In the Stars Read online

  She’ll see.

  Deep doubts, deep wisdom;

  small doubts, little wisdom.

  —Chinese Proverb

  Chapter Eleven

  The rest of the week passes quickly. I receive three hundred dollars for completing my cleaning job (even though it took me thirteen hours) which is exactly enough to pay for my rent for the next month. Josh works fifteen hour days in preparation for our trip and I hardly get the chance to talk to him at all. Heather is the exact opposite and spends her time giving me manicures, trimming the split ends off my hair and forcing me into every single article of clothing we own between the two of us to figure out what I should pack.

  Before I know it, it’s Monday and Josh and I are scanning the signs above our heads and attempting to locate baggage claim in the Victoria International Airport. I poke myself again to make sure I’m not dreaming then follow Josh down a flight of stairs to a room full of circular conveyor belts.

  The flight itself was very generic—nice flight attendants, a horrible snack of salted pretzels (Really, does anybody actually enjoy pretzels? Anyone?) but I can’t stop thinking about that one little thing. It happened while Josh and I were waiting for our flight. We were still in the Calgary airport, had found our terminal and made it through security with no problems. We were seated, waiting to board. I was edgy, a little tired of waiting and had started a game with Josh.

  “Truth or dare,” I said. He had gone for dare. I told him to hold his breath for two minutes. (All right, kind of a lame dare, but I didn’t want us to get booted off our flight by security). He had done so, just barely, even though his face turned red and his eyes watered. We went back and forth for a few minutes, basically throwing the truth option aside and daring each other to do random things.

  After I sang “Twinkle, Twinkle” and received a lot of odd looks from people passing by, I had grown flushed. I went to the bathroom to splash a little water on my face and when I came back, Josh kind of reached for my hand.

  It wasn’t the act itself that was strange. We’ve held hands before, I’m sure we have. I’ve grabbed his arm and held his hand when it’s icy out and I’m wearing heels and stuff like that. I’m a bit of a touchy-feely girl and so it is natural for me to have physical contact with the people I am close to. It was more the way it happened.

  He reached toward me and I almost felt like he was my boyfriend. It was strange, like if I held his hand it would signal that we were dating, the way it did in junior high. I had jerked my hand away and kind of laughed it off, “Watch your hands, garcon,” I joked and slapped it without intending to. But then his expression of guilt made it worse.

  I quickly changed the subject and a few minutes later we boarded the plane and nothing more was said of the incident. But I couldn’t get it out of my head. What was that?

  “Found it,” Josh proclaims proudly and I am jerked back to the present. “I knew I could get us here without asking anyone.” We are in the huge baggage claim area, a wide open space with a bit of a draft and those big carousels that rotate your luggage for you. There are lines of carts for people with too many bags and a sign pointing down the room farther for oversized luggage.

  “I would be proud except it didn’t take that many navigational skills. I mean, there are signs with little stick men holding suitcases every five feet,” I tease. See? The thing back at the Calgary airport is a non-issue. Totally forgotten by both of us.

  He laughs and I continue. “So what are we going to do after we check into the hotel?” I am itching to explore this place. Strange that I have backpacked with my family and friends through every inch of the Rockies, done road trips across Eastern Canada through Ontario and Quebec and even camped for a few weeks on Prince Edward Island, and yet have never made my way to the opposite side of the country where Vancouver Island lies.

  “Well, why don’t we get cleaned up and then hit the streets? I haven’t been here in years and would love to walk around all the silly tourist spots.” Josh is as big a nerd as I am.

  “Excellent.” My face splits into a smile and Josh puts his arm around my shoulder and squeezes it tight while we wait for the carousel to spit out our luggage. A few of the other passengers from our flight gather nearby and a cute, elderly woman who we had spoken to briefly on the plane edges up to us.

  “Are you two sweethearts here for vacation or do you live here?” Her voice creaks and she adjusts the large, beige purse on her shoulder while she speaks.

