The Lost Girls: Three Friends. Four Continents. One Unconventional Detour Around the World.

by Jennifer Baggett

  Bang, bang, bang. I turned to the source of the noise and saw the phone receiver dangling limply from its cord in the breeze and hitting the metal booth. The man had abandoned his conversation, and I’d been too caught up in my daydream to notice.

  Where was my phone card? I dug into the Eagle Creek purse, sifting through leftover Vietnamese dong and Kenyan shillings. I dialed his number, and the phone began to ring. Please be there, I silently prayed.

  Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.

  Just as I was about to hang up before it went into voice mail so I wouldn’t be charged, I heard his voice: “Hello, Hol?”

  “Elan? Yeah, it’s me! I’m calling you from a pay phone.”

  “Hey, what’s up?”

  What’s up? I suddenly felt shy and didn’t know what to say. Should I tell him that I’d learned to play two-up or that I’d seen a kangaroo or that I’d tasted Vegemite for the first time? Or should I simply tell him that I missed him? And say that I couldn’t wait to put my head on his shoulder again?

  Instead, I said, “Nothing much. We have an apartment now!”

  “That’s great, Hol.” He sounded distracted.

  “How are things going at our apartment? How’s your brother?”

  “Good, good. Everything’s good. Evan and I started a garden on the patio…Look, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.” His tone was serious.

  “Sure. What’s going on?”

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about it lately, and I need to move to L.A. now.”

  My stomach fluttered when he used the word “I.” He didn’t say “we.” He wasn’t thinking about “us.” I felt blood pumping through the veins in my throat. I only half listened as he reasoned that he’d have a better shot at an acting job if he moved to Hollywood, that he could stay on his friend’s couch to save money, and that now was the time for him to take a chance, while he was still young. He didn’t want to stick around New York, doing odd jobs to cover rent, when he could be going out on auditions that might actually lead somewhere.

  I knew it all made perfect sense for his career, but it was as though my feelings had left my body, evaporating in a poof of smoke. I couldn’t breathe. After my year of being a nomad, I’d thought of home not as a physical place but as being with him.

  I suddenly remembered the summer years earlier when he’d first asked to move in with me, temporarily subletting his own apartment until school started again in the fall. When autumn had come and the leaves had turned from green to gold, he’d moved back to his old place. I’d laid on my bed on top of the covers, alone in the space, not wanting him to know I’d cried. He’d returned a few days later, saying, “Hol, can I move back here? My home is with you.” And he had. And it was.

  His voice crackled through the receiver, “What do you think about L.A., Hol?” His voice sounded far away, as if it were coming from the other side of a tunnel whose end I couldn’t see.

  An icy numbness had traveled through my brain like a snake, squeezing it tight and cutting off my thoughts. Before the emptiness could take over, I was hit with the truth I wanted to ignore: I couldn’t go with him, and I had to let him go. So I agreed that he had to go to L.A. but asked that he wait a few weeks, until I got back, to leave.

  I had no well-formed, rational thoughts. I had only the feeling of knowing that he’d allowed me to live my dream. Now it was time for me to let him live his. I would never let myself be his shackle—I loved him too much.

  I can’t remember how the conversation ended, only the sound of the receiver hitting the metal booth as it dangled in the wind and seeing a shooting star break free to fall from the sky.

  The thing was, I’d thought that when I’d returned from the trip, I’d have my future mapped out—I’d have Elan and our apartment to return to. Unlike Jen and Amanda, I’d believed my around-the-world journey would end exactly where it had begun.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Jen

  HUNTER VALLEY, AUSTRALIA

  MAY

  Rocky-road fudge, cocoa-dusted marshmallows, cream-filled truffles. Holly was crouched in front of the glass case in the Hunter Valley chocolate shop, giving me a detailed assessment of which handmade confections she deemed most worthy of sampling. We’d get anything Holly wanted, I thought. I was just happy to see that old familiar sparkle in her eyes.

  “Ladies, you’re going to be really excited to hear this,” Amanda said, snapping our group cell phone shut and rejoining us at the counter. “I just spoke to the woman at the Balloon Aloft office, and we’re all set for a hot-air balloon ride tomorrow morning…and…she’s giving us a discount for Jen’s birthday!”

