by Deb Lewis
“Mmm… No buildings? What about meals, or, you know,” Pat replied, picking up on her friend’s enthusiasm, “you’re right. I’ll bet we could even use the beach on the shoreline for a bonfire at night.”
“Speakers could be at churches or the library. We could keep the costs down. Ask for volunteers. Heck, our friends would love to help us. Restaurants would likely give us a discount when we bring in twenty or thirty people. You know the music camp must do it that way every summer. Let’s find out.”
Excited by their discussion, Deb didn’t even notice she had spilled coffee down the front of her favorite sweater.
“If you build it, they will come,” she said grandly, referring to a line from Field of Dreams, one of her all-time favorite baseball movies. She waved her fingers at the waiter to get his attention. “This calls for a celebration. Would you bring us two glasses of the house Chablis with our lunch?”
He nodded his head.
“As long as you’re not really celebrating your husbands’ demises,” he replied.
“Heck, no. We figured out a better way.” Deb turned to Pat. “So, what kind of retreat theme? Feminism… art?”
“No, something more ‘woo woo.’ If we’re going out on a limb, let’s really do something fun! I know! They’ve been making so much about the end of the Mayan calendar in the news, you know, end of the world stuff. Let’s do a summer solstice retreat. A rebirth kind of thing, starting with Tai Chi in the morning and ending with a solstice bonfire and party.”
“What? Are you talking this year?” Deb asked dubiously. “Solstice is only a few months away.”
Pat waved away her objections like she was swatting at a mosquito.
“No big deal. It’s not like the first one will be for a hundred people. We’ll just invite friends and maybe family. Let’s see, maybe thirty or so. Enough to get the discounts. Piece of cake.”
“You always make things sound so easy, but why is it things never turn out that way?” Deb shook her head.
With most people, I can just daydream and enjoy ideas, Deb thought, never really having to act on them. With Pat, she dreams something and voila! It starts to become a reality. What have I done?
The waiter returned with filled glasses. Picking one up, Pat raised it in salute.
“A good friend once said, just a moment ago, something like: ‘if you don’t dream it, you can’t have it.’ Here’s to a great dream becoming a reality.”
“Okay, Lucy, this Ethel’s in.” Deb lifted her glass and clinked it with Pat’s, and then took a steep swallow. “Here’s to a retreat house without the house. Can’t wait.”
Here we go again, she thought.
Chapter Three
April 16
The very next day, the two best friends headed to the Bistro again, reveling in the rare freedom of a day to themselves.
Not everyone is lucky enough to have a best friend. People often say things like: ‘my husband is my best friend,’ or ‘my mother is my best friend.’ Though Pat and Deb love their family members like crazy and would die willingly for any one of them, they are best friends. No bones about it.
Feeling the welcome ambiance of the place, Pat and Deb followed a group of women into the large cozy room, which bustled with lunch crowd noise. Pat inhaled the intoxicating scent of homemade soup.
“Come on in!” the owner called from his perch behind the wine bar at the far end.
“Hi, Pat!” greeted a neighbor, who sat chatting amicably at the bar.
Deb recognized several other friends and neighbors in the large wooden booths hugging the red wall on the right.
“Hi, Pastor!” A smiling former parishioner called to Pat from his table in the front window.
“And then he said that the mayor had invited the Catholic priest to say the prayer at council meetings,” Pat overheard a voice whispering conspira-torially. Life goes on, she thought as she passed by.
Pat glanced at the bright oil paintings on the wall to the left, the artistic flavor of the month.
“This place is better than reading a newspaper,” Deb murmured.
“That’s the deal with small towns,” Pat said, as she slid into the cushioned booth nearest to the kitchen. “The good news is, everyone knows your business, and the bad news is… “
“Everyone knows your business!” Deb chimed in, as she picked up her menu.
“Hey ladies, good to see you back. Should I bring coffee or… ?” the waiter asked with a smile.
