Sisterchicks Down Under Read online

  The next morning I was up before Tony getting ready for my shopping trip with Jill. I fumbled around looking for clean undies and realized I’d left the laundry on the line all night.

  Dashing into the backyard in my pajamas, I was met by a steady morning drizzle. All our clothes were as wet as when I’d hung them out the day before. The drying rack in the bathtub became my only hope. The rack and the hair dryer. I stood shivering, my bare feet on the cold tile floor and my nose dripping while I shot hot air at my unmentionables.

  Despite that setback, I was dressed and ready to go by ten o’clock. Although my elastic waistband was still a little damp. I missed my clothes dryer. I missed it even more than I missed my morning Cheerios, and I dearly missed Cheerios. A few days earlier Tony had brought home some Weet-Bix, a popular cereal, according to the guys at work. To me it tasted like Shredded Wheat without any sugar. My hunt was still on for a breakfast food that I would look forward to every morning.

  Tony had a bowl of Weet-Bix and left on his bike before Jill arrived. I noticed that the sun had come out. The gentle world outside the door smelled fresh, new, and green. I could smell a dozen different foliage fragrances than the ones distinguishable in southern California. The warm, sweet, tropical scents mixed with the deep smells of an evergreen forest.

  I ventured outside, wondering if I should take a chance and hang out the clothes again. I decided it was worth a try. As soon as I had all the damp clothes back on the line, I walked around to the front of the house and nonchalantly examined the mums. I was happy to see that the rainy night had worked wonders in covering the tire marks in the previously flattened grass. Only a few stems near the statue were snapped off. The hobbit looked no worse after his tumble.

  I felt a soft poke from something in my jeans pocket. Putting my hand in, I expected to find a pin of some sort but instead discovered the two white-tipped feathers I’d pulled from my hair yesterday when I had met Jill. With a smile, I returned to the apartment and tucked the feathers into a small plastic bag. My mind kicked into gear, and I mentally started to design a homemade card for Jill that featured two feathers on the front.

  Grabbing a notepad, I jotted down possible lines for the inside.

  Friends of a feather sip lattes together.

  For my fine, feather friend. I appreciate you a latte.

  So glad I fluttered your way You made the day fly by.

  With a silly streak rising I wrote,

  When we’re together, mum’s the word.

  The mum joke didn’t sound as funny as it had last night, so I tried another route. But the sound of a car in the gravel drive-way interrupted my creative writing spell. I quickly penned a final madcap line,

  Spending time with you could become hobbit-forming.

  I see you decided to park in a more conventional spot than the one I chose last night.” I greeted Jill with my hand up, shielding my eyes from the sun. It was strange watching Jill exit the “passenger’s” side of her compact car.

  “Good morning,” she said in a tone that was much more subdued than I felt. I wanted to ask if she was okay, but she was the first to ask a question.

  “Is Tony here?”

  “No, he went to work.”

  “Would you mind if we went inside and talked before we go shopping?”

  “No.” I tried to stay lighthearted. “You can have a look at the bedspread and tell me if you think I’m loco for trying to replace it.”

  We went inside, and Jill diplomatically said, “I’ve seen worse.” Looking around she added, “This is a nice apartment.”

  “It’s tiny.”

  “But it’s clean. Everything looks new. I’m sure you were told how difficult it is to find reasonable housing.”

  I nodded and led the way to the other room. She agreed that the bathtub was a bonus. Having Jill’s positive input made me feel better about the apartment. It’s amazing how a few sincere, affirming words from a woman you admire can change your opinion about something.

  “Would you like a cup of tea?” I pulled out the box of tea bags from the packed kitchen cupboard.

  “Sure. Thanks.”

  “It’s not fancy tea.”

  “Gumboot is fine.”

  “Actually, the box says ‘Bell Tea.’ Is that okay?” I held it up so she could see the limitations of my hospitality and have a chance to decline the offer if she wanted.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to confuse you. Gumboot around here is what they call plain black tea. It’s different than something like Earl Grey or green tea.”

