by Claire Cook
Sherry gulped back a sob.
“Okay,” I said. “Not a problem. How about Splash at six-thirty?”
“Thanks,” Sherry said. “See you then.”
As soon as I hung up the phone, I got busy. I gift wrapped the two retractable clotheslines. I put my mother’s in the back of my closet. I’d been thinking she would just naturally go somewhere else when I left for Sequim, but I wasn’t seeing any signs of her requiring a going-away present yet.
I left Annalisa’s in the garage. The plan was that Tess would add it to the box of journals and pens in the morning and mail the package before we left for Sequim. I circled back around to my kitchen to grab a glass of water. I stood at the counter, drinking and looking out my kitchen window. My lavender was barely flowering, and now my clothesline was gone. Or at least coiled up and tucked against the side of my house.
Change was in the air.
SHERRY WAS ALREADY seated at a table when I got to Splash. She looked up at me with sad, puffy eyes.
I slid into the chair across from her. “Are you okay?” I asked.
“That guy I was seeing,” she said. “He broke up with me.”
“Jerk,” I said.
A glass of white wine was already waiting. I took a sip. It looked like Sherry was already working on her second glass.
“Wait,” I said. “He actually broke up with you?”
Sherry looked at her cell phone, which was sitting in the middle of the table. “He just stopped answering my calls.”
“Maybe…,” I said. We each took a sip of our wine.
I took a deep breath. “Listen,” I said. “I should have told you this last time. I know it’s Michael Carleton you were seeing.”
Sherry opened her eyes wide. “How?” she said.
“Because I was sneaking around with him, too. I should have told you when I realized it, but I was jealous. I’m so glad you didn’t take a buyout unless you were sure you wanted to, because he’ll never leave to go cross country with you in a van, even if he said he would, and by the way, that was my garter belt, and he never slept with it. He didn’t even know me in junior high.”
Sherry put her glass down on the table with a thunk. “What an asshole,” she said. “I can’t believe I fell for him.”
“It happens,” I said.
Sherry took another sip of her wine. “Well, we can’t let him get away with it. I know, I’ll leave a message saying I have something life or death to tell him, and he has to meet me. And then when he shows up, we’ll both be waiting….”
I shook my head.
Sherry leaned forward over the table. “Okay, I’ll send an e-blast to everybody in the sneaker industry. It’s too late to stop his buyout, but we can make sure he never gets a foot in the door again.”
“He’s not worth it,” I said.
Sherry’s eyes teared up.
I held up my glass. “To better choices next time around.”
She clinked her glass to mine.
I took a sip, then picked up my menu.
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s eat.”
Sherry gave her cell phone one more glance, and then she reached for her menu.
Day 24
10,873 steps
“WE HAVE TO DO IT BEFORE WE LEAVE,” TESS SAID. “IT’LL be like throwing ourselves a bon voyage party. I’ll mail the journals and glitter pens…”
“And the retractable clothesline,” I said.
“…and the retractable clothesline. Then tonight we’ll paper the town with right-to-dry signs and hit the road with our tires squealing. We won’t tell a soul, so nobody can rat us out even if they want to.”
“There’s no way I can add one more thing to my day,” Rosie said. “I’ll be lucky to get out of my house by morning as it is.”
“Okay,” Tess said. “Noreen and I will do it. Just be on standby in case we need you to bail us out or anything.”
That got my attention. “You’re kidding, right?”
Tess shrugged. “Whatever it takes to fight the good fight.”
We stepped through the opening in the seawall. The tide was really high today. “Just think,” I said, “the next time we set foot on a beach, we’ll be looking at a different ocean.”
“Cool,” Rosie said. “But can we pick up the pace a little? I’ve got a gazillion things to do.”
We finished our walk in record time. Just as I was reaching for my door, my mother opened it. She was wearing a big white T-shirt and black leggings. Silver humpback whale earrings dangled beneath my former bicycle helmet. Rosie’s dad was wearing the same outfit, minus the humpbacks.
