The Wildwater Walking Club

by Claire Cook

  TESS ROLLED AN OLD RED WAGON FILLED WITH HANDHELD weights over to my garage. We taped up the strength-training poster that had come with them on the wall next to our mileage map.

  “Are you sure nobody at your house is using them?” I asked.

  “Oh, please,” Tess said. “Do you want the treadmill and rowing machine, too? Talk about overpriced clothes hangers. I’ve also got a butt buster, a tummy toner, and a thigh thing, and somewhere up in the attic I still even have one of those vibrating exercise belts, plus one of those wooden roller machines you sit on to break up the cellulite. Maybe you could dust them all off and open up a garage gym.”

  “Thanks,” I said, “but I think this is probably plenty. By the way, I met Hannah yesterday. She’s adorable. Wow, it really brings it all back, doesn’t it? Remember that last summer before you went away to college, how important it was to spend every minute going out with your old friends, before you all went your separate ways?”

  Tess put her hands on her hips. “Don’t tell me she got to you already. I thought you were smarter than that.”

  “Morning,” Rosie said. “Hey, I’ve got some extra exercise mats I could bring over.” She held up a handful of tangled pale purple shoelaces. “This is all I brought today.”

  “Aww,” I said. “Lavender laces. Where did you find them?”

  “My mother must have dyed them,” Rosie said. “I was going through the junk drawer yesterday, and there they were.” She wiggled a shoelace free and handed it to me.

  Tess was already on the floor, unlacing her sneakers.

  As soon as we’d replaced our laces, we headed for the street.

  “Nobody’ll miss us, that’s for sure,” Tess said. “Maybe we should have calling cards made. You know, The Lavender Ladies.”

  “Or The Lavender Lace Ladies,” Rosie said. “It sounds like a Victorian sewing circle.”

  “Can’t wait to pass those cards around,” I said. “I’m sure they’ll do wonders for my social life.”

  Rosie stepped up ahead of us on the sidewalk.

  “If we have to have a name,” I said, “I think we should be The Wildwater Way Women. It sounds more adventurous.”

  “Or even The Wildwater Walking Club,” Tess said. “It’s still adventurous, but it’s got a nice official ring to it.”

  Rosie turned around. “I don’t know. Doesn’t that sound to you like we should be walking on the water?”

  “Not necessarily,” Tess said. “And I don’t think it would hurt to occasionally consider the possibility.”

  “Okay,” Rosie said. “Done.”

  “And done,” I said.

  I raised both hands over my head. “How do we walk?” I yelled.

  “Fast?” Rosie said.

  “No,” I said. “The Wildwater Way!”

  “Cute,” Tess said. “Okay, how do we do everything?”

  “The Wildwater Way!” Rosie and I yelled. A car drove by and beeped. We all waved.

  “Okay,” I said. “Moving on. I looked up my frequent flier miles last night. I have tons, too, and I’m happy to share. I always meant to use them, but I could never find any flights that worked. Plus I hardly ever took my vacation time.”

  “Do you have a boyfriend?” Tess asked.

  “Not anymore,” I said.

  “What happened?” Rosie asked.

  I shrugged. “Who knows.”

  “I’d like to be single again on a part-time basis,” Tess said. “Nothing personal against my husband, at least most of the time. I’d just like to divide my time between being married and single, you know, like maybe have two houses and each be in the same one sometimes and in different ones the rest of the time.”

  “I get that,” Rosie said. “Then when you saw each other, you’d actually see each other.”

  “Yeah,” Tess said. “The scheduling might get complicated though. And by the time you paid the bills on two houses, it’s not like you’d have any money left for dates.”

  I didn’t have any hard data on it, but it seemed to me that married women always pretended to be more bored in their marriages than they actually were in front of their single friends, and in return, single women acted a little bit happier about being single than they were really feeling. I mean, all things being equal, who wouldn’t prefer having somebody to be occasionally bored with? Not that things were ever equal. I caught myself before I sighed out loud.

  “So what I was thinking,” I said, “was that we should go to Provence and see the lavender fields.”

