The Wildwater Walking Club

by Claire Cook

  I drove to Fresh Horizons South and pulled into the parking lot. Just as I was getting ready to open the car door, there was a knock on the passenger window. I jumped.

  Rick smiled through the glass. He had a brand-new haircut, and he looked freshly shaven and distinctly unscruffy. I pushed the button and rolled down the window.

  “Can I come in?” he asked.

  “To the car?” I asked.

  His cat green eyes held mine. “Well, you could take it more symbolically, I guess, but I’m okay with the car.”

  I flicked the unlock button from my side.

  He climbed in, shut the door, and buckled his seat belt.

  “Can I ask you why you put your seat belt on?” I asked.

  He looked straight ahead. “I just wanted you to know I’m responsible,” he said.

  I cracked up.

  “You have a great laugh,” he said. “You should use it more often.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “You know, you’re a pretty funny guy.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “Okay, we’re compatible. Now can we go play miniature golf?”

  I looked at my power watch. “It’s twelve-fifty-seven. Our small-group coaching class starts in three minutes.”

  He shrugged. “So, let’s skip.”

  I leaned back against the window on my side. “I thought you said you were responsible.”

  Rick wrinkled up his forehead. “I thought you said you wanted more fun in your life.”

  I smiled. “Sorry, but you’re going to have to work a little harder than that.”

  WE WERE BOTH quiet walking into Fresh Horizons South. I chose a chair with empty seats on both sides of it.

  Rick walked across the room and sat directly across from me. I pushed away a flicker of be-careful-what-you-wish-for disappointment.

  My jet lag came in for a landing, and I drifted in and out of a fog. Brock videotaped two newbies, who seemed as dazed and confused as I’d been not so long ago. I was vaguely aware of Michael sitting across the room, trying to catch my eye. I ignored him.

  Across from me, Rick put his hand up. Brock called on him, started the video camera, clapped his imaginary clapper. Rick looked right at the camera and introduced himself.

  “I’ve made some good progress this past week,” he said. “I’ve done some real soul searching about what I want my life to be. How I want to spend my days, how I can make a real contribution to the world…”

  Brock was nodding proudly, and none of the Wii guys even made a crack.

  “…and I think I’ve finally figured out what I need to make my life complete.”

  Everybody leaned forward in their chairs.

  Rick smiled. “I know now, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that if I can find the right person to play miniature golf with, everything else in my life will fall into place. Why, you might ask?” He cleared his throat. “Well, the little known truth is that you can figure out everything you need to know about a person in the first nine holes of a miniature golf game.”

  “Balls,” one of the scruffy guys said, “you can never have enough of them.”

  Rick ignored him and looked right at me. “It might seem like just an insignificant game, but when your partner gets stuck in a sand trap, does she handle it with grace and tenacity? Do you? If your ball drops through the wrong hole or lands in the waterfall, does your partner just laugh at you, or does she laugh and then say, hey, tough break, but hang in there and you’ll make it. When you find yourselves trapped in an old fortress with only a cannon to protect you, and pirates are attacking, do you have each other’s back, or is it every man and woman for him-or herself? And, maybe most important of all, when you’re tilting at windmills, it’s not everyone who has the guts to give you the dose of reality you need. The little known fact is that you can recognize that person in an ordinary game of miniature golf, and when you do, you’ll know the two of you have a shot together.”

  WE TOOK OFF as soon as the small-group class was over, while people were still milling around. Michael looked like he was about to say something to me as I walked by, but then he got pulled onto a Wii tennis team just in the nick of time.

  “Nice job,” I said.

  “Thanks,” Rick said. “I gave it everything I had.”

  He held the door open, and I climbed into his Honda. We found a miniature golf place right down the street. I’d driven past it a thousand times and never even noticed it.

  “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” I said.

  He wrinkled his forehead. “Afraid you won’t measure up?”

  I walked ahead of him to pick out my club. “And I thought you were supposed to have my back.”