  “Vacation,” Josh says and I bob my head politely in agreement. It’s more of a rescue mission for my sanity, but that wasn’t one of her options.

  The old lady nods enthusiastically. “Is it your honeymoon?” Her voice takes on a wistful tone. “My honeymoon was delightful; it’s something you will never forget. Although, since we are from here, we went to the Queen Charlotte Islands. You two are going to have such a wonderful time.” She beams at us and her wrinkled face glows with memories of happier times.

  My face heats up and I instinctively step out from under Josh’s arm, shaking my head, ready to tell her that no, no, absolutely no, we are just friends and that’s all we ever will be. I wonder if Josh is as mortified as I am. I remember once someone thought he was dating a friend of ours in law school and he got super awkward and couldn’t make eye contact with her for weeks. And he vehemently denied any feelings for her and up and down swore that it was not the case. I hope he doesn’t make this into too big a thing.

  To my surprise, however, Josh smiles at the lady and says, “Our honeymoon will have to wait. My friend is here to meet up with an old boyfriend and I’m just along for the ride.” No awkwardness. No fervent rebuffs. Odd. Maybe Josh is maturing.

  Right then the conveyor belt turns on and everyone presses closer together with their eyes peeled for their belongings. “Well, that’s a shame,” the old lady says. “You seem like a charming couple. And it’s such a lovely tradition for newlyweds to come to Victoria and stay at the Empress Hotel. It’s historic and romantic.”

  “That does sound nice.” Josh touches her arm gently and smiles. “I’ll have to keep it in mind one day. Thank you.”

  “Th-thank you,” I echo, still taken aback that Josh was so offhand about the whole thing. Seriously, so unlike him. It must be because the woman is elderly. Josh is always very polite to seniors. That’s it.

  Josh wishes her a good day then we spot our luggage. Josh effortlessly grabs both bags and within a minute we are free from the crowd of passengers. He places them down and looks over his shoulder. I turn to see what he is looking at, but it’s just our fellow passengers, nothing noteworthy.

  “What’s up?” He has piqued my curiosity. Maybe he found a cute girl or something. The thought makes me relieved.

  “Wait one sec.” Josh leaves me with his bag and hurries back into the throng. I am confused until a moment later he emerges with a bulky, purple flowered suitcase. The elderly woman we had spoken to trails along at his heels, thanking him for helping her pick it up. “It was so heavy and moving fast,” she repeats over and over. “I couldn’t get a good grip on it. Thank you for rescuing me, thank you very much.”

  “You’re welcome. I was glad to help.” He seems embarrassed at her gratitude.

  “You are a sweet boy.” She looks at me. “If your reunion with the old boyfriend doesn’t work out, at least you won’t have to look very far.”

  I make a noncommittal noise, Josh tells her goodbye again and we turn toward the exit. “I think she has a bit of a crush on you,” I tease, nudging him with my shoulder bag. “I bet if you marry her, she’ll bake you brownies and cakes and all kinds of delicious things. Since you’re always hungry, why don’t you go for it?”

  Josh pretends not to hear me. “La-la-la, are you still talking?” he jokes.

  “In all seriousness,” I add, “that was really nice of you. Nobody
else even noticed her struggling. You really are a great guy.”

  Josh shakes his head. “I didn’t do much. I saw she was distraught and having difficulty getting that suitcase off the belt and figured she needed help. Besides,” he nudges me in the side as we go through the sliding glass doors, “she had our honeymoon planned out. It was the least I could do.”

  Honeymoon joke. The hand thing that I can’t forget.

  “Right.” I laugh uncomfortably and we wheel our suitcases outside into the muggy, salty air where we get in line for the Akal Airporter shuttle, a bus that will take us downtown to our hotel.