  Rosie dropped back beside me. “Wow, give her a few lavender plants, and she turns into an addict.”

  “I think it would be such a fabulous trip,” I said. “You should see the photos. Rolling hills cloaked in lavender, charming little villages, mountains of great food and wine. And you can even take cooking classes on some of the tours. My mouth was watering looking at the food pictures. The lavender chicken kabobs looked amazing. I wonder how they make them.”

  “It’s so easy,” Rosie said. “You just add some culinary quality lavender buds to an oil-and-vinegar-based marinade. The Munstead I gave you is perfect—it’s a nice, sweet lavender, and it’s never been treated with pesticides. Just remember—a little lavender goes a long way. Too much and it starts to taste like perfume. So sample as you go.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “So, what about Provence?”

  “Provence would be incredible,” Rosie said. “I’ve always wanted to go.”

  Tess moved up in front of us on the sidewalk but half-turned her head so we could hear her. “Can’t do Europe,” she said. “My passport expired. It’ll take too long to get a new one, unless I pay a king’s ransom for expedited service. And I won’t do that, just on principle. It’s such a racket.”

  We took a right at the end of Wildwater Way and turned toward the beach. We walked for a while in silence. It was kind of dank and dreary out, more like April than July, but I didn’t mind. I’d stopped at the grocery store last night and picked up some fresh fruits and vegetables. I even pushed my carriage around the parking lot a few times before I got back in my car to rack up some more mileage. Then I’d spent my entire Friday night contentedly surfing the Internet, first checking my frequent flier miles and then looking for lavender-y places to go.

  We stepped off the curb and took a left from the main drag onto the quiet little side street that was our shortcut to the beach. Tess waited for us to catch up, and we started walking three abreast on the road. We automatically synchronized the swing of our arms and the length of our strides, all except for Rosie’s occasional extra hop, which was almost like a hiccup.

  “You know where I’d like to go?” Tess said. “Okay, don’t make fun of me for saying this, but since I’m not tutoring this summer, I was thinking I’d like to do some kind of community service.”

  “You’re such a do-gooder,” Rosie said. “Not that that’s a bad thing.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Tess said. “I have a hard time doing things that are just for me. At the end of the school year, when I’ve got a fistful of teacher gift certificates in my hot little hands, I can’t even spend them on myself. I always buy things for other people with them—my kids, my husband, my friends whose birthdays are coming up.”

  “Mine’s August twenty-fourth,” Rosie said.

  “When did you get to be such a smart-ass?” Tess asked.

  “It just takes me a while to warm up,” Rosie said.

  I waited for a place to jump back into the conversation. They had this easy way of talking to each other that made me feel like a third wheel, and I wasn’t sure if it was them or me. Maybe they had more in common with each other than with me, maybe I was just boring, or maybe I was imagining the whole thing.

  Tess finally looked over at me, possibly to make sure I was still there.

  “So where do you want to go?” I asked.

  “Africa would be great,” she said, “except then I still have my passport issue. But we could find a literacy outreach
program in this country. Or maybe go to Appalachia or somewhere and help build a house.”

  Nobody said anything. We walked side by side through the beach parking lot, then switched to single file to fit through the narrow opening in the seawall. The beach was fairly empty because of the weather, and each day we had a little bit more sand to walk on at this hour. I’d never really stopped to think about high tide happening later each day.

  “Gee,” Tess said. “Don’t all jump at once.”

  “Well,” Rosie said. “It’s just that it doesn’t sound like much of a vacation, that’s all. I hope this doesn’t sound selfish, but I was kind of thinking more like a spa or something.”

  “You have to admit,” Tess said, “that does sound pretty selfish.”

  “Fine,” Rosie said. “You crack the whip so my two kids get through their summer reading lists, cook for my family, and finish de-purpling my house, and I’ll catch the next plane to Appalachia.”

  I wondered if they’d notice if I just tiptoed away.

  “Fine,” Tess said. “It was just a thought.”

