Sisterchicks on the Loose (18 page)

I slipped out of the kitchen and returned a moment later with my camera. Before they realized what I was doing, I’d snapped a picture of them leaning in over the simple white ceramic coffee cups.

“Oh, please! My hair!” Penny held up a hand in front of my camera.

“Your hair is fine,” I told her. “Keep talking. Pretend I’m not here.”

“If you’re going to take more, at least make sure you have both of us in the picture.” Penny got up from her side of the table and went to Marketta’s side. She wrapped her arms around her aunt’s neck and pressed her cheek against Marketta’s short, silvery hair.

You just wanted to hug your auntie, didn’t you, Penny? Go ahead. Hug all you want. You are going to love having these photos
.

I took several shots from different angles as the two charmers posed for the camera. Penny hugged Marketta, and Marketta hugged her right back.

Penny always had been a snuggler with her husband and children. She was the first woman I knew who regularly greeted me with a kiss on the cheek. My mom never had been demonstrative. My sister-in-law hugged on occasion. And you know about Gloria. Penny was the one who gave me that womanly gift of affirmation with her hugs and kisses.

I loved watching Penny get back some of the huggin’ and lovin’ she so generously gave to others.

I found my place at the kitchen table, and our day was dedicated to storytelling. Marketta pulled out a marvelous old photo album, and Penny studied every picture of her mother, listening with her entire being to each story that accompanied the picture.

A stack of old letters rested beside where I sat. The penmanship was feminine. I guessed these were letters from Penny’s mother to Marketta. They were, of course, all in Finnish. It would be quite a job to translate them into English.

Around two o’clock I interrupted briefly to ask if I could fix some lunch for us. Marketta’s voice sounded hoarse. I imagined she was weary from using English and talking so much.

“Of course!” Marketta said. “My guests must eat. The soup
is ready. I can make it warm for us now.”

“I can do it,” I said. “Please don’t get up. I can figure it out. Is this it?”

“Yes.
Kiitos
.”

“
Eipä kestä
,” I replied tentatively.

“
Eipä kestä!
” Marketta repeated.

“Listen to you!” Penny teased. “I sleep through one day, and you double your Finnish vocabulary.”

“She also can say ‘Reindeer Island,’ ” Marketta said. “Show her.”

“
Porosaari
,” I spouted with a cocky tilt of my head.

“Impressive. Where did I hear that before? Oh, I know. The island where my mom caught the fish, right? Marketta told me the story this morning.”

“Did she also tell you that you get your skills in the fine art of persuasion from your father?”

“No, we haven’t talked about my father yet. I have a question to ask you, Aunt Marketta. Did my father love my mother?”

Marketta paused. “Yes,” she said at last. “Your father loved your mother.”

I’m sure Penny had the same feeling I did. Marketta was hiding something. It was as if she were really saying, “Your father loved your mother, but …”

The phone rang just then. Marketta got up to answer it in the other room.

I turned the flame under the soup kettle to low and went over to Penny. “How’s your cold?”

“Cured! Although I don’t recommend my method of treatment. I can’t believe I overmedicated myself! I’m so bummed I missed a whole day with you guys. Marketta said you are ‘precious,’
and she and Juhani loved spending time with you yesterday.”

“They are amazing, aren’t they? So full of life. And your uncle! I’ve never met anyone like him.”

“I know. I love him. I love them both to pieces.”

“Where is Juhani?”

“Off to market with his fish, or something like that, from what I gathered. My conversation with the two of them earlier this morning was a bit hard to follow.”

“Yes, I know what you mean.”

“This is so much more than I’d hoped for, Sharon. Being here and listening to all these stories. I think God outdid Himself when He answered this prayer for me.”

I nodded.

“Marketta said her daughter in England could translate all my mom’s letters for me. Can you believe that? I have a cousin in England.”

I could see the glitter flecks gather in Penny’s comet-riding mind. She was planning her next adventure. I secretly wanted to be her companion whenever she took off on that jolly lark. I told myself it was too much to wish. I needed to stay in the present and be content with this trip’s abundance.

“Penny, how are you doing with all this? Is it overwhelming?”

“Yes, but in a good way. It’s much better than I thought it would be, seeing Marketta and being in her home. She has been giving me bits of my mother that I never had before. It’s so amazing to me. I feel as if I didn’t know much about my mother at all. And you know what? The more Marketta tells me about her,” Penny paused and took a deep breath, “the more I miss her.”

The tears began to come.

“I’m so sad that my children never knew her. I’m so sad that I didn’t love her when I had the chance. I never got to know her as a friend. Woman to woman. I just took her for granted. From the time I was fifteen, all I wanted to do was get away from her.”

Penny buried her face in her hands and let the tears roll down her arms. I gingerly touched her elbow and gave it an awkward pat. I never was good at moments like this.

Marketta entered the kitchen and nearly flew to Penny’s side. Wrapping her arms around Penny’s shoulders, Marketta nestled her nose into Penny’s neck and spoke to her in low, melodic tones.

“I miss my mother,” Penny blubbered. “I miss her.”

Marketta drew back her head. Tears were tumbling from her eyes. “Yes. Yes, I know. I miss Elsa, too.”

I leaned back in my chair, sensing this was a hallowed moment between niece and aunt. The two of them clung to each other and cried big tears that came from deep caverns of their souls. Marketta slowly rocked Penny back and forth.

Then the tears stopped. The sobbing was over. Penny reached for a cloth napkin on the table and dried her eyes.

I was painfully aware of how controlled all the women in my family were. True, we hadn’t faced a death together, or even remembered a loss together, the way Marketta and Penny had just done. I found their honest expression of grief compelling and a form of humility about which I knew very little.

They kissed each other on the cheek, and the outburst was over.