  It is about an hour later when we finally arrive at the Grand Pacific. I doubt it would have taken us this long if we’d driven ourselves, but the bus stopped about nine times to unload passengers and pick up ones to bring back to the airport. Out the dusty bus window I spot our destination. It is a striking hotel, modern and elegant that overlooks the harbor and the entire downtown Victoria area. My jaw drops slightly and I look at Josh in concern. “We can’t afford this place,” I hiss under my breath so the other passengers don’t overhear. “This must cost a fortune.”

  Josh pulls me to the side so some of the others can get past us and says simply, “I told you not to worry about the hotel before we left and I meant it. So don’t worry about it. If I want to spend money on my friends and have a nice place to stay when we go on vacation, then let me. Not another word.”

  “But—” I begin until he cuts me off.

  “But is another word. Shush, woman! Not another word.” We climb off the bus, grab our luggage and while the five or six people around us scatter and make their way into the hotel, Josh points out a huge family of ducks walking on the cement near the front lawn. “See? What other hotel would have a duck family? We have to stay here.”

  “Look how cute they are!” I abandon my suitcase and take a few small steps toward them, careful to go slow enough that they don’t get scared. There are seven little yellow ducklings, a brown mother and the handsomely colored mallard father. I turn around to see if Josh is watching them, and am discomfited to note that he is watching me instead.

  I straighten up and clear my throat. “Ahem, well, maybe we should go get checked in.”

  Josh nods but his eyes have taken on a strange, wistful edge. “You’re right, let’s head inside.” When I look at him again, his eyes are back to normal. I must have imagined whatever I thought I saw. Just like I imagined anything more with him reaching for my hand. Geesh, Charley, get over it. Stop being ridiculous.

  It’s all in your head.

  Be still and the earth will speak to you.

  —Navajo Proverb

  Chapter Twelve

  We enter the lobby, carefully wheeling our suitcases past the doors, and I hesitate once inside. It is a beautiful lobby with dark wood and marble tiles. The check-in desk is in the center and we approach it. There are two tills open and we wait in line for a blonde woman wearing the dark blue uniform of the hotel.

  “Reservation for Josh Mahoney,” Josh tells her when the line ahead of us has melted away. The clerk welcomes us with a huge smile, very friendly for such a ritzy hotel.

  “The room has two double beds,” she states, clicking on a few things with her mouse. “Would you like me to move you to one with a queen?”

  “No, the twins are fine,” Josh replies easily and the woman shoots us a puzzled look. She must think we’re married too, and for what feels like the millionth time today I feel decidedly uncomfortable.

  After Josh pays the deposit, she hands him a set of two key cards. “How many nights are you planning on staying?” she asks.

  Josh raises an eyebrow at me and I hesitate. “Um, probably at least three. Maybe four.” I have never done this before . . . I have no clue how long it is going to take.

  “All right, I’ll let you pay for three now, and you can add an extra day if you need to.” She types that into the computer and asks if we need help getting up to our rooms. Josh thanks her and says no, so she bids us to have a great day and then answers a blinking telephone. Josh and I grab our bags, take the elevator to our floor and enter the room.

  It’s a standard hotel room, twin beds, a nice television, everything clean and neat. I remember, suddenly, an episode of The Ellen Show where Ellen talked about how filthy hotel rooms are. She had mentioned that the cleanest parts of a hotel are the toilet, probably because it’s cleaned with disinfectant, and that pretty much everything else is crawling with filth and disease, or something like that.

  I repress a shudder and sit on the bed nearest the window. “Mine,” I claim and Josh obediently takes the other one. I don’t feel like unpacking things into the closet (seriously, does anybody ever actually do that in hotels?) but do decide to hang my dress to keep it from wrinkling.

  I unzip my suitcase and see a wrapped package on the very top of my clothes. Just because I knew you’d forget . . . it says in Heather’s girly writing.

  “What’s that?” Josh asks, looking up from his phone where he’s checking emails and replying to work texts.

  “I don’t know.” I shake it and then peel off the wrapper and burst into laughter. “Of course Heather would give me this!”

