Sisterchicks in Wooden Shoes! (3 page)

“Lekker? “Noelle asked.

“Is that what it’s called? Lekker? Is that Dutch for ‘cake’?”

“No,
lekker
is the word for ‘delicious.’ If it’s really good, you go like this.” She opened her hand and put her flat palm to the side of her thick, blond hair. “You say, ‘Lekker,’ and then you do this.” She waved her hand slightly as if fluffing up her hairdo.

“What does that mean?”

“That you like it. It tastes delicious.”

“But why are you waving to your ear?”

Noelle grinned. “That is what it looks like, isn’t it? I hadn’t thought of it that way before. I have no idea why we do it or what it means, but if you like something that’s tasty, that’s what the Dutch do.”

I gave it a try, waving my open palm in front of my ear. Noelle nodded her approval. “My first lesson in Dutch nuances. Keep them coming.” I took a small sip of the hot coffee and swallowed it quickly. The strong taste prompted me to cough.

“Are you okay?”

“I hate to admit this, but I think I’ve turned into a coffee snob. Not even a coffee snob. I’m a latte snob. This tastes really strong to me.”

“Oh, right! The five-percent milk.”

“Two percent.”

“I’ll get some milk for you.” Noelle went to the counter and returned with a small pitcher.

As I lightened up my coffee, I said, “I hadn’t realized it until now, but I barely recognize the real stuff anymore.”

“It’s all right. You don’t have to change over to the Dutch way of doing things simply because you arrived an hour ago.” She winked. “We’ll give you a week.”

I laughed. “A week is all I have.”

My statement stuck in my throat as soon as I said it. It was as if I had spoken a self-fulfilling prophecy. After this week I didn’t know what kind of life or schedule I would have. Would I be able to drink coffee if the doctor put me on a restricted diet?

Noelle confidently lifted her chin. “Don’t worry. A week is all I need. I told you. The Dutch are very efficient.”

N
oelle’s home felt familiar from the moment we drove up to it. Much of what met my eye was as I had imagined. I had seen photos over the years, with the inside and outside of the house as the background.

Many of the same distinctives I had noticed about the other Dutch homes appeared in Noelle’s as well. Even though her house was only thirty-five years old, the flat front of the house led straight up to a pointed roof like the traditional houses we had seen on our drive. The front entry was a patio of pavers with flowers and a small tree, all growing in deep Mediterranean blue garden pots.

“We gave up trying to bother with grass out here,” Noelle said. “This part of the house rarely sees sunlight. I’ve had good success, though, with a few shade-loving plants. In the summer it’s nice and cool out here.”

We entered, and I realized how efficiently the small space was used. Four steps in, and we were standing by a stylish black leather couch that framed the seating area in the living room. To the right
was the staircase, and to the far left was an entire wall covered by built-in bookcases and a customized space where a flat-screen TV was flanked by small speakers.

“My son Michael would love what you did with that wall,” I said. “He and his wife have been trying to do something similar in their apartment but without anything being built in. The shelves are eating up their floor space.”

“We added all that,” Noelle said. “And we redesigned the kitchen. Come.”

I let go of my luggage and followed her a few steps past the couch where the room made a T. On the left was a round dining room table with a bouquet of red tulips fully in bloom. To the right was a modern-looking but very small kitchen with all stainless-steel appliances.

“It’s just the right size for us now,” Noelle said. “All the years while the girls were growing up, it was so small. You could barely have two people in the kitchen at one time.”

I couldn’t imagine the kitchen any smaller. Even with the modern upgrades, the built-in appliances appeared narrower than what we have in the U.S.

“It’s impressive,” I said truthfully. The space looked well used, and the shine from the stainless steel reflected cleanly the focused, canned, overhead lights. The kitchen looked as if it could be an advertisement in a magazine.

“Are you ready to see your room? It’s on the second floor. We converted the attic into a third floor, and that became our bedroom. I’ll show you that too.”

The three stories were traversed by a set of stairs. I had seen
this sort of metal, spiraling stairs in movies or in pictures but never in a home. There was no railing. Only the series of narrow metal plates that were open to the front to accommodate feet that were too long to fit on just the step. Feet like mine. Although, when I took the fifth or sixth step, I realized only a child’s small feet would fit on such small stair plates.