My mother gave me a big smile. “Oh, hi, honey. I left your breakfast on the stove. You can pop it in the microwave if it’s not hot enough. Kent and I are going to ride our bikes to the Y for a tai chi class.”
I hoped that didn’t mean she’d paid for a lifetime membership. “Hi, Mr. Stockton,” I said.
He kissed my hand. “Kent. Lovely to see you, Noreen. Come on, Lo, we need all the chi we can get at our age.”
“Oh, you,” my mother said.
While I ate my breakfast, I did some thinking. How was it that other people seemed to have no problem having relationships? Even my own mother knew how to do it. Was it that they knew what they wanted? Or maybe they knew what they didn’t want and stayed open to the rest.
I found my dream pillow in my bedroom. Carefully, using some tiny nail scissors I found in the bathroom, I snipped out the stitches at one of the smaller ends. Then I curled up with Rosie’s tussie-mussie book and a legal pad. I took my time, flipping through each section, trying to work with plants I’d be able to recognize from the photographs and could find either in my garden or at the supermarket.
I wasn’t able to find all the ingredients, but I thought I’d found enough of them to get my dreams moving in the right direction. As soon as I finished stitching up the pillow again, I put it right into my suitcase, so I wouldn’t forget it. My clothes would smell great by the time I got to the lavender festival. I smiled at the thought of eligible men from all over the world catching the scent of my dreams and flocking behind me everywhere I went.
I was just about packed by the time my mother came home long enough to change her clothes. “So, Mom,” I said, “are you planning to stay here while I’m in Sequim? I’m just wondering.”
* * *
DREAM PILLOW REINVENTED
lavender = devotion, luck, happiness
mint = warmth
pink rose = friendship
thyme = courage
lemon balm = understanding
honeysuckle = passion
fern = sincerity
almond blossom = hope
freesia = trust
dogwood = durability
dandelion = time and love
* * *
“Why wouldn’t I?” my mother asked.
“No reason,” I said. “I was only thinking everybody else might start to get mad because I’m hogging your whole visit.”
My mother opened my refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of water. “Not to worry,” she said. “Jimmy and Kevin are going to bring their families by for dinner this weekend, so they can meet Kent.”
“Gee, make yourself at home,” I said.
“Thanks, sweetie.” She came over and kissed me on my cheek. “Oh, and honey, if I’m not home by the time you go to bed, have a wonderful trip, okay?”
I WAS ALMOST asleep when I heard the knock at my door. I opened one eye enough to read the green numbers on my alarm clock: 9:32. Maybe my mother was having an early night and had forgotten where I hid the key.
I kicked the covers off. I pulled the hem of my T-shirt down as I tiptoed to the door.
Tess was standing on my front steps, dressed all in black and holding a basket of markers and a big pile of poster boards.
I opened the door. “Do we have to?” I said.
Tess pushed past me. “You weren’t asleep already, were you?”
&
nbsp; “Don’t be ridiculous,” I said. I yawned. “I just figured you’d changed your mind, so I got ready for bed.”
“Well, get unready then.” Tess started spreading sheets of white poster board across my dining room table. “And shake a leg—I don’t want to be up all night. Unlike my daughter, I need at least a few hours of sleep to be functional.”
I went back to my bedroom and threw on an old pair of jeans.
“Are you trying to get us arrested?” Tess asked when she saw me. She shook her head. “We’re talking basic black here.”
It didn’t seem worth the fight, so I went back to my bedroom and found some black exercise pants and a black T-shirt.
FIGHT FOR THE RIGHT TO AIR DRY, Tess had already written in huge green letters on a poster board by the time I got back.
I grabbed another green marker and thought for a moment. HANG TOUGH, I wrote.
“Hey, you’re good at this,” Tess said.