  It’s a do-it-yourself waxing kit, complete with a wax warmer that will heat it up in minutes. “I have never waxed my legs before,” I admit to Josh who is staring at the kit with a mixture of fascination and horror.

  “Me neither,” he proclaims and I laugh again.

  “Do you think I should?” I mean, technically I haven’t shaved my legs yet, but I brought my razor along for this very purpose and was planning on doing it tomorrow morning before I meet Drew. However, on the other hand, Heather usually is right when it comes to beauty products. Maybe waxing my legs will make them smooth and lovely and perfect and so much better than shaving.

  I grin at Josh mischievously. “I know you wanted to wander around downtown, but what say we have a little waxing party first.”

  “If by waxing party you are implying that I will be taking part in it, then no,” Josh replies. He turns back to his phone, but I see his eyes flick over toward the kit again.

  “You have to do it with me. Please?”

  “Not a chance. I’m a guy! Men don’t wax their legs. It’s not manly.”

  “Sure it is. Lance Armstrong is one of the manliest men out there and he does it. It helps keep him streamlined.” I’m fairly sure I read that somewhere. Maybe. “But whatever. Do what you want. Be manly all by yourself.” I look away and pretend that I don’t care. I know that Josh will cave. I know him. His curiosity always gets the better of him.

  A year ago, at a friend’s Christmas Party, the two of us were dared to try on their dog’s shock collars. And he leapt at the chance. Surprisingly the collars didn’t hurt as much as I was anticipating. Although every time Josh squawked the collar shocked him and then he would yelp and it would shock him again. It was hilarious.

  And then there was that one time in our law lecture when the professor had students volunteer to try a Fear Factor-esque taste challenge where they would be blindfolded and have to eat whatever was placed in front of them. I can’t remember what the point of the demonstration was, but Josh was the first to throw his hand in the air to volunteer.

  Point is, I know he’s going to come around.

  I enter the bathroom and am pleased to see plush bathrobes hanging on the door. I take one off the hook and close the bathroom door. After reading the very complicated instructions, I plug the wax warmer into an outlet so it can begin heating the wax, and then I jump in the shower. That’s always what Heather does before waxing. She claims the hot water makes her pores open so the hairs come out easier. I’m all about the easy way for this.

  After a lovely shower, where I make good use of the bathroom amenities by Gilchrist & Soames, I st
ep out and put on the soft robe. I check on the wax, which is melted and oozy; I unplug it and open the bathroom door. Steam wafts out of the bathroom as I poke my head out.

  “I’m done with the shower, so you can use it if you need to,” I inform Josh, who is still seated on the bed. “I’ll be waxing my legs in here, just little, old me, waxing away by my lonesome.”

  “Go for it.” Josh hasn’t looked up. Maybe I was wrong about him this time.

  I go back in and read the instructions again and take the spatula from the kit. I apply a thin line of wax to my leg and then place the strip of cloth onto it. I rub it until I feel it begin to cool and pull at my hairs. Then, with a deep breath, I pull it off.

  “Holy mother, crap, freaking fetch, oh my heavens!” The pain is intense and quick. Really? People do this on a continual basis? This is insanity!

  Josh runs into the bathroom at the sound of my screams. “You wimp! It can’t be that bad.”

  I hold out the cloth strip with the tiny little leg hairs stuck to it and wave it at him. “Look at this. This is disgusting and holy crap, it hurts so bad!”

  Josh shakes his head. “You are such a wuss! It can’t be that bad.” He grabs the second bathrobe, disappears around the corner and returns a minute later, legs bare and the robe tied tight around his waist. “Let me show you how a man does it.”

  “You might want to shower first to loosen up your hairs,” I suggest.

  Josh shakes his head. “I’ll shower after. I don’t need any help with this. I’m going to show you just how manly I can be.”

  I apply another strip of the wax to my leg and then hand the spatula to Josh. He grabs a good amount and places it on his calf. “This feels nice. So warm.” He rubs the cloth into the wax and then looks at me expectantly. “Okay, so when do I pull it off?”