Noelle was carrying my suitcase, which was a good thing. I’m afraid I would have had a terrible time trying to navigate the narrow steps, the spiral direction we were heading, and a bulky suitcase. Noelle hoisted it ahead of her with little difficulty. She seemed much stronger than I was. But then, if I lived in a three-story house instead of a one-story bungalow, I might have developed some impressive strength from all the hauling up and down.

After one complete spiral turn of the metal stairs, we were on the second floor. A square area anchored four closed doors. Noelle opened the one at the opposite end.

“This is the bathroom. I put clean towels on your bed. I’ll be sure to give you some instructions before you run the water in the tub or shower. It’s different than what you’re used to, but I don’t think you’ll be too confused.”

Turning to the closed door on my left, Noelle opened up the guest room—my room. A twin bed with a beautiful, puffy white down comforter waited for me with folded towels at the foot.

“I put hangers in the closet, but let me know if you need more. This room doesn’t have a lot of closet space since we use it for overflow” She put my suitcase next to the closet. “I’ll show you the office across the hall, and then we can go up to see the bedroom on the third floor.”

I kept up with Noelle as she scooted across the hall and opened the door to a crowded home office. The desk sat in front of the window that looked out to the back of their house. A high-back office chair faced the window.

Just then the chair turned, and Noelle’s husband lifted his hand to greet us but didn’t change his facial expression.

“I didn’t realize you were home,” Noelle said in a soft voice.

The large, fair-skinned man nodded in a reserved manner.

Whether he was reserved Dutch or not, I was thrilled to meet Noelle’s husband after all these years. I jumped in, stepping close and offering my hand in an eager handshake. “Jelly, I am so glad to finally meet you. Thank you for agreeing to let me come last minute like this.”

A deep voice suddenly spoke from the speakerphone on the desk. I hadn’t realized a phone call was in progress. The man on the speakerphone replied in Dutch. While I couldn’t understand what he said, I distinctly heard him repeat Noelle’s husband’s name, “Jelly,” with a humorous inflection.

I turned to Noelle with my lips pressed together just as a second voice chimed in, also in Dutch. We had interrupted a conference call.

Noelle said something in Dutch and motioned for me to follow her out of the office. She quickly ushered me out of the room and closed the door behind us. Her face was red.

I grimaced as soon as we were on the other side of the closed door. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize he was on a conference call.”

“He was talking with his brothers.”

“Oh.”

“They all work together and…”

I tried to read Noelle’s expression. Not only did I have the disadvantage of not being familiar with what her different expressions meant, but I also didn’t know if this was the sort of thing we would all brush off and laugh about later. Her husband’s response had been so reserved.

“Come.” She motioned for us to climb the spiral stairs to the top floor.

I hoped this meant it was best to just set aside my intrusion on the conference call and go on as if it was no big deal.

We stepped into a beautifully decorated loft with a large bed, thick rugs, and a wide window facing the outside world at the back of their home. I immediately went to the window. Gazing past the neighbors’ roofs, I said, “Is that the North Sea you can catch a glimpse of between the rooftops?”

“It’s Rotterdam Harbor. We can watch the huge ships come in.” Noelle took my arm. “Summer, you know how you asked me to tip you off before you do anything embarrassing?”

“Yes. Too late, right? I’m sorry I barged in. I should have waited until Jelly said something to me first.”

Noelle looked like she might burst out laughing.

“What is it?”

“My husband’s name is Jelle.” The way she pronounced it, the name sounded like
Yella
, not
Jelly
.

I slapped my hand over my mouth.

“You had no way of knowing. All these years you’ve only read his name. I never told you the y is pronounced like a soft
y.
”

“Oh no! And I called him Jelly in front of his brothers!”

Noelle pressed her lips together, suppressing a giggle. “He’s been called worse than ‘Jelly but…just don’t ever add’ Belly to the end of it. That would be the worst.”

“Oh, Noelle! I’m so embarrassed.”

“Don’t worry. Really. All is well. You broke the ice. The rest of your visit can only go up from here.”

I hoped she was right. We went downstairs to the living room, and at Noelle’s suggestion I called Wayne to let him know I had arrived safely.

“I would like to say hello to him before you hang up,” Noelle said from the kitchen.

I handed her the phone, and she graciously introduced herself to my husband and thanked him for encouraging me to, at long last, make this trek. “We have only one complaint so far,” Noelle said. I thought she was going to tell Wayne how I had slaughtered her husband’s name.

“Our complaint is that Summer did not bring you with her. Next time both of you must come. We would love to have you as our guests. Sincerely. Anytime.”

