“Maggie was forced to sell and move home to our parents with her twins. I helped when I could, but I was working full time, and so were Mom and Dad. Maggie couldn’t find a job that paid enough to cover daycare. She got through each day in a state of limbo.”
I remember those days all too well, Renee thought, shivering as she recalled life immediately following Jim’s death.
“She tried her best with the kids, but Tim’s death and her lack of financial security crushed her. She started going out at night, once someone was home to stay with the kids. She met a guy who liked to party—hard—and she started a downward spiral.” Susan gazed down into her glass of water, lost in her own life’s story. “We should have worked harder to get her help, but we were busy with our own lives and helping her to raise her kids. We thought she would eventually snap out of it.
“We realized she was in big trouble when she ended up in my ER one night as I was coming off shift. A girlfriend brought her in. She was badly beaten. Barely conscious. There was a point where her brain started to swell, and we didn’t know if she would make it. Mom and Dad arranged for a priest to give her last rites.” Susan looked back up and smiled at Renee. “But heaven intervened and she pulled through.
“Maggie had two choices. She could continue down the path she was on. The man who put her in the hospital was dangerous. He was good-looking with a great smile, and he could be a charmer. He tried hard to convince her it would never happen again. He’d made a terrible mistake because of the booze, but he swore he would never lay a hand on her again. Or, Maggie could start making different choices. She could reevaluate her life and recognize all her blessings. She had two beautiful, healthy children. She also had a supportive family, one willing to help her get back on her feet.
“Maggie made the right choice. She cut all ties with her new group of friends. She became close friends with Jane, a counselor she met while recovering in the hospital. Jane worked at the YWCA, and she encouraged Maggie to volunteer at the shelter. Our parents agreed to watch the twins every other Saturday so Maggie could go. When I had a Saturday off, I would go with her.
“Maggie and I both came to realize there were many women in the shelter that needed more help than they were getting. Maggie decided to start a support group. She saw that by the time women found themselves at the shelter—often in the middle of the night with their kids in tow—they had suffered in silence for a long time. Sometimes for years. Maggie wanted to find a way to help women before they hit rock bottom. Her enthusiasm for her new mission was contagious. She didn’t know how she could earn a living helping other women, but she knew she needed to find a way. After living through hell with Maggie, my parents wanted to be part of the solution. I finally felt like this would be a way I could make more of a difference in people’s lives, too. I was no longer satisfied patching up the wounded only to send them out to do battle again.
“It took a year of trial-and-error—by then the twins were in first grade—but Maggie finally figured out a format of women’s retreats that felt like it could work. Dad decided to retire from the local university so he could help Maggie figure out the logistics. The retreats are often held on weekends. Mom prepares meals for the attendants and Maggie facilitates the sessions. Her friend Jane was instrumental in helping Maggie bring in experts, often for no charge in the early days of the retreats, before they were making any money with which to pay contributors.
“I kept my day job up until a year ago. Then I made the leap, too. Joined the family business! Now I work full time with our retreat program.”
“That’s amazing!” Renee exclaimed.
Susan beamed.
A thought suddenly occurred to Renee, for which she immediately felt ashamed, but she voiced it anyway: “And you make enough money doing this?”
Susan nodded, understanding. “We knew we could only help a limited number of women through our own retreats, so we came up with a way to duplicate ourselves. Now much of what I do is travel around the country and train other people that want to establish similar retreat businesses of their own. This expansion still fits our main mission to help as many women as possible. We charge enough for our services so we can support our family, but we aren’t getting rich off the business. We’re trying to take our own advice and also find other revenue streams so we can gain some financial independence while still continuing to provide a service we’re all so passionate about.”
Renee was engrossed in Susan’s story. She had feared Susan would say her sister died at the hands of her abuser. Instead, she shared how her sister took her own painful life lessons and turned them into something positive.