“Thanks,” I said. I thought some more. CLOTHESLINES ARE THE NEW COOL, I wrote.
“Eh,” Tess said. She chewed the end of her marker for a moment. DO YOUR PART TO STOP GLOBAL WARMING—FIGHT THE MARSHBURY COMMUNITY CLOTHESLINE BAN.
I yawned. “Not too catchy,” I said. I drew a clothesline in a few quick strokes. HANG IT UP, I wrote, BAN THE BAN.
“Okay, fine,” Tess said. “You’re better at this than I am. Come on, we don’t have to be brilliant. We just have to get this done.”
There were four poster boards left. Tess handed me two. A CLOTHESLINE IS A THING OF BEAUTY, I wrote on the first one. THERE’S NOTHING LIKE THE SMELL OF YOUR SHEETS FRESH OFF THE LINE, I wrote on the second. It was a little bit wordy, but it was important to invoke all the senses in a campaign, and I thought if we could get people to actually smell the sheets, we’d be well on our way.
“Ooh, wait,” I said. I grabbed one of Tess’s poster boards. WAKE UP AND SMELL THE SHEETS, I wrote.
“Hey, that was my poster board,” Tess said. DON’T TELL ME HOW TO DRY MY CLOTHES AND I WON’T HAVE TO TELL YOU WHERE TO GO, she wrote on the last one.
“Are you sure people aren’t going to know you’re responsible for this?” I said.
Tess was already putting the posters into a pile. “You mean, we’re responsible for this,” she said. “Come on, let’s hit the road.”
Tess had her hunter green minivan all backed into my driveway and ready for a quick takeoff. When I opened the door on the passenger side, a jug of laundry detergent fell out. I jumped back before it could break a toe.
“What are you trying to do, kill me?” I said. I bent down and picked up the big plastic container. “Don’t tell me we’re going to stage a public wash-in or something…”
Tess was beside me, sliding open the side door of the van so she could stash the posters. “Much better than that,” she said. “Trust me.”
“Ha,” I said.
Tess pulled out of my driveway and put her blinker on to take a left at the end of Wildwater Way. I felt a lump under my foot and reached down to pull up a roll of clothesline. “What’s this for?” I said.
“To hang the posters,” Tess said. “It’ll make them more visually evocative.” She reached around in the space behind the hump between us and pulled out two black ski masks.
“Tell me you’re kidding,” I said. “It’s still at least seventy-five degrees out.”
Tess put one ski mask in her lap and handed me the other. “So, don’t put it on yet. We have time.”
I placed it on the dashboard. “No offense,” I said. “But this isn’t exactly a female gangster kind of vehicle.”
“Hel-lo, it’s called camouflage,” Tess said. “You want to hide in a suburb, you drive a green minivan.”
I thought we were heading for Main Street, but Tess pulled into a parking space at the town common. She yanked her black ski mask over her head.
“Where did you even get these?” I asked.
Tess grabbed mine from the dashboard and handed it to me. “My son went through a ninja warrior phase,” she said. “I saved these and a couple of his weapons. I have a memory box for each of my kids.”
“Sweet,” I said. I pulled the mask over my head. It was hot and scratchy, and it smelled like attic.
“Grab the clothesline,” Tess said. “And there should be a Ziploc bag filled with clothespins and a roll of duct tape, too. Check under the seat if you don’t see them.”
“Why do we need duct tape if we have clothespins?” I asked.
“It’s good to be prepared,” Tess said. “Just in case.”
“In case what?”
Tess ignored me. We got out of the minivan. Tess walked around to get the posters, and I reached back into the van and rooted around until I found the clothespins and duct tape. Then I shut the door and looked up through the holes in my ski mask. The moon was almost full, and the whole sky twinkled with stars. It made me think of Annalisa. I hoped she was doing okay. I hoped I’d get to meet her one day, which was crazy, but probably no crazier than standing around wearing a ski mask on a hot night in July.