  “The better to kick your butt,” he said.

  “Be afraid,” I said. “Be very afraid. I come from a long line of gifted professional mini golfers.”

  Fortunately, things were slow at Putt Putt Paradise, since my first shot went over Noah’s Ark and hit the wooden pirate at the next hole right between the eyes.

  “Oops,” I said.

  Rick leaned over his club. “You didn’t do that on purpose?”

  He executed a perfect shot past a couple of horses and through the opening in the ark. His ball rolled out the other side and came to a stop inches in front of the first hole.

  I walked over to the next hole, retrieved my ball from the pirate, and went back to the beginning.

  This time I managed to hit one of the horses in the shin. “Actually,” I said, “I haven’t played miniature golf since I was a kid.”

  “You’d never guess it,” Rick said. “You’re a natural.”

  “Right,” I said.

  “Can I give you a few pointers?” Rick asked when my next turn came.

  “Please do,” I said.

  He put his arms around me and his hands over mine on the club. If I could have frozen a moment in time, this would have been it. I loved the smell of his hair, the warmth of his chest, the weight of his forearms. Maybe we could spend the rest of our lives as adjoining statues in Putt Putt Paradise.

  We swung my club. My ball went high, then landed and rolled back down the hill and caught up to Jack and Jill, who were sprawled in a heap along with their empty pail of water.

  I wriggled out from under Rick’s arms. “That was helpful.”

  “Sorry,” he said. “I got distracted.”

  Nine holes were over before we knew it. “Want to make it eighteen?” Rick asked.

  “I’d love to,” I said, “but I’m pretty tired. How about a rain check?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Rick pulled his car up next to mine in the Fresh Horizons parking lot. “Thanks,” I said. I leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “That was really fun.”

  “Thank you. You’re the perfect miniature golf date, and I don’t say that lightly.”

  We smiled into each other’s eyes.

  I floated over to my own car. I turned and waved, then unlocked the doors and climbed inside.

  A minute later Rick was sitting in my passenger seat. “You sure you don’t want to have a late lunch? Or an early dinner? You must need some kind of meal.”

  I shook my head. “Thanks. I appreciate the offer, but I’m on borrowed time already. I think I’ll just go home and make myself a sandwich and go to bed.”

  “I don’t suppose you want any company,” Rick said.

  I laughed. “It’s our first date,” I said.

  “It’s our second date,” he said. He counted them off on his fingers. “Date number one, Wii bowling date. Date number two, miniature golf date.” He looked up at the roof of my car. “If you’d let me buy you a sandwich, we could count it as date number three, and then I could kiss you. I make it a rule never to kiss until the third date.”

  He looked at me. I smiled. “I’m a second-date kind of kisser,” I said.

  “You hussy,” Rick said. And then he kissed me.

  It was a great kiss, but I didn’t have much time to bask in it. When I op
ened my eyes, Michael was standing next to my car.

  I couldn’t think of another option, so I lowered my window.

  “Listen,” Michael said, “I really need to talk to you, Nora.”

  “Not now,” I said.

  “Listen,” Michael said again. “We have a lot of time invested in our relationship, and I’m not going to let you go without a fight.”

  I heard my passenger door open with a click.

  “Wait,” I said.

  Rick walked across the parking lot without looking back.

  “Thanks, pal,” Michael yelled.

  “Tell me you didn’t just say that in front of him,” I said. I couldn’t take my eyes off Rick. I watched him climb into his Honda and pull away.

  Michael leaned over my window and blocked my view. “It’s true,” he said.

  I opened my car door right into Michael.

  He jumped back. “Hey,” he said. “Watch the suit.”

  I climbed out. “I can’t believe you even have the nerve to talk to me. You made me all sorts of half promises, talked me into taking a buyout, and then you dumped me. You wouldn’t even take my phone calls.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “And let’s not forget about you and Sherry.”