  “You guys, my birthday was forever ago and you already threw me a pretty-in-pink party,” I said. A few weeks earlier, I’d stumbled out to the living room in my normal anti-morning state and found the entire space decorated with pink balloons, streamers, and confetti. Holly was in the kitchen baking me muffins, and Amanda handed me a goodie bag filled with candy, fuzzy slippers with PRINCESS embroidered in, you guessed it, pink, a Rough Guide to Chick Flicks, and a stack of my favorite movies rented from the video store. After Amanda’s bash in Lima, Peru, and Holly’s dinner and dance party in Hanoi, Vietnam, it was our third and final on-the-road birthday.

  “I know, but it’s our prezzie to you,” Amanda replied.

  “Yes, definitely. It’s the perfect way to end our Hunter Valley vacation. And I am so excited that we get to stay in a real hotel tonight too,” Holly said before turning her attention back to the chocolate.

  “Well…okay, if you girls insist,” I said grinning. I’d always wanted to take a hot-air balloon ride. But really, as long as we were all together and having fun, I didn’t care what we did.

  Since we had arrived in Australia’s renowned wine region two days earlier, the subtle shadow over our trio had vanished. When we’d originally designated the majestic land of Oz as our last stop, I’d assumed it would be smooth sailing, the perfect storybook wrap-up to our epic adventure. But with Holly in the throes of a complicated and tumultuous situation with Elan and all of us struggling, often unsuccessfully, to quell our anxieties about returning home, our happy ending was dangerously close to unraveling.

  Even when Holly put on a brave face and insisted she was okay, Amanda and I could sense the pain and uncertainty lurking behind her smiles and attempts at silliness. We tried our best to rally around her, making the executive decision that it was high time to break the seal on our Lonely Planet: Sydney and New South Wales and do what we’d come on the trip for in the first place: travel. And not just on a day trip to the Blue Mountains and back; we needed something more substantial.

  Lured by promises of rolling vineyards, scenic bushwalks, wine tastings, horseback riding, and gourmet restaurants, we hopped aboard our trusty Technicolor steed and left the bustling city for the tranquillity of the wine country. Stocked with brochures, maps, and local events schedules, we spent the first couple of days soaking in our idyllic surroundings, sampling world-class Semillons, picnicking next to lush grape fields, and watching kangaroo boxing matches at sunset. We’d even received an official Wine School certificate for our impressive knowledge of growing techniques and aroma wheels. And now, uplifted by a substantial chocolate high, we headed back outside and left in hot pursuit of a popular vineyard nearby.

  It was another clear, glorious afternoon in Hunter Valley as Amanda, Holly, and I cruised happily along in our tripped-out World Nomads camper van. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, locals greeted one another with huge smiles and “G’day, mate”. Even wild dingoes realized the error of their ways and graciously returned stolen babies. And to top it all off, I’d mastered the delicate art of driving with a stick shift in less than a week and was operating our rainbow beast on wheels like a pro. Yep, in that moment, life was pretty perfect.

  Now I just had to figure out exactly where I was going. We’d arrived at one of the vast resort properties that dotted the valley, and somehow I’d
gotten a bit turned around.

  “Okay, I’m confused. How do I get out of here?” I asked Amanda, who was riding shotgun with the map. “Oh wait, never mind. I see,” I said as I realized that all I had to do was follow the gravel road around the front of the nearby hotel and out of the gate. I whistled happily as I shifted into second, preparing to cruise gently under the wooden portico and around the circular driveway.

  Crash, boom, shudder, shake, splinter, crack!!!!

  Oh, my God! What was happening? Suddenly the entire roof was caving in on us. As Holly and Amanda screamed and covered their eyes with their hands, I gripped the wheel tightly, trying to keep the shaking van straight and praying we’d come out the other side in one piece. Huge chunks of wood rained on the vehicle as fluffy bits of fiberglass floated down on our heads like snow. In that instant, the sun went behind the clouds, the birds stopped singing, dingoes started stealing babies again, and I realized that in less than five seconds, I’d royally destroyed our only mode of transportation and our picture-perfect day.

