Carol Clark - Burned

Interesting, Regan thought.

When they got to Steve’s house, which was in an exclusive neighborhood up in the hills not too far from Diamond Head, several people were already there. “A few of my friends dropped by,” he told them when they walked into the house where loud music was also playing. “I thought we’d make it a party.”

T he Mixed Bag Tour group came from a little town in the Pacific Northwest where it had rained 89 percent of the time over the last one hundred years. Hudville, nicknamed by the residents Mudville, could get a little depressing. So a club was formed twenty years ago called Praise the Rain. Twice a month members got together and sang and danced and bobbed for apples in buckets of rainwater. They played songs about rain and raindrops and rainbows, and did rain dances just for fun. It was a pleasant release from the leaky basements, waterlogged lawns, and soggy shoes that they dealt with on a daily basis.

“Into every life a little rain must fall,” was their motto. “Or maybe a lot.”

“But we have the best complexions in the world,” the women cried.

In other words, they did their best to cope. But when an elderly member, Sal Hawkins, got up at a meeting three years ago and announced that he knew his days were numbered and that he was leaving a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow to the group, there was reason for cheer. Sal planned to leave the group money to go on trips to Hawaii. “Those who go to Hawaii must bring back sunshine in their hearts for the rest of you,” he said. “I want my money to make the people of Hudville smile after I die.”

Five people would be chosen by lottery every three months, and they would be led by Gert and Ev Thompson, sixty-something identical twins who owned the general store in town where they sold lots of umbrellas. Lucky for Gert and Ev they lived next door to Sal and always gave him rides to the Praise the Rain meetings. They also baked him casseroles and cakes just to be nice. He appointed the twins as leaders of the tour group, and as soon as Sal kicked the rain bucket, they arranged for the first trip to Hawaii. He was barely in his grave when their bags were packed and they were on their way. On that first trip Gert and Ev dubbed the group the Lucky Seven.

They’d had eight trips now. Membership in the Praise the Rain Club had increased tenfold since the lottery for the trips started. But everyone was glad because it made the meetings more interesting, and it brought the town together. On the lottery nights every member was in attendance. With all the excitement over whose name got picked, you’d think they were giving away tickets to heaven.

Gert and Ev loved being in charge of the Lucky Seven trips. They were now the most relaxed people in Hudville. But some of the townsfolk quietly griped, “Who wouldn’t be relaxed if you went on a free vacation to paradise every three months?”

The Waikiki Waters Playground and Resort was their choice of hotel. Every three months the twins booked four rooms and stayed for a week. Sometimes the group did things together; sometimes members broke off and went on their own. Every morning those who had risen early took a walk on the beach. They had been taking that group walk when Dorinda Dawes’s body had washed up. It had been upsetting. Gert and Ev quickly herded everyone off to the breakfast buffet so they’d feel better. “Don’t forget,” Gert advised, “we must keep a positive attitude about everything. We must bring sunshine back to Hudville.”

Now the Lucky Seven were sitting around one of the pools under the hau trees as they did most nights. Cocktails in hand, they talked about their day as the sun slowly sank over the horizon and the sky filled with streaks of red and blue and gold. There was one couple and three singles who ranged in age from their twenties to their sixties. To have called the group eclectic would have been an under-statement.

Gert, clad in her favorite flowered muumuu, held up her mai tai punch, which naturally had a floating umbrella bobbing happily among the ice cubes. “First we must have our nightly toast to our deceased benefactor, Mr. Sal Hawkins.”

“Here’s to Sal,” they all agreed, and clinked glasses.

Ned, the hotel’s tour guide/physical trainer, had joined them for cocktails. He had worked at the hotel for three months and spent his days swimming, surfing, jogging, and doing push-ups in the gym with any hotel guests who cared to join him. His boss, Will Brown, had hired him to be a roving Jack La Lanne who lived at the hotel, moving in and out of whatever room was available. Will had told him to pay special attention to the Praise the Rain group. They were steady customers, and the hotel liked to keep them happy. So happy that they saved the group the cost of a room by having Ned bunk in with the only single man on the trip.

“How can I help but pay attention to them?” Ned had joked to Will. “This guy is sleeping three feet from me!”

In his forties, Ned was physically fit and attractive, with a bald head and dark brown eyes. He always had a five o’clock shadow by lunchtime. His thick dark hair had had a tendency to frizz. When he had separated from his wife the previous year, he’d decided to shave it off and start over with a new look. He hadn’t yet found a woman to his liking but was always on the prowl. I don’t have anyone to calm me down, he often thought. I need that. But she has to be athletic. He sipped his scotch, then turned to Gert. “Why don’t we go up to the surfing beach tomorrow? I’ll get one of the hotel vans. We can rent surfboards.”

The beaches up north on the island of Oahu were some of the best surfing beaches in the world. The waves were twenty-five feet high in the winter months, and the scenery was gorgeous. The mountains in the background were an inspiring sight for the surfers hanging ten as they steered their boards toward the beach.

Ev snorted, “Are you out of your mind?” She and Gert were both hefty-sized women who only shed their muumuus for a quick dunk in the pool. They loved their dunks and found them most refreshing. Very occasionally in the evenings they went to the water’s edge and flung off their muumuus for a dip in the ocean. They were modest and didn’t like walking around on the beach in their bathing suits in the light of day.

Ev had opted for blond hair at this stage of life, and Gert decided on red. Otherwise their round, pleasant faces framed by oversized glasses looked strikingly similar.

“We can bring a picnic lunch. I’m sure some of the others would like to try surfing, wouldn’t they?” Ned looked around the group hopefully.

Artie, the thirty-nine-year-old masseur who believed his hands were healers and was Ned’s unlikely roommate, replied, “I was thinking that I’d like to swim with the dolphins. I hear there’s a great place on the Big Island where they really communicate with humans.” Artie was fair and blond and usually quiet. He’d moved to Hudville from sunny Arizona because he figured with all the rain there must be a lot of aching bodies in town that could use a massage. He claimed that he could reduce the size of swollen feet by placing his hands over them and drawing out the negative energy. So far most Hudville residents had continued to ease their swollen feet by putting them up on a hassock while watching television. It was a lot cheaper.

“I would absolutely adore the idea of surfing, I would just adore it!” Frances cried. Francie was an exuberant fiftyish woman who never divulged her age and believed she was the most talented, gorgeous, insightful woman on the planet. Self-confidence was not something she lacked. She had curly black hair, a pretty enough face, and after a mostly unsuccessful acting career, she’d moved to Hudville to teach drama at the high school. Francie always wore heels, even on the beach, and plenty of jewelry. Every day she went out and bought herself a new lei.