  “So is Bell Tea a Gumboot tea?”

  “Yes, and I would love a cup. Thanks, Kathy.”

  “Do you take cream or sugar?”

  “A little of both would be nice.”

  “That’s just the way I like my tea, too.”

  Yesterday Jill and I had slipped easily into the role of high school best friends. Today, in my ridiculously tiny, Susie Homemaker kitchen with my Easy-Bake Oven and box of Bell Tea, I felt as if we were playing little girls having a tea party I almost wished I had decorated sugar cubes to offer instead of an unimaginative box of granulated white sugar.

  “Mind if I use your bathroom?” Jill asked.

  “Help yourself.” With a tease I added, “Let me know if you have trouble finding it.”

  Jill wasn’t laughing at any of my jokes. I decided to stop trying to be clever and to direct my efforts into putting together a nice tea party. To fancy up the sugar, I poured some into a freshly washed small bowl I’d found in the silverware drawer that I think was supposed to be for teriyaki sauce. Finding a fancy container for the milk was a bigger challenge. I decided the glass milk bottle would have to work. Tony had become enamored with the “old-fashioned” glass bottles as soon as he discovered them at the dairy, and we now had two.

  I remembered the snapped-off mums I’d tossed in the trash bin the night before as we tidied up the scene of the crime. Rifling through the rubbish, I pulled them out and gave them a good rinse in the sink and a shake before transforming one of the empty milk bottles into a vase.

  With my little tea party ready at the table, I poured the boiling water over the tea bags in our two yellow mugs.

  “I have some cookies,” I told Jill as she took her place at the table. “Unless you think it’s too early for cookies.”

  “It’s never too early for cookies. Especially Toffee Pops. Have you had these yet? They’re one of my favorites.”

  I looked at the package in my hand. “I don’t think I’ve tried these.” I arranged several of the small, round, chocolate-covered cookies on a plate.

  “This is wonderful,” Jill said. “Nice touch with the flowers.”

  “Those are the ones from last night. Broken, thrown away, but look! I pulled them out, and they still have plenty of life and color in them.”

  Joining Jill, I placed the cookies on our table, and we had just enough room left for a folded napkin and a spoon.

  “Well, this answers my question,” I said, trying to rearrange the items in the limited space.

  “What question is that?”

  “Last night I told Tony we probably would have to settle for an appetizer party instead of a dinner party when we have you and Ray over. As you can see, we don’t even have four chairs.”

  Jill’s expression fell. She put down her cup of tea, and the stream of tears I’d seen on her face yesterday returned.

  “Are you okay? Did I say something that upset you?”

  “Kathy, I hardly know how to tell you this. I wish I’d said something yesterday.”

  “That’s okay. You can tell me now.”

  “I need to apologize.”

  “Apologize for what?”

  “When we met, I think I dropped into some sort of parallel reality. It felt so good that I stayed there a little too long.”

  “Yesterday was great fun,” I agreed. “It was a little wacky once we got in Tracey’s car, but there’s nothing to apologize for.”
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br />   “No, Kathy. Just listen, okay?”

  I nodded and kept my mouth shut.

  “It’s about Ray. I would love for you to meet Ray. I would give anything if he and I could come join you and Tony for dinner sometime. But we won’t be able to do that because, you see, my husband is gone.”

  “Oh, Jill!” I felt instant anger toward Ray. How could any man leave a woman as wonderful as Jill?

  “It was two years ago yesterday, and that’s why I went to the Chocolate Fish. I needed to get out of the house.” She let out a puff of breath and whispered, “Last year I spent the anniversary of his funeral at home alone, and I knew I didn’t want to do that again.”

  I was so stunned I couldn’t speak.

  “I’m sorry Kathy. I should have said something. It wasn’t fair not to let you know. I meant to tell you. But then we started talking about Ray and high school, and in a strange way it seemed as if he wasn’t really gone. And that was the nicest feeling I’d had in, well, two years.”