Beeps rang through the cabin, signaling their descent to the islands. Renee was sorry their discussion had to end. She thanked Susan for sharing her story and jotted down her new friend’s contact information. Both agreed they wanted to stay in touch. They weren’t staying at the same place in Fiji, nor were they returning on the same flight, but maybe they would run into each other during their stay. If not, both promised to get in touch with the other when they returned to their lives state-side.
The end of Susan’s story resonated through Renee’s mind throughout the landing procedure, and she kept returning to a single question.
What am I passionate about?
Chapter 18
Gift of the Tropics
Robbie, Julie, and Renee met in the gate area after their long flight. Just as Renee had predicted, Robbie slept most of the trip, his hair tousled and clothes now a wrinkled mess. He woke up in time to see the ocean and beach as they started their descent. Julie, on the other hand, had only slept for the first part of the flight, then watched a movie and started reading her beach romance from her gift box. After a bathroom break, they stretched their legs and found the baggage claim. All three suitcases slowly rotated around the conveyor belt—a benefit of their direct flight. Robbie was starving—he’d slept through lunch, after all—but they needed to pick up their rental car, so he settled for a bag of chips and a soda.
A warm breeze, perfumed by flowers and rain, met them as they stepped out of the terminal. Renee paused to enjoy it, nearly getting run over by the kids.
We made it!
Their crazy plan actually worked. They were in Fiji, and there was no snow on the ground, even though it was December 29. The wind would be biting and the ground white back home.
“I could get used to this,” she said out loud.
They all laughed.
“Yeah,” Robbie said, “you might have to find a huge job when we get back so we can do this more often.”
They found a shuttle bus full of holiday travelers, to take them to the rental cars. The bus driver wore a flowered shirt, shorts, and sandals. No stuffy uniforms here. He was deep in conversation with the couple sitting immediately behind him. Julie snagged the last three seats across the back of the shuttle.
A small rental car waited for them; the desk attendant jotted down directions to their resort. It would be a forty-five-minute drive, which made Renee apprehensive. She had no idea where she was going or what the traffic would be like. I wish someone else could drive. But since her only options were a college student or a high schooler, she knew she was still the safest bet. Renee put on a brave front as they piled into the little compact, their suitcases barely fitting in the trunk. Should have opted for an upgrade.
The directions were good. In no time, they left the congestion of the airport and followed the coast, ocean on their left, green mountains on their right. Fresh air rushed through open windows, Robbie throwing his head out the window and screaming out in excitement.
“For God’s sake, Robbie, get your head back in here before you lose it!” Renee scolded her son, but her words lacked bite as she laughed.
An occasional flock of chickens roamed the side of the highway. Most cars were small, older models. There was some traffic, but nothing like Renee often endured in her daily commutes—commutes she might never have to endure again, she realized.
After twenty minutes in the car, Robbie reminded his mother of his state of near starvation. She pulled off the road to grab something quick at a small hamburger stand on the beach. After downing their burgers, they waded into the water for their first dip in the ocean. The beach wasn’t crowded: a group of kids was building a huge castle of caramel-colored sand; down the beach, a group of older adults lounged, watching another group of teens play sand volleyball; a few others strolled up and down the beach by themselves.
Feeling like outsiders in their heavy travel clothes, they headed back to the car so they could get to their resort. Renee dug in her purse. Julie, accustomed to her mother losing things in the huge purse she lugged around, sighed in exasperation.
“What’s the holdup, Mom?” she asked.
Robbie pressed his face to the glass window. “Crap,” he said.
Dismay filled Renee. She’d left the keys on the car seat. They had no way into their rental.
She exhaled heavily. “Shit . . . now what we are going to do?” The long travel hours caught up with her as she sagged against the locked car. Julie and Robbie knew to keep quiet. They didn’t have any good ideas, but they could sense Renee was getting close to losing her temper. What were the chances there was an On Star service tied to the car? “Guess I’ll call the agency,” she muttered. Renee plopped her purse on the car hood and dug for the rental agreement. Thank goodness she hadn’t thrown it in the glove compartment. Number in hand, she went to place the call . . . only to discover her cell was dead. “Shit,” she said again. “Phone’s dead.”
