“I’m in group one.”
“Shoot.” She made a face at the information on her itinerary. “I’m in group three.”
One of the unique features of our river cruise was an opportunity to visit a French family in the Normandy countryside. Guests were being divided into groups of eight and would be dropped off at designated farms, villas, and chateaus where they’d be encouraged to discuss anything from local cuisine to politics with the host family. I didn’t know who else would be joining me in group one, but I hoped that whoever they were, they’d prove themselves to be worthy ambassadors of the United States and not ugly Americans.
Please let Bernice be in someone else’s group. Please let Bernice be in someone else’s group.
At the foot of the stairs, I paused to brush sand off my feet and slip back into my sandals. “I wonder which group the girls are in?” Jackie asked as she watched me retie the ribbons around my ankles.
“Why? Are you planning to surprise your host family with a group demonstration of tone-correcting wands and cucumber facial masks?”
She went statue-still for a long moment before shoving her itinerary back into her bag and grabbing her cell phone. “Ohmigod! Why didn’t I think of that? You’re a genius, Emily. An absolute genius! Mona Michelle goes international. Do you mind if I say it was my idea?” She tapped her screen and pressed her phone to her ear, bobbing her head impatiently.
“Jack! I was teasing! You can’t pitch your cosmetic line on your home visit.”
“Why not?”
“Do the words ‘inappropriate’ and ‘tacky’ mean anything to you?”
She pulled a long face. “How can Bobbi’s number no longer be in service? She gave it to me right before we boarded the bus.”
Unh-oh. I didn’t like the sound of this.
She punched her screen again and waited. “Well, this is really weird. Krystal’s number isn’t available either.”
“Try blonde number three. Third time might be the charm.”
“Can’t. Dawna couldn’t remember her number.” She clutched the device in both hands and stared miserably at the screen. “Do you suppose there’s something wrong with my phone?” She seized up with panic. “Or my hearing?”
“You probably entered the numbers wrong, Jack. It happens.”
Her eyes suddenly brightened. “Initializing Plan B.” Scrolling through her phone book, she hit another number and gnawed her bottom lip as she waited for someone to pick up.
“Who’re you calling now?”
“Your grandmother. She gave me her number yesterday, so if I got that one right, then maybe— Mrs. S.? I’m so glad you answered. This is Jackie. Quick question. Is this the right cell number for you?”
She broke out in a giddy smile. “Well, thank God. I thought— Uh-huh … Uh-huh. Can you speak up a little, Mrs. S.? What’s all that yelling in the background? Uh-huh. Uh-huh. You’re where? No kidding? Yup. She’s right here with me. Oh, sure. No problem. Thanks.”
She waved her phone at me in a celebratory gesture. “I knew I wasn’t the one who screwed up.” She exhaled a long, relieved breath before breaking out in a wince. “But now I’m really in a bind.”
“Why?”
“Because someone’s going to have to tell Krystal and Bobbi that their memories suck, and if I tell them, it’ll probably ruin our friendship. Women really resent other women pointing out their flaws. So”— she flashed a hopeful smile—“would you tell them?”