  “Oh, Jill.”

  A crooked smile kept her lips from trembling as she went on. “Being with you and thinking about Ray was such a sweet gift to me. You invited me to talk about Ray—to say his name without connecting it to his death. When you did that, something inside me started to heal. It was such a wonderful sensation to finally feel that healing. I couldn’t bring myself to tell you the truth. So I let you believe what wasn’t true. I am sorry, Kathy.”

  “Jill, it’s okay. You don’t have to apologize.”

  I went for a box of tissues and pulled my chair up next to hers. “I can’t imagine what this has been like for you.”

  A few quiet moments passed before she said, “At first, I had a lot of support from people around me. They were there through the whole ordeal. So many people did so much to help me. But now they don’t ask about Ray. Nobody talks about him. It’s as if he vanished, and everyone has forgotten him. The worst part is that since Ray doesn’t exist for some people anymore, that means I don’t exist either. I’ve become the invisible widow of the great Ray Radovich. They don’t see me.”

  I handed her another tissue.

  “But you! Kathy, yesterday you saw me. You brought back my loony youthful, hippy guy, and he was still alive to you. More than that, I was alive to you.”

  “Oh, Jill,” I said with all the tenderness I felt in my heart. “You are alive. Very much alive. You’re not invisible at all.” After that, I didn’t know what to say, so I put my arm around her shoulders, and together we swayed back and forth until all the tears were gone.

  We didn’t end up shopping that day. Instead, we talked for a long time over our tea and cookies and then drove to a lookout on Mount Victoria. Jill said I had given her a broader view of her life, and now she wanted to give me a broader view of the world I was living in. We parked in an open lot and climbed to a fortified lookout spot. Lush, green grass skirted the hilltop where several visitors had stretched out to take in the incredible view. Below us, on the many hills of Wellington, rose and fell thousands of rooftops like bits of red, brown, and gray tiles scattered across the green. Where the green ended, the soft blues began—either the blue of the ocean and the bay or the blue of the cloudless sky.

  The wind began to push us around, taunting my ponytail, daring it to whip around and slap me across the mouth. Jill’s golden locks were flipping out at ear level the way Marilyn Monroe’s skirt flipped out in the photo of her standing over the air grate.

  “What a view!” I called across to Jill.

  She nodded and pointed out the airport, far below us. To our right was the bay, lined with tall buildings. In every direction we turned, we saw houses. Wellington was much larger and more spread out than I’d realized.

  “Do you see the large ferry there in the harbor? That one goes to Picton on the South Island of New Zealand.”

  “How far away is the South Island?”

  “The ferry takes about three hours to Picton. Maybe three and a half. If the weather is nice, it’s a beautiful crossing.”

  “And how far away is Christchurch?”

  “It’s at least six or seven hours south of Picton. They have a train that goes from Picton to Christchurch. It’s considered one of the most picturesque train rides in the world.”

  “Have you taken it?”

  “No. We planned to once, when Ray’s mom was visiting us. She didn’t do well on the ferry crossing, though. The trip was stormy, and none of us felt like taking a long train ride after that. We spent the night in Picton and flew home the next morning.”

  “And you haven’t been back to the South Island since then?”

  “No. I’d like to go. Especially to Christchurch. Everyone says the town has a quaint, British feel.”

  “That’s what Tony said. He suggested I take a tour there,” I said.

  “It’s a nice time of year to go. Not too many tourists. It’s the final outpost for all the major explorations to Antarctica. Did you know that?”

  “No. How far south is it?”

  “I don’t know how far south it is, but think of it this way: Wellington is more or less in the middle of New Zealand. Auckland is at the top of the North Island and closer to the equator.”

  “Okay, I’m with you so far.”

  “And then Christchurch is at the other end of New Zealand on the South Island.”