  Michael ran one hand through his perfect brown hair. “Sherry who?” he said.

  I opened my car door again. “I don’t have time for this kind of conversation,” I said. I climbed in and slammed the car door.

  “Nora,” Michael said. He reached for the car door.

  I hit the lever and locked it, even though the window was still down. “Get out of my way,” I said. “Or I’ll drive right over you and your suit.”

  I PULLED INTO the beach parking lot, so I could take a quick walk on the way home. I still had the rest of today’s ten thousand steps to get in, and the good news about my confrontation with Michael was that now I was wide awake and I’d lost my appetite.

  I didn’t have my sneakers with me, so when I reached the sand, I just kicked off my sandals and carried them. As I walked, I wove my way among families with young kids, who were starting to pack up and head home to think about dinner. I watched a man rub sunscreen on a woman’s shoulders.

  After Michael and I started sneaking around, I used to sit in my office and wait for him to walk by, so I could see what he was wearing. I’d time my trips down the hallway to coincide with his, just so I could stand close enough to smell him. When we were in a meeting together, I’d look around the table and wonder what everyone would think if they knew.

  The worst part of it was that, looking back, the sneaking around part might have been a big part of the draw. It was hard to imagine I’d ever been that bored or needy.

  I walked down to the edge of the ocean and splashed through the cold, salty water. The tide had turned and was on its way out, leaving a fresh, ever-expanding beach that felt new and clean and ready to be discovered.

  After I finished walking, I drove home barefoot, windows down, radio blasting, singing along with David Ogden’s “No Better Place.”

  When I turned on to Wildwater Way, I could see Michael’s red vintage Mustang convertible sitting in my driveway with the top down. My first impulse was to circle the cul-de-sac and drive right out again, but I figured I might as well get it over with.

  As soon as I turned off my radio, I heard chickens clucking like crazy.

  “Nora,” Michael yelled. “Call nine-one-one!”

  The Supremes had him backed up against my front door, and they were pecking at his shoes.

  He gave his foot a little kick. “Come on, knock it off,” he said. “That’s Italian leather.”

  I got out of my car so I could get a better view. “How’s it going?” I asked.

  “Hurry up,” Michael said. “Do something.”

  “Here’s the thing about hens,” I said. “They don’t take disloyalty lightly. These three ganged up on a rooster once and killed him, just because he didn’t really give a shit about them.”

  “Ouch,” Michael said. “Hey, come on, what did I ever do to them?”

  “It might be time to reassess your life,” I said, “when even the chickens have got your number.” Then I went in through my back door to get some cereal.

  “So, that’s it?” Michael said after I’d finished walking the Supremes halfway down the path back to Rosie’s house. “They just wanted a snack?” He was leaning up against his car, trying to be cool, but I could tell he was ready to jump in and make a quick getaway if he had to.

  “Why are you here?” I asked.

  “I wanted to talk to you,” he said.

  I reached in for a handful of Kashi Good Friends, then held the box out to Michael. He shook his head.

  I popped some cereal into my mouth. “So,” I said. “Talk.”

  “I think I might have a lead on a job,” Michael said. “A start-up shoe company on the Left Coast. I’m over the whole EBAC thing.”

  It was like he was speaking a language I no longer understood. I vaguely remembered VRIF was the Voluntary Reductions in Force phase, and IRIF the Involuntary Reductions in Force phase. CAD was Computer Aided Disaster and GIGO meant Garbage In Gospel Out. All this corporate speak seemed like such a long, long time ago.

  “EBAC?” I said.

  Michael flashed his perfect teeth. “Extremely Big-Ass Corporation. This one is small enough that I’m hoping I can talk them into letting me consult under the table at a reduced rate until my benefits run out. I mean, what’s not to like? It’s a total WW.”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “Win-win,” he said. “Anyway, I was thinking you should come with me, Nora. You know, fresh start and all that. I mean, what’s holding either of us back?”