My heart warmed to Noelle and her hospitality all over again. I had packed for this trip so sure that this was a one-and-only lifetime adventure. My vision didn’t include even an inkling of a “next time.” I liked that she had presented the possibility to Wayne. He would know that I was keeping to what I had told him the night before I left.

That last night at home, as I was placing my cosmetics bag into a padded corner of the suitcase, Wayne came into the bedroom
and stood behind me. He cleared his throat as if he were about to launch into a private therapy session. Knowing how my husband’s counseling mind works and how the reality of my spontaneous decision had finally caught up with him, I was certain he had processed down to the last detail the psychological reasoning for what I was doing. He was about to offer me a diagnosis and possibly a course of treatment. His initial encouragement to “go have an adventure” was no longer at the forefront of his thoughts on this trip.

Before he could impart his wisdom to me, I took his hand. “I have a pretty good idea what you’re thinking right now, but before you dive in and give me some helpful insights, I want to say this.” Now I was the one clearing my throat. “Wayne, if I am about to enter a stretch of loss in my life and if denial is one of the first stages of grief, then what I would like to do is go to Holland in denial. Complete denial. I want to be all the way there. I don’t want to have one foot here and one foot there. Does that make sense?”

He gave a nod.

“Whether what I’m saying is healthy or unhealthy, can you just let me do that? Be in denial for a week?”

I could almost see the gears grinding to a halt in Wayne’s head. He adjusted his glasses and did this thing with his jaw, as if he had been hiding a piece of gum in there and now would be a good time to soften it up again. The man literally chews on his words before he speaks them. I have come to be grateful for that trait; it means he’s being deliberate.

Wayne’s response was, “Okay. I’m here for you.”

I smiled. My heart immediately felt lighter. The “I’m here for you” line was one I had asked Wayne to use early in our marriage. After three miscarriages and then the challenging process we went through to adopt our two older girls, I had heard every bit of resourceful wisdom from everyone. Including—and especially—from Wayne.

When I miraculously did conceive at last, the dear man tried every tactic he could to cheer me and bolster my strength during the difficult pregnancy and long delivery. His endless advice got to be too much for my exhausted body and brain. At last I told him, while at the hospital in the midst of the birthing process, “The only thing I can handle hearing from you right now is, ‘I’m here for you.’ That’s it. No advice. No motivation techniques. Just be here. That’s all I ask.”

In the same way he was just there for me at the hospital so many years ago, he was once again there for me the night I packed for this trip.

When Noelle handed the phone back to me, I said “goodbye” and “I love you” to Wayne. In appreciation for his support of my choice to stay in denial, I added, “Thank you for being such a wonderful husband. I’ll be home in a week.”

His closing comment was, “I’ll be here for you.”

I handed the disconnected phone back to Noelle.

“You’re smiling. Did he say something sweet to you?”

My nod was my only answer.

“He has such a soothing voice. I think I would want to go to him for counseling just to hear him say in his calming voice that everything was going to be okay.

“Now.” Noelle turned her attention to the items she had lined up on the kitchen counter’s limited space. “We were thinking we would make fish tonight with some vegetables and potatoes. How does that sound? Any allergies or food preferences I should know about?”

“No. What can I do to help?”

“You can go up to your room, unpack, and relax a little. I’ll call you when dinner is ready. Jelle and I want to make this meal for you. This is what we do. We cook together. In our small kitchen it’s a well-orchestrated event.”

“So, basically you’re telling me I would be in the way down here.”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

“Okay, I’ll go upstairs. Call me if you change your mind and I can do something simple like set the table.”

“Thank you but no. I have all of it taken care of.”

I climbed the stairs, ducking my head as we both had done earlier to navigate the spiral passageway without stumbling or bumping our heads. After entering the guest room, I closed the door behind me and suddenly felt weighted down. It was as if the gravity in this corner of the world were stronger than it had been when I first arrived. Was this what jet lag felt like?

It was early in the afternoon at home, but somehow I had missed a night’s sleep as I had jetted through the time zones. Of course I should be tired by now. A short rest was immensely appealing.

Kicking off my shoes, I stretched out on the bed. One minute on that luxurious, thick comforter and I was transported to the
place where dreams are vivid. I could see floating tulips on the insides of my closed eyelids. Red tulips, like the bouquet on the dining room table downstairs. Red tulips and small ceramic cups with coffee so dark that when the stream of milk was added, it formed a swirling white design on top.