Marketta stroked Penny’s hair. She looked at me with a little grin that resembled a shy sunbeam, wondering if it’s safe
to come out and play after the storm has passed.

“That was my longest friend on the phone,” Marketta said. “We have been close to each other since we were twenty. I think we decided to become like sisters after Elsa went to America.”

Penny looked up, caught my gaze, and smiled at me. Penny and I knew what it was like to be each other’s longest and closest friend. We understood that feeling of one day deciding you’ve become like sisters.

“My Anni called to say she would like us to go to her house tonight for dinner. Just us girls.”

“That’s nice of her,” Penny said.

“She lives in Hinthaara. In the country. I will get Juhani to drive us because I do not see well at night. We can sleep there, and a bus comes to Hinthaara tomorrow, on Thursday, so we can take the bus home. How does that sound to you?”

“Wonderful!” Penny said.

“Yes, wonderful,” I agreed. “It’s so kind of Anni to invite us.”

“Anni has an old house, and this is good because she has the best sauna.”

“The famous Finnish sauna,” Penny said. “Sharon’s been reading about your saunas.”

“You can tell nothing by only reading about our saunas.” Marketta turned to me, and I noticed her left eyebrow was slightly elevated. “Tonight you will experience sauna!”

P
enny bathed
and put on her nicest outfit to visit Anni. Then Penny handed me a few of her things to pack in my new bag so we would have just one piece of luggage for our overnighter.

I watched Penny curling her hair and thought back to when I was in sixth grade and received an invitation to my first overnighter, a slumber party at Lisa Bachman’s house for her twelfth birthday. The big treat was that we had pizza delivered and root beer floats. We each were supposed to bring a clean, empty soup can so that we could curl (or rather, straighten) our long hair by gathering it on the top of our heads and rolling it on the cans.

I didn’t bring a soup can because I was the only one with short hair. My mother believed all respectable preadolescent girls should wear pixie cuts with curls at the cheeks achieved by bobby pins and pink hair tape every night.

Since I couldn’t roll my hair, I became the beautician for everyone else. My fingers were sticky with the green gel goop that came in a little round pot. Up went each girl’s ponytail, on
went the goop, and then I was at my very best, carefully rolling the soup can so that not a single hair strayed.

Connie Kidamon brought an empty frozen orange juice can instead of a soup can and arrived at the party with a big bandage on her thumb because she had cut herself when she tried to wash out the can. Everyone thought she was brave.

All the girls wore pajamas with a top and a bottom. I was the only one wearing a nightgown. Connie called it a “granny gown,” and I didn’t think she said it in a way that sounded as if she wished she had one.

All the girls were running around with green goop on their long hair and soup cans on top of their heads. I dutifully did my bobby-pin spit curls and taped them to my cheeks. No one copied me or asked to borrow my pink hair tape.

One’s identity can be established from a few defining moments in childhood. I learned something about myself at Lisa’s slumber party that stayed with me all these years. I learned that everyone liked me when I helped them. The girls didn’t notice or admire me. They appreciated me because I was useful. My role in life was to be the facilitator.

Pausing over the half-packed overnight bag, I wondered if part of the reason I was drawn to Penny and part of the reason our friendship worked, even though we were so opposite, was because Penny made me feel almost cool. She listened to me and laughed at my jokes. Penny accepted me just the way I was yet wasn’t shy about speaking up when she saw areas where I could stand some improvement.

Yes, I was still a facilitator around Penny. I was the one on the floor packing our bag while she curled her hair. But Penny always made me feel equal or even sometimes above her. She didn’t look down on me. If Penny had been at Lisa Bachman’s
slumber party, I might have turned out to be a different person.

Then a thought struck me.
It’s never too late. If Lisa Bachman’s slumber party established my role in life for the past thirty years, why can’t tonight’s slumber party—or this whole trip—reestablish my identity and role in life for the next thirty?

Those were bold thoughts. They were the kind of bold thoughts that usually came to me only during my stints of January madness. Was I really a different person deep inside, waiting for a chance to break out? Like a brave chick still inside her shell, I saw myself peck, pecking my way to the world outside.

“What do you think?” Penny turned to me with every hair smoothly in place. I thought she looked stylish and elegant enough to have tea with the queen. Or rather, the president, since we were in Finland. Marketta told us they had a woman president, and Penny and I were impressed.

“What do I think about what?”

“Do you think all our stuff is going to fit in that bag?”

“I think so.”

“Did you pack our bathing suits?” Penny asked.

I turned and gave Penny my best poor-me pout.

“Oh, that’s right. Your bathing suit went to China without you.”

Marketta called to us from the hallway. “Ready to go? Juhani has gone to the car to make it warm.”

“Okay, just a minute.” Penny tossed me her one-piece bathing suit and stuffed her cosmetics into her shoulder bag. “We’ll figure out something. Maybe Anni has an extra bathing suit.”

We joined Marketta by the front door. She looked like the cutest, cuddliest, most lively grandma on the planet with her
hand-knit ski sweater and stocking cap. Her gloves were a matching deep red and looked fuzzy and warm.

“Ready then?”

“Ready or not, here we go,” Penny said.

Marketta led us out her apartment door and over to what looked like a broom closet door with a big sign on it. She opened the door, revealing an elevator.

Penny and I looked at each other and laughed.

“Guess I should have looked up the word for elevator so we would have known what the door said downstairs,” I said.

“Ah!” Marketta said. “This now explains why you took all the stairs. The lift is faster.”

It was. We were down all seven floors and out into the dark, crisp evening chill in a few quick minutes. Juhani waited with their small white sedan pulled up under the portico. He got out when he saw us and, with a big smile and lots of Finnish words, took our bags.