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “That’s okay,” Michael said. “Stuff happens. I think we both have to turn the page and move forward.”

  I popped some more cereal into my mouth and chewed while I let Michael’s profound cluelessness sink in. I hoped it was a measure of my recent growth that I could no longer imagine being even remotely attracted to him. He looked like a pair of my mother’s penguin earrings in that stupid suit.

  “No,” I said, “that’s not what I meant. I’m trying to say that I’m sorry any of it happened. I mean, all that sneaking around…”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Well, you have to admit, it was pretty hot.”

  I didn’t bother to say that I thought the idea of it had been hotter than the actuality.

  “I was kidding,” Michael said. “Come on.”

  I shrugged.

  “It’s about Sherry, isn’t it?”

  “No,” I said, “it really isn’t.”

  “That guy who was in your car?”

  I knew that even with a hundred guesses, Michael would never get it, so I told him.

  “It’s me,” I said. “I know what I want now. Or at least I know what I don’t want.”

  Michael reached for a handful of cereal. “Listen, it doesn’t matter how things started. What matters is that we both want it to work. Come on, we have so much commonality, so many shared memories….”

  I started closing up the cereal box. “I’m going inside now. It’s over. And I really need a glass of milk.”

  I turned and started walking toward my house.

  “Okay,” he yelled, just as I was opening my front door. “But don’t think you can call me a few months from now when things don’t work out with that guy you were kissing. This is a take-it-or-leave-it one-time offer, Nora.”

  I turned around.

  “Oh, Michael,” I said. “Grow up.”

  Day 30

  10,349 steps

  “YOU ARE NOT GOING TO BELIEVE THIS,” TESS YELLED FROM her front steps, even though it was 8 A.M.

  “What?” Rosie and I stage-whispered.

  “I am so incredibly pissed off,” Tess said as we all walked out to Wildwater Way. “There are two women going around town claiming to be the ones who put bubbles in the fountain. I
mean, you leave Marshbury for one lousy weekend, and suddenly people are impersonating you.”

  “Wait,” I said. Rosie moved up in front of us so Tess and I could walk side by side. “Isn’t this a good thing? Call me crazy, but if anybody gets arrested for putting bubbles in the fountain, I’d actually prefer it to be someone other than me.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Tess said. “I hate that they’re taking credit. Okay, we have to step things up a notch before anybody else thinks of it. As soon as we finish walking, we make up some flyers. We deliver them house to house, and anywhere we see a clothesline and/or a sign, we knock and extend a personal invitation.”

  Rosie turned around. “To what?”

  We caught up with her and crossed the street. Then we spread out across our shortcut road. “To a secret meeting of the Marshbury Ban the Ban Alliance. We’ll plan our strategy at the first meeting. I was thinking we should get the group to storm a selectmen’s meeting, but we might want to just cut to the chase and ask them to put us on the agenda.”

  “Can we have the meeting in my lavender shed?” Rosie asked. “It’s almost all cleaned up, thanks to Noreen’s mother and my father. It looks so great, and I really should be thinking about drumming up some business. Unless you think that’s too self-serving?”

  “Nah,” Tess said. “It’s just good multitasking. Your shed would be perfect. And we can set up chairs on the lawn if we get an overflow crowd.”

  “Great,” Rosie said. “I’ve got some tiki torches I can burn citronella and lavender oil in to keep the mosquitoes away.”

  “You might want to lock up Rod and the Supremes, too,” I said. “So your dad doesn’t have to rescue my mom again.”

  Rosie gave me a little smile as we walked across the beach parking lot. “I think that’s half the fun,” she said.

  We walked single file through the opening in the seawall and spread out across the hard-packed sand closest to the water. The tide was almost dead low again, and we had to jump over ribbons of seaweed as we walked. I wondered if the next tide, or the one after that, would bring Rick back into my life. I liked him. I hoped he’d call, but I was okay if he didn’t.