broke her concentration by asking, “What are you going to do next?”

“What do you mean what am I going to do next?”

“Well, Matthew probably is staying in San Felipe tonight, if he got his car fixed. We could check all the hotels to see if he’s staying in town.”

“Or not,” Joanne said.

“Do you have a better idea?”

“Yes. I’m going to wait.”

“For what?”

“For God to have our paths cross again.”

“Why? Your paths already crossed. We both agree. He is Dreamboat of the Year. You have to find him. Come on! God helps those who help themselves.”

“Where did you hear that?” Joanne glared at me with one eye squinted open.

“Isn’t it in the Bible?”

“No. Definitely not.”

“I think I read it on one of the laminated prayer cards at Aunt Winnie’s. Where I heard it doesn’t matter. The point is, you should plan your attack and attack your plan.”

Joanne chuckled. “I wish you could hear yourself, Mel. Relax. If this is God’s doing, He’ll complete it. What He starts, He finishes.”

“With no help from you. Is that it?”

“That’s what the grace part is all about. It’s His will that’s accomplished, not mine.”

Now my sister was bugging me. First, she didn’t recognize the obvious signs about Matthew, and then she put all the responsibility back on God to make something miraculous happen.

“I’m going to finish cleaning up,” I said, eager to get back to a task that would work out my exasperation. “Hold on to your side of the hammock while I climb out.”

We successfully completed my departure from the hammock
without either of us ending up on the ground. I swept while Joanne slept. The afternoon turned the pages to the day’s story with languid, long-armed motions. It was siesta time in this quiet cove. Even the insects seemed to be napping.

I was the only one who needed to be busy.

As the afternoon heat rose, I cheerfully changed into a pair of shorts, pulled my hair up in a clip, and continued to set up house inside the trailer. To my delight, Mr. Marlin fit inside the broom closet just fine, as long as I kept him at an angle so that his long, swordfishlike nose could stick out at the top.

No skeletons in Uncle Harlan’s closet. Just a nosey fish!

Within an hour or so I had everything tidy and organized. The trailer was roomier than it looked from the outside, and with a few more items from the grocery store, I thought that Joanne and I could live here several weeks if we needed to.

Popping outside to check on my lounging sis, I noticed a string of motorized vehicles with wide tires that looked like souped-up tricycles roaring across the sand. The noise was annoying, but they looked fun as the drivers spun around in wide circles.

“What do you think?” Joanne asked. “Should we rent a couple of those and have a race or two?”

“Sure. Why not? How was your nap?”

“Heavenly. I was serious when I said I’m going to sleep out here tonight.”

“I made up both beds, just in case you change your mind.”

“Thanks.” Joanne pulled herself up and looked around. “I like it here. I like it here a lot.”

“I made a list of a few things we still need at the store.”

“Of course you did.”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing. Go on, Mel. You were saying we need a few things at the store.”

“Do you want to go with me, or should I just go?”

“Oh, now look who’s the brave one, eh? You sure got your second wind once we arrived.”

“I like to attain goals,” I said plainly.

“Yes, you do.” Joanne stretched. “I’ll go with you. Be sure to bring the key. I’ll put the big padlock back in place.”

We headed the opposite direction of how we had come when we reached the main road because Joanne insisted we see if another grocery store was nearby so we wouldn’t have to return to the older part of town. Her instincts proved to be right. A large, newly built grocery store was located not more than half a mile away. Not far down the road from the grocery store was a gated area with a guard station and a fancy sign that read, “Rio del Mar Resort.”

“Can you believe this?” I said. “It’s a new development. A new city being built outside the old city.”

As soon as we entered the grocery store, we realized the new grocery store catered to North American tourists. For starters, the store was air-conditioned. Many of the signs were in English. The freezer section by the front door was stocked
with familiar ice cream treats like the brands we bought at home.

I made quick work of our shopping needs, but at the checkout counter I couldn’t help but ask a few questions since the employee spoke perfect English.

“Yes, it’s a resort,” the cashier explained. “But you buy the house and rent it out if you want. It’s not going to be a hotel. The main resort hotel in San Felipe is Costa del Sur, in case that’s the one you’re trying to find. It’s south of here.”

“No, I was curious about this resort.”

“The construction started a few weeks ago. You can still buy property. Not many of the lots have been bought yet. The clubhouse already is built with the pool. They have an office, if you want to ask questions.”

“Thank you. We may have a look.”

She handed me the receipt. “Have a nice day.”

It seemed sad, in a way. I preferred the sound of the many voices speaking Spanish in the grocery store we had gone to earlier in the old part of town. This air-conditioned, shiny store felt commercial, and as if this local girl had sold out to the corporate North American mogul who was transforming her sleepy fishing town into a money-making venture.

Joanne reached for the grocery bags along with one of the gallon-sized jugs of water. “I wonder how Uncle Harlan would have viewed this news.”

I turned to the checkout clerk and said, “By any chance do you know a man named Matthew who is visiting San Felipe
with his nephew, Cal? Cal is about eight. This high.”

She shook her head.

“Melanie.” Joanne’s bristly words swept me out of the store. “You don’t have to play junior detective, you know. I don’t intend to search for Matthew all over town.”

“Okay,” I said reluctantly. “Sorry. I just thought it wouldn’t hurt to ask.”

“Don’t ask anymore,” she said firmly.

“Okay, relax. I won’t.”

“Good. Now, do you want to check out this resort?”

“We might as well.”

The guard at the small booth let us in without asking any questions. We drove down smoothly paved streets to a clubhouse and office that looked out at the ocean. The measured-off lots looked like a setup for a cookie-cutter suburban development.