  As the dust cleared, I managed to pull myself together long enough to turn the van off and spill out of the door in a pool of shame. The hotel owner came running outside to confront the crazy tourist who’d defaced her property. Maybe it was my shocked expression or sputtering series of “Oh, my God, I’m so sorry.” But she immediately took pity on us, asking if we were okay and trying to make me feel better. Since I was bordering on catatonic, Amanda took charge and followed the woman inside to exchange contact information before returning to snap a few photos for insurance purposes. Holly stood next to me, her arm across my shoulders.

  “It’s okay, Jen. If I’d been driving, I would’ve done the same thing, seriously. And it doesn’t look that bad. I’m sure we can just get the dent pounded out, no problem.”

  I stared at the wreckage like a deer in headlights. “I just can’t believe they didn’t have a clearance sign. I mean, the van isn’t even that tall, and it seriously didn’t look that low,” I stuttered, fully aware that the damage far exceeded anything that could simply be banged back out. Although for a moment I was hopeful. I even got into the van and pushed as hard as I could against the ceiling carpet, which now hung down like a pouch. But it wouldn’t budge.

  “Maybe I could say that a rogue kangaroo jumped down from a bridge and landed on top of the van,” I said as one of the groundskeepers walked over to us.

  “You ladies all right? Banged your roof up pretty good, I see. You know, you’re not the first one to hit that cover. Happens all the time. So try not to feel too bad.”

  Apparently low-clearance signs are about as popular Down Under as Foster’s beer (which is to say, surprisingly unpopular), because I could not for the life of me figure out how other people had rammed into the roof and they hadn’t posted any warnings. I tried my best not to scowl at the man.

  “All right, well, don’t let this ruin the beautiful day,” he said as Amanda returned saying that we were all set to leave and that she’d gotten directions to our hotel.

  “We’ll just go there now, check in, and chill out for a bit before we decide what to do,” she said. I nodded and muttered a soft “okay.”

  Sensing that I was in no shape to get back behind the wheel, Holly hopped into the driver’s seat and steered us away from the scene of my crime and back onto the main road. We’d only gone a few miles when visions of hundreds of dollars in deductibles and the shame of confessing to the World Nomads reps that I’d wrecked their van began tormenting me and a panic attack set in.

  “Stop the car!” I shouted. “I’m freaking out!”

  Holly immediately pulled over to the side of the gravel road. She and Amanda sat there, patiently allowing me to vent. I’d never been in an accident in my life that was my fault. I wasn’t one of those crazy chicks who couldn’t drive. Even my guy friends could attest to that. We were having so much fun and I’d ruined it…and blah blah blah.

  “Jen, when we signed those insurance forms, it listed our deductible as four hundred dollars, and that’s in Australian dollars, so it’s even less. Really, it’s not the end of the world if we have to split that,” Holly said.

  “No. No. No, that’s not true. There was another column, I specifically remember, that listed nine hundred dollars. And I’m pretty sure it was either for certain major damages or anything where the driver was at fault,” I replied, fumbling around the glove box, now desperate to determine my worst-case scenario.

  “Yeah, but I really think we were covered under the four-hundred-dollar plan,” Amanda said, taking the book from my trembling hands and flipping through it. Pausing on one page, she scanned it several times and fell silent. “Okay, so it says here that damage to the roof or undercarriage of the vehicle isn’t covered, but technically, this isn’t really the roof. It’s just an extra camper top piece, so we may still be all good. Either way, I really don’t think it’s going to cost a lot to fix this. It really isn’t that bad, Jen. Everything will work out, I’m sure.”

  I almost started to hyperventilate. What if this cost thousands of dollars? I’d be paying off this stupid van until I was forty. Despite their own obvious concerns, the girls continued their attempts to calm me down. “This story will add flavor to our reign as World Nomads ambassadors, right?” “Worse case, we go with the kangaroo story.” “One day you’ll look back at the whole thing and laugh,” they said.