Robbie held his hands up in defense. “You made us leave our phones at home for this trip.”
Exasperated, she plunked down on the curb next to the car, staring out at the water. Not knowing what else to do, the kids joined her. All three sat, looking dejected. Life continued moving around them; no one seemed to notice their dilemma.
Gravel crunched behind them and Renee heard a car stop. She turned around: a beat-up old police car had parked directly behind her rental. Hoisting herself off the curb and dusting sand from her butt, she walked back to the cruiser. A man was getting out of the driver’s side. Though it was clearly a law enforcement vehicle, he didn’t look like a cop. His “uniform” was similar to the shuttle driver’s, although he was wearing long pants. His bright shirt was loose and untucked, probably in deference to the heat. His eyes were shielded by sunglasses and his dark hair, lined with a few silver streaks, fluttered in the wind.
Smiling a slow smile, he rounded the front of the cruiser as Renee came around the back of her car. “You three look like you could use a little help. Locked your keys in the car, huh?” the man said to Renee in a gravelly voice.
“Um, well, yes, I did lock the keys in the car . . . but how could you possibly know that? Didn’t you just drive into the lot?” Renee asked, confused. She was tired, hot, and frustrated.
Chuckling, the man gave a small nod and walked over to her driver’s side door, gesturing casually back at the beach. “Pete over there at the food stand noticed your little predicament and gave us a call. I was in the area so I thought I would stop to see if I could be of assistance. Name’s Matt Blatso, and I have the dubious distinction of having the title of ‘Sheriff’ around here. Sorry—forgot to introduce myself. This kind of stuff happens all the time. People juggle so much gear when they head for the beach, keys get left behind. This’ll only take a minute.” He sauntered back to his car.
Returning, he worked his magic, and Renee’s door popped open. The kids, hanging in the background, let out loud whoops of joy.
“Hey, thanks!” Robbie exclaimed, stepping forward and extending his hand to the man. “It’s been a long day. We were afraid Mom was going to lose it when she realized the keys were locked in the car.”
Matt returned the handshake and quietly sized up Robbie. Renee was surprised by her son’s adult gesture.
“Not a problem, just doing my job,” Matt replied. “By the way, where you folks from? Your accent sounds northern.”
At that silly comment—because obviously he was the one with the drawl—Renee gave a little grunt, but quickly remembered her manners.
“Thank you so much for helping us out. We just got in from Minneapolis, Minnesota. My name is Renee Clements, and these are my kids, Robbie and Julie. Since you went out of your way to help, I hate to disagree with you, but I don’t think we have much of an accent. You, on the other hand, sound like you have to come from the South.”
“Ha, all you folks that come from snowier climates think you talk normal and the rest of us have accents. Enjoy your stay, relax a little, and your clipped tone might loosen up a little, too.” And with that, he gave her a little salute and was off.
Left standing alone next to her car, she wasn’t sure if she should take that as an insult or not. Julie reached across from the passenger’s side and tooted the horn, anxious to get to their resort. Renee quickly crawled back in the car.
Shadows stretched across the road as they pulled into their resort’s parking lot. They couldn’t see a single building one could easily call a hotel. There was a cluster of small cottages, roughly ten in total, as well as a long rambling building next to the parking lot, bearing a sign that said lobby.
Each cottage was painted a different bright color with the same turquoise trim. The turquoise continued in a kidney-shaped pool and again in small glimpses of ocean behind the quaint resort. Lush green plants and brilliant tropical blooms ringed every structure and walkway. Lofty palm trees swayed gently above. It was easily the prettiest sight Renee had seen in a long time. She inhaled deeply again, the scented air a perfect balance of fragrant flowers and salty ocean.
“Think it’s too good to be true?” Robbie asked.
Glancing at one another, all three piled out of the car and headed to the lobby.