  “I know,” I said in my cheeriest voice. “Why don’t we all Google some places we’d like to go, lavender-related and otherwise, and tomorrow while we walk, we each get to lobby for our top pick.”

  “Whatever,” Tess said.

  Rosie just shrugged.

  WHAT A DIFFERENCE a day makes. Or in this case a night. After sailing through Friday evening in a sea of contentment, the tide turned, and Saturday night left me feeling lost and lonely.

  After we’d finished walking, I’d gone out to my garden to behead some stalks of Munstead. “You won’t feel a thing,” I whispered as I bent over one of my plants. I couldn’t believe I’d said it out loud. I looked over my shoulder to make sure no one was out in Tess’s yard. I pinched quickly. “Sorry,” I mouthed.

  I had to drive to the store for the rest of the ingredients. Hannah pulled into her driveway just as I was pulling out of mine.

  I rolled down my window. “You got out,” I said. Maybe she’d think I’d helped make it happen.

  She shrugged as she drove by. “Work,” she said.

  As soon as I got back, I heated up the little Weber minigrill on my deck. I set a single place mat at my dining room table and lit some candles. I roasted some garlic while the chicken marinated in lavender-laced virgin olive oil and balsamic vinegar. I threaded the chicken and garlic, plus some cherry tomatoes, onto bamboo skewers, then breathed deeply as they sizzled on the grill. I microwaved a single pouch of rice.

  I ate slowly, savoring the woody, almost rosemarylike flavor of the chicken. I remembered everything I’d ever read about enjoying a solo meal. Stay in the moment. Remember you’re worth pampering. Chew each bite ten times. But I couldn’t stop thinking this was a meal to be shared, and eating it alone was such a waste.

  I took a solitary walk after my solitary dinner, adding another 302 steps to my mileage for the day. I wandered around my backyard, sad and restless, until the mosquitoes chased me inside. I pictured Tess and Rosie at home with their families, probably sitting around the dining room table, laughing and joking and having tender, fascinating conversations with their husbands and kids.

  How I’d missed the husband and kid boat was a complete mystery to me. Men had been drawn to me in sufficient numbers over the years, so I knew I wasn’t completely repulsive or anything. I knew how to date. I even knew how to live together. But then somehow I didn’t know what to do next. Eventually, things just went flat, and the guy moved on. Or things went flat, and I’d think, hey, I’m not going to be one of those women who settle, and I’d move on. And then six months later, I’d look back and think, was that it? Was that the guy? Should I have tried harder to make it work? I mean, what was so fatally wrong with him?

  Saturday night stretched on forever. I moved over to my couch, turned on the TV, and flipped through the channels. I picked up my cell phone from the coffee table. I looked at Michael’s number on my speed dial.

  “Don’t do it,” I said out loud.

  I flipped through my cell phone address book, hoping to find an alternative. Maybe I’d find an ice cream place that delivered, and order up calories instead of humiliation. Or phone my mother again, though she’d probably have a stroke if she got two unexpected calls from me in one week.

  I had to have known it wasn’t a good idea, but I did it anyway. I saw Sherry’s name and pushed Call.

  She answered on the second ring. “Noreen?” she said. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Um,” she said. “Because it’s ten o’clock on a Saturday night?”

  “Oh, God,” I said. “Is it? I totally lost track of time. I was just calling to see if you wanted to go out for a drink or something.”

  “Come on, I’m on the phone,” Sherry said. “Michael, stop it.”

  I tried to hang up, but I was frozen.

  “Sorry,” Sherry said. “Listen, I can’t right now.”

  “Oh,” I said. “I didn’t mean now. I’ve got a really busy day tomorrow. I’m meeting someone and, well…I just meant sometime. So, great.” I let out a laugh that sounded fake even to me. “Why don’t you call me next week, and we’ll both take out our calendars?”

  “Sure,” Sherry said. “How about…”

  “Perfect,” I said. And then I hung up.

  I stared up at my pitch-black ceiling for a very long time before I finally fell asleep. Not only had I made a thoroughly undignified call to Sherry at the most ridiculous hour possible, but Michael was right there with her, and by now he knew about it. No wonder I was still single and sitting at home by myself on a Saturday night like a lonely hearts club cliché. How could I get to be my age and still be such a fool?