  We started walking back to the car, both speculating on what the weather would be like now in Christchurch. Once inside, instead of starting the engine, Jill and I settled in and quietly looked out at the incredible bird’s-eye view of the city. The wind raced through the lookout parking lot. All the world seemed to be spread out before us, colorfully painted with endless possibilities. It was a new world to me in many ways. One I was ready to embrace.

  “You know,” Jill said after our comfortable pause. “If you really want to go to Christchurch, let me know. I’d like to go sometime.”

  “With a tour group?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “Me neither.”

  “Maybe we could go on a Sisterchicks adventure, just the two of us.”

  “A Sisterchicks adventure?” I repeated. “What’s that?”

  “That’s what my daughter-in-law calls a weekend getaway. She and her best friend take one every year and call it their Sisterchicks adventure. I always thought it would be fun to do something like that. Ray and I used to travel together a lot, but I can’t remember ever taking off with a girlfriend for a vacation.”

  “I’ve never gotten away like that, either,” I said. “Tony told me I should do some exploring, but I didn’t want to go by myself. It would be lots of fun to go with you.”

  “I think so, too. We can book our tickets on-line.”

  “Okay. Although I’ll have to ask Tony to book mine at work because, as you may have noticed, I don’t have a computer at home. Or a telephone. Or a television. But I have a refrigerator.”

  “And a bathtub,” Jill reminded me.

  “Yes, I have a nice bathtub. It’s just that I haven’t yet figured out how to get my bathtub or my refrigerator to connect to the Internet to book airline tickets.”

  Jill laughed. Like Tracey said the day before, Jill had a great laugh. Just getting close to her bubbly laugh made me want to join in.

  “If you want, we can stop by my house after this and use my computer. But first we have one more place of interest to see.” Jill started the engine.

  “If it’s the Embassy Theatre, I’ve already seen it,” I said flatly.

  “You know about the Embassy?”

  “I didn’t before Mad Dog drove us past on our way from the airport.”

  Jill stepped on the brakes and looked at me. “Mad Dog?”

  “That’s Tony’s boss. Do you know him?”

  She paused before saying, “Yes, I know Mad Dog.”

  Jill continued to back the car out of the parking lot. From her response to Mad Dog’s name, I guessed Jill didn’t have a good impression of him. E
ven though I knew he could have done plenty to earn his reputation with Jill, I felt the need to defend him—or at least to explain the nickname.

  “Did you know that his real name is Marcus? My husband gave him the nickname at a studio party years ago. They did a commercial involving a high-strung poodle that kept chasing its tail instead of cooperating with the film crew. Tony took footage of the tail-chaser that they couldn’t use, turned it into a clip, and set it up as a screen saver on Marcus’s computer. After that Marcus got to be a little too good at imitating the poodle, especially as an icebreaker at parties.”

  “Oh,” Jill said politely.

  The topic of Mad Dog seemed to hang between us like an embarrassing pair of jumbo briefs on the invisible clothesline of our forming friendship. I decided not to bring up any more stories about Mad Dog.

  Jill was the one who changed the subject. “Kathy, I want to thank you for something you said yesterday. It really helped me.”

  “What did I say?”

  “When you were talking about Ray stringing the hammock between the orange trees, you said you had experienced the ‘reward of his zeal.’ I love that.”

  “It’s true.”

  “I know.” She glanced at me and then back at the road. “And you know what? I needed to hear that. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  We coasted a little farther down the road on the side of Mount Victoria, and Jill revealed she was taking me to see a famous movie spot.

  “I should warn you that I’m not extremely reverent about Lord of the Rings. You saw what I did to the hobbit in the garden.”

  “You’ll like this place,” Jill assured me. “And even if you don’t, please just pretend you’re impressed because it’s a special place for me. I was there the day they filmed, because Ray got special permission and … well, I’ll just show you.”

  Jill pulled the car to the side of the road and turned off the engine. We got out and walked along what looked like a hiking trail that led into a densely wooded area. The dirt trail was covered with a carpet of dried, brown pine needles that cushioned our steps.