“How depressing,” Joanne said. “In six months this place will turn into a little dollhouse world. Let’s go in the office and find out how much the lots are going for.”

We stepped into an air-conditioned office and immediately felt chilled. A gentleman wearing expensive resort clothing greeted us in English and Spanish. He seemed to be eyeing our tousled appearance, as if to evaluate the potential of our actually purchasing one of his many soon-to-be-snatched-up lots.

“We’re interested in one of your brochures.” I wanted to cut off his presentation the moment he started it. “We have to go because we have groceries in the car.”

“I see.” He reached for a slick pamphlet. “Are you staying at the Costa del Sur?”

“No.”

“Camping on the beach?” he ventured.

“No.”

“Do you mind if I ask where you’re staying?”

Joanne stepped in and took over. “We’re staying at our uncle’s old place.” It was the truth, even though the trailer was now legally ours. At least the salesman stopped probing.

“If you have time to come back, I’d be happy to take you on a tour of our facilities and point out the lots that are still available. After the tour you’re entitled to a coupon good for a margarita at our clubhouse bar and free use of our swimming pool.”

“Thanks.” We turned to go.

“De nada,” he answered us then added, “Mi casa es su casa.”

Joanne and I looked at each other and shook our heads all the way back to the Jeep. That California boy had no idea what it meant to say that his house was our house.

“How much?” Joanne asked as we pulled out of the parking spot. She was driving, and I was flipping through the brochure.

“I don’t believe it,” I said.

“How much for a lot?”

“They start at two hundred thousand dollars and go up to four hundred thousand, depending on the size and how much of an ocean view it has.”

“That’s U.S. dollars, not pesos, right?”

“Right.”

“Are you saying they’re charging two hundred thousand dollars just for the lot?”

“No, that includes the house. They give four different floor plans to choose from. And get this. There are more than three hundred lots still available.”

“The big question is how will this development affect Uncle Harlan’s place.”

“Good question.”

After we put away the groceries, Joanne and I made sandwiches from the packaged turkey breast we had bought and munched on a bag of baby carrots. Our trailer didn’t have working electricity or water, but since we would be there such a short time, we thought it was best to make do without. I don’t think either of us would have been happy with that decision if we hadn’t stayed with Rosa Lupe and seen how cleverly she coped with neither of those modern conveniences.

Our late afternoon meal was a combination of lunch and dinner, so it seemed fitting to leisurely stroll barefoot along the beach at sunset. I had bought a flashlight and extra batteries and carried it with us on our walk just in case it became too dark on the way back.

The evening breeze skittered across the water on kitten’s paws, quietly stretching and taking its precious time to join us as we walked. Facing east meant the sun was actually going to set behind us and not into the water, the way it did whenever
we had viewed the close of the day in British Columbia. The eastern sky was slow to dim as Joanne and I leaned low, looking for seashells. I loved the sensation of the warm, sugar white sand between my toes.

“What are you thinking?” I asked Joanne as a fleet of amber- and scarlet-shaded clouds scuttled out to sea.

“I’m thinking lots of things. What are you thinking?”

“That I can’t remember my other life.”

“What does that mean?”

“That means I feel as if I’ve been gone from home for years, not just a few days. I feel as if I have new spaces opening up in my brain, and I have time to think. I feel renewed.”

“So do I,” Joanne said. “Getting out of our comfort drones is a good thing.”

“Don’t you mean comfort zones?”

“They might be zones for you, but for me, when I get comfortable, I turn into a drone.”

“Joanne, you don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to, but I have to ask. Why did you jump in the water after that child?”

“I thought he was going to drown.”

“But you didn’t even think about it. You just ran and jumped in. I could never do that.”

“Yes you could. If you had seen all the suffering and loss of life I saw in India and you were presented with a situation where it seemed possible you could save a life if you acted immediately, you would have jumped in, too.”

We had turned and were now headed back up the beach toward our hideaway.

“Do you think you’ll ever go back to India?”

“Possibly. One day. What I’d rather do is raise an army of support for the work that’s going on there.”

“What do you mean?”

“I want to find a way to let people know what’s going on in India and how young girls are being freed from forced prostitution. If I go back to India, I’m one person. That’s helpful, of course. Very helpful. But if I can find ten people or a hundred people who will pray and contribute to the ministry, that’s even more helpful.”

“Are you doing that now? I don’t remember seeing any letters from you that asked for financial support for them.”

“I haven’t sent out any letters. I don’t know where to begin. I’m terrible at organizing and communicating and all the other stuff necessary to build a support base. That’s a bigger challenge to me than getting back on a plane and working at the center for the rest of my life.”

Writing a simple letter sounded elementary to me. I had organized a fund-raiser for Joy’s school choir while I had the flu two years ago, and when it turned out to be the biggest draw they’d ever had, they asked me to do it every year. I did it this year practically in my sleep.

“I know a thing or two about organizing,” I said. “Why don’t you keep me in mind, if you need help sometime?”

By the look on Joanne’s face in the dimming light, I saw
she never had thought of me as a resource for such a project. “You’re right, Mel.”

“You know, I think that’s the third time today you’ve told me I was right. I love it when you say those three little words: ‘You’re right, Mel. You’re right, Mel.’ ”

“You know what they say about pride,” Joanne warned.

“Wear it with honor?”

“No, I was thinking of the verse in Proverbs that says pride goes before a fall.” She caught my ankle with her foot and tried to bring me down to the sand. I hopped quickly and avoided the tumble.