“Your wonderful coffee will be just fine. We’re making up an invite and have to be clearheaded. What’s the soup today?” Pat asked.
“Your favorite: wild mushroom. Want a big bowl?” Pat nodded.
“Me, too,” Deb said. “And baguettes, please.”
“Sure, what are you working on?”
In a small town, it is never impolite to be snoopy.
“A fund raiser?”
He was always up for helping out a good cause when he could.
“We’re actually thinking, no, strike that, we’re doing a women’s retreat out on the island at summer solstice. Think your wife would like to come?”
“Solstice? Like a coven thing? What will you call it? Witches Unite? Take Back the Night?’”
“Not bad, but no cigar. It’s kind of a renewal retreat, with a couple of workshops and a masseuse.”
“A masseuse? Heck, with my wife, I could use a break.”
“Sorry. No men at this one.”
“Oh well, good luck then. The coffee is just brewing. I’ll be back with it in a minute.” He stopped at the next booth on the way to the kitchen. “Hello, anything to drink?”
“So, what do we want it to say?” Deb asked, getting down to business. “Let’s make sure they don’t think it’s some kind of witch thing.”
“Could be worse,” Pat replied, pulling out her notebook and favorite pen. “After all, the women labeled as witches in the old days were by and large healers and spiritual leaders. How about ‘Come for solstice and a cup of witch’s brew?’” she teased.
“Forget it. My mom would never come with that title. How about, ‘Come to the islands’?”
“That’s a great play on words. It sounds like Maui,” Pat said, writing it down. “But off the record, I know some of our relatives would qualify to come to a coven of the fabled kind, broomsticks and all.”
“Isn’t that the truth! Wasn’t Maui wonderful?” Deb asked dreamily. “Wouldn’t it be great if we could have our retreat there?”
“Focus! We need to get this invitation out in the next few days.” Pat looked up from her writing at Deb. “And yes, it was wonderful. And yes, maybe if these retreats work out, next year we can do Maui. The other island.” They both laughed.
Pat scribbled feverishly for a few minutes and then turned a messy page towards Deb. “How does this look?”
COME TO THE ISLAND!!
YOU ARE INVITED TO A SOLSTICE RETREAT
Okay, Okay, It’s not to Jamaica or to Hawaii.
It’s to Madeline Island and it won’t be the same without you.
COME FOR JUST THE DAY OF THE UPCOMING SUMMER SOLSTICE, OR COME FOR ALL FOUR DAYS.
This is a chance for sisters to be together.
And if you got this invite, we consider you our sister.
There will be book discussions, croquet, and wine.
And of course, a Solstice bonfire, which we hope to make an annual tradition.
Find a schedule of speakers and events, plus places for lodging, listed on the back.
Leave the men and kids at home, and join us for women’s time.
HOPING YOU’LL BE WITH US,
Pat and Deb
Let us know if you’re coming (or not). We’ll be on Island time!
“Here’s your coffee. Soup will be up in a few minutes.” The waiter put down the steaming cups and hurried away to seat a couple at the door.
Stirring in a dollop of cream, Deb scrutinized the writing. “It looks good. We better have real
dates and times on it, though, so there’s no confusion. I love the list of speakers on the back. Now we just have to have some. Any ideas?”
Taking the paper, Pat added the dates.
“How’s that? As for the speakers, I made a list. Here.” She pulled a list out of her coat pocket.
“Jeeze, where did you find this piece of paper? I’m just glad you didn’t write it on a used Kleenex.” Reading the list more closely, Deb set down her spoon. “Hey, this says you and I and mostly our friends will be the speakers. What’s with that?” she asked.
“Low overhead. Plus it’s a way to get them there.”
“Always thinking. Do you have something for our daughters to do? I’d love to have them there. Lately, they are so busy. Remember when they just loved to do things with us?”
“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.
Chapter Four
April 18
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?”
Chapter Five
April 19
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.”