“Welcome to Fiji!” rang a voice from behind the counter. “You must be the Clements, from Minnesota!” Looking around for the source of the voice, Renee took in a bright white room decorated with nautical knickknacks and boasting a wide expanse of glass looking over the ocean. A huge bouquet of tropical blooms sat squarely in the center of the long counter.
A short, round woman appeared, arms extended. She carried delicate flower leis and ceremoniously placed one around each of their necks. Surprised by the warm welcome, they all stood smiling from ear to ear.
“My name is Lulu! I’m the proprietor here at our little slice of paradise. You’ll also meet my husband Bill. Together, we’ll make your stay here everything you hoped it would be. You are getting in a little late, so you missed the picnic we held an hour ago—but don’t worry,” she added, perhaps catching Robbie’s crestfallen expression, “we wrapped up goodies and stashed them in your fridge. As part of your vacation package, we like to keep you well fed, but it’s just the two of us, so we don’t have an open kitchen all day long. The place would fall to shambles if we spent our whole day cooking,” she explained with a chuckle.
Lulu continued about the business of getting them checked in. She talked non-stop as she took care of the financial end of the transaction. She offered up fun activities they could do on the island and gave the kids glossy brochures.
“Or you can lounge on the beach all day and enjoy our sunshine. You can be as busy or as lazy as you want to be. Even a little of both if that’s your desire. Come, now—let’s get you settled in your cottage. You’re in number seven, this little pink number on the end facing the ocean.”
Lulu led them down a path of crushed shells rimmed with bright flowers to a wide, ornate door. She slipped a key into the hammered black lock and clicked it open, handing the key to Renee. She walked through a living area, straight to large glass doors overlooking the ocean, and slid them open to let in the ocean breeze. All business, she pointed out features of the small, two-bedroom cottage. It was airy and bright but not fancy. Slightly worn furnishings gave a sense of having been collected over time. The place was spotless. Dark wooden cabinet
s in the kitchen broke up the expanse of white; bright tiles on the backsplash added color.
A plate of cookies sat on a small kitchen table, which Robbie got to first. Lulu opened the fridge, motioning to the promised leftovers. “Please join us for brunch ’round the pool in the morning. We’ll have plenty of fresh fruit and local flavor for you. If you need anything, track us down—enjoy!” Lulu let herself out the door with a wave.
Julie was enthralled with the cottage; she wandered from room to room, admiring all the homey touches. Robbie grabbed up a second cookie, remarking through a mouthful, “Not a TV in sight,” then adding, at the look from his mother, “but I’m sure I’ll manage.” Before he could lament any further over what this might mean for his vacation, screaming seagulls caught his attention, and he was out the sliding door, heading to the beach.
Renee was as tickled about the cottage as Julie. It was nicer than she dared hope, since she booked it with so little notice. Renee got to work unpacking. She claimed the room with the queen-size bed and window opening to the ocean. The kids would share the other bedroom with two twin-size beds. A small closet off the kitchen revealed a stackable washer and dryer. We won’t have to drag sandy, salt-glazed clothes home, she thought with a smile. It was getting better and better. To top off their welcome, Renee found a cold bottle of white wine in the fridge. Well . . . we’re settled enough, Renee thought, and popped the cork, filled a wine glass, and, after changing out of her grungy clothes into a loose fitting sundress, followed her son’s lead to the beach. Jess had insisted she borrow the dress when learning of their trip; the light cotton fabric was perfect for enjoying the sunset.
It was still hot outside but would cool quickly, according to Lulu, once the sun went down. Julie was already lounging on a white plastic recliner on the beach. A half-empty bottle of water sat on a little table next to her. Renee sank into a neighboring chair. They relaxed while Robbie explored the beach. The ocean turned purple as the reddish-orange sun dipped low. Renee could not imagine a place she would rather be as she sipped her wine and watched her teenagers unwind. The only sound was of the waves and birds. No cars honked; no phones buzzed. A couple walked past them, hand in hand, looking like honeymooners.
Whispering Pines (Celia's Gifts Book 1) Page 10