  With a roof that practically brushed our heads and slits of sunlight shining through gaping holes of ripped fiberglass, I found it hard to find the humor in the situation. But Amanda and Holly were being so supportive about the whole thing that I tried to force a smile onto my face. On the upside, at least I’d timed the van accident to coincide with the one night we’d splurged on a hotel.

  After parking our freshly crunched vehicle in the farthest parking space from our lodge, we checked in and headed to our room. Continuing to maintain control of the situation, Amanda placed a call to the World Nomads office to face the music on my behalf. Holly and I were silent, listening to the “uh-huhs” and “okays” and “no, it’s just sort of dented” with bated breath. When Amanda hung up, she reported that they hadn’t sounded too concerned and had instructed us to bring the van back to Auto Barn body shop as soon as we could and they’d have a look.

  “Guys, no,” I said. “We have to take it back now. We can’t just keep driving it like this. This whole thing is my fault, and I’ll totally pay so we can rent a car for Holly and her sister. I’m so sorry I totally screwed up our vacation.” Holly’s sister was scheduled to fly into Sydney the next week to drive around with us, which I’d now ruined. I sucked.

  “Jen, don’t be ridiculous. We’ll all just pitch in some money and work something out. We really can’t worry about it now, though,” Holly replied.

  Of all the things that most amazed me about Holly was her ability to breeze through an emotional situation with grace. As my parents can attest, I’d been quite the little dramatic actress since birth. I admit that I do have a propensity to, maybe, sometimes, overreact just a bit, but those instances are pretty few and far between. Of course, it always helped to have a calming force like Hol when they weren’t. And if calm didn’t work, I had Amanda to step in and regulate. When we’d first become friends, I remember thinking, Wow, someone who can go head-to-head with my feisty disposition. Either we’ll be the best of buddies or we’ll strangle each other. And it had worked out perfectly so far: generally when I freaked, Amanda chilled, and vice versa.

  “Yeah, I agree with Hol. In fact, I say after our balloon ride tomorrow, we sweep out the van and go on a camping trip in one of the national parks that we passed on the way here. It’s the weekend anyway. Auto Barn can wait,” Amanda said.

  She had a point. I really wasn’t ready to go back to Sydney yet. And if I had, God forbid, screwed up our chances of doing a final road trip up the coast, at least we’d have one last night of fun. So I agreed to their proposal—on one condition: that they drive the entir
e way back.

  Though rising before dawn was the last thing I’d normally want to do on vacation, floating above the clouds in an open-air basket provided a huge incentive. So at 5:30 a.m. on the dot, we arrived at the Balloon Aloft office, eager to take flight. Clutching a paper cup of complimentary coffee, I gazed at the glossy photos of other hot-air heroes that hung on the wall, which provided even more of a pick-me-up than the caffeine.

  “So, you guys, if we write a blog about this for World Nomads, I totally know what we should call it,” I said. “The Wizards of Oz. Get it? ’Cause in the movie, the wizard floats down into the emerald city in a hot-air balloon and Australia’s called Oz. Oh, I am hilarious.” I nodded approvingly at myself, impressed by my early-morning wit.

  “Uh, that’s worse than lawn moo-er, dude,” Holly replied, referring to my clever naming of the cow in Kenya that always lingered outside our hut loudly chomping grass.

  “Yeah, but if that’ll make you care less about the van, we’ll do it,” Amanda said.

  Ridiculous pun or not, I was feeling better about the whole debacle. But unfortunately our bad luck hadn’t quite run out. We’d been warned by the owner that there was a slight chance of inclement weather, so they’d been monitoring the winds all morning to make sure it was safe to go up in the air. After waiting around for nearly two hours, it was still a no-go, so, much to everyone’s disappointment, they canceled our ascent. As we begrudgingly made our way outside to leave, we noticed a few Balloon Aloft employees were gathered around the van, inspecting the damage.

  “Is this your handiwork?” one of them asked with a smile.

  “Guilty,” I replied. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to know how to pop the dent back out, would you?” The guy was wearing a blue, mechanic-like jumpsuit, so I figured, what the hell.