  Day 14

  10,987 steps

  BY MORNING I WAS RELATIVELY OKAY AGAIN. I GOT UP EARLY, stuffed a load of dirty clothes into the washing machine, poured a cup of coffee, and moseyed out to check on my garden. It was amazing how little moseying I’d had time to do when I was working. Maybe now it was an art I could cultivate, along with my lavender.

  My phone call last night was no big deal. Sherry might not even remember it this morning. She probably hadn’t even bothered to tell Michael who’d called. Clearly, they’d had more pressing things on the agenda.

  I took a sip of my coffee. So what. It’s not like Michael was exactly a catch. Sherry was probably doing me a favor. But, wait, I’d completely forgotten that I should be worried about her. It seemed like too much. I mean, I could get over Michael or I could worry about Sherry, but it really wasn’t fair that I should have to do both.

  So then why had I called her instead of staying away? Oh, who cared. At least I hadn’t called him.

  I heard some rustling, then Rosie stepped into my backyard, carrying three folded exercise mats. The path I’d never even noticed was becoming more clearly defined now, with trampled growth leading the way from my yard into the woods. It made me feel connected to the rest of the world.

  Rosie held up the mats. “If we’re going to walk and do strength training, we might as well add some stretches for flexibility. I keep buying mats and forgetting where I put them, so now I have three I don’t use. What a day, huh? Nice to see the sun again. I couldn’t wait to get out of the house, and it’s only seven fifty-nine.”

  “How’s your dad?” I asked. I took one last gulp and put my coffee cup on my back deck, and we started walking to my garage.

  “He’s okay, thanks for asking. They’re all okay. It’s just a lot. I’m late on three landscape plans and…Never mind. Let’s walk.”

  Tess was just cutting across her yard. “Brilliant idea,” she yelled.

  We tucked Rosie’s mats inside my garage door and headed out to the street. The beach walk was becoming our regular route, so we took a right at the end of Wildwater Way without even consulting one another. I moved up ahead on the sidewalk to let Tess and Rosie walk side by side.

/>   “Can I go first?” Tess asked. “I’ve got the perfect idea.”

  “Sure,” Rosie said. “Go ahead.”

  It took me a moment to realize what Tess was talking about, since I’d completely forgotten to come up with more suggestions for spending our mileage.

  “Okay,” Tess said. “So my daughter Hannah’s class adopted a third-grade classroom in New Orleans after Katrina. You know, they’re supposed to be mentors, though I’m not sure my darling daughter could mentor her way out of a paper bag these days. Anyway, Hannah’s class e-mails the third-graders and sends them little presents, and they also hold a yearly book and computer drive for them.”

  “That’s great,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Tess said. “Those New Orleans kids have gone through so much. It’s been a real eye-opener for my spoiled daughter and her classmates.”

  “I bet,” Rosie said.

  “Anyway,” Tess said. “I’ve e-mailed the New Orleans teacher a few times, you know, since we both teach third grade, and sent her some extra things. I was thinking we could visit the school, bring some journals for next year’s students. Nice journals, maybe even diaries with locks, and maybe some glitter pens. The kids love those. I hear lots of those schools still have no supplies. Not that teachers up here don’t spend way too much of their own money, but still, it’s got to be really tough in New Orleans.”

  “Didn’t we have this conversation yesterday?” Rosie said.

  “No,” Tess said. “That was a completely different conversation.”

  “I give to everybody else all day long,” Rosie said. “If I’m going to take a trip, I want it to be one hundred percent selfish. Besides, I think Noreen has her heart set on going somewhere with lavender. New Orleans doesn’t really have the right climate. Too humid.”

  “Hey, don’t throw me under the bus,” I said. “I’m open.”

  “I’m not sure I can go anywhere anyway,” Rosie said as she stepped up beside me. I dropped back next to Tess. It took us just a few paces to synchronize our steps again.