The side door closed with a click. There was one other car, down at the far end of the single row of parking spaces that flanked one edge of the town common. Tess walked right up to it and banged on the windshield with her knuckles.
Under the light of the silvery moon, we watched two teenagers pop up from the backseat. I had a sudden, random feeling one of them was going to be Hannah.
“Get the hell out of here, or I’ll call both your parents,” Tess growled in a voice that scared even me.
“Whoa,” I said. “Shouldn’t they at least find a secluded place to do that, like we used to?”
“Don’t get me started,” Tess said.
“Would you really call their parents?” I asked. “I mean, if Hannah was in that car, would you want somebody to tell you?”
“I’d rather they offered to keep her for the rest of the summer,” Tess said.
I followed Tess across the common. She was taking big, purposeful steps, and I took a couple of Rosie-like hops to catch up with her.
Lots of New England towns have village greens at their centers, and even I knew that the town common was the pride and joy of Marshbury. It had huge statues, stone benches, and an enormous fountain. Plus plaques honoring soldiers who’d been killed in wars. And gorgeous trees and gardens dotting a vast stretch of manicured lawn.
But what I was really noticing most right now was its location. The Marshbury common was shaped like a big triangle, with a well-traveled road running along each of its three sides.
“Tess,” I whispered. “We are sooooooo going to get caught.”
Tess put the stack of posters on the ground and reached for the clothesline I was holding. “Okay,” she said. “Take this end and head down to that tree over there….”
“Can’t we go somewhere a little less conspicuous?” I said. “Maybe we can duct tape them to telephone poles around town. I’ll drive and you can jump out of the car—”
“No way. They’ll get totally lost in all the yard sale signs. We have to hang them all together to make a big statement. Half the town will drive right past here tomorrow morning on their way to work.”
A car drove past now and put on its high beams. I ducked. “Okay,” I whispered. “Just hurry.”
My heart was beating like crazy, but I wrapped my end of the clothesline around a tree. Tess looped hers around the neck of some Revolutionary War guy, who was about the same size. She tore off a piece of duct tape and covered his eyes with it, then stood on her toes and gave him a kiss on his bronze cheek. “Keep it under your hat, big boy,” she said.
“Tess,” I whispered. “Hurry.”
We got all the posters clothespinned on as fast as we could, and when we finished, they stretched across the width of the common.
Tess stepped back for a better look. “No one’s going to miss them in the morning, that’s for sure,” she said.
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s go.
”
I was more than ready for a quick getaway, but Tess walked to my side of the minivan with me. She opened the door and pulled out the laundry detergent.
“What’s that for?” I said.
“Follow me,” Tess said.
I was too curious not to. We headed right for the fountain. It was huge, plenty big enough to have a wading party in, and kids and dogs were always splashing around in there whenever I drove by on a nice day. Three enormous verdigris elephants stood on their hind legs in the center, spraying water out of their trunks.
Tess unscrewed the cap and started pouring the detergent into the fountain.
“Ohmigod,” I said. “Tess, I bet we can get into serious trouble for this.”
Tess kept pouring. “Relax. It’s hypoallergenic, biodegradable, nontoxic, and free of petroleum solvents. It doesn’t clean for shit, but it sure makes great bubbles.”
Day 25
4877 steps
WE’D HIRED AN AIRPORT SHUTTLE SERVICE TO PICK US UP AT 3:30 and drive us to Logan Airport for our 6 A.M. flight. We’d all decided that if you factored in the cost of airport parking and aggravation, plus the fact that we could split it three ways, the shuttle was definitely the way to go.
I’d expected Tess to be already out in her driveway, giggling and singing “I’m Forever Blowing Bubbles” in the dark, but when I rolled my suitcase outside, I was alone. Seeing the same stars that had witnessed us vandalizing our town common gave a dreamlike mantle to our adventures last night. Not seeing Tess made me wonder if I’d somehow gotten the day wrong.
