In Wonderland: A Combination Of Fact & Fiction

The first thing that hits me are the smells of sand warmed by the sun and the ocean boiling in pots on the shore, full to the brim with lobster. The scents travel across to us, carried on a warm breeze, mingling pleasantly with Claire’s garden, which spills into her backyard in a cascade of blue and purple lupins. A nearby thatch of wild raspberries clusters a trail of moss that she’s allowed to grow alongside a path of smooth rocks that look to have been there for a lifetime. Grasses and trees usher us from a terrain both wild, intentionally left to be itself amongst the cultivated areas, so lovingly cared for by patient fingers. The path meanders gently toward the soft sand, where Claire stands with a group of other women, circled around one of the large lobster pots — the fire already lit underneath. She wears faded denim overalls with the pants rolled up to her knees. A woman relaxed. She smokes a cigar while listening to another woman tell a story that makes the group laugh, their heads thrown backward, eyes to the sky.

Helen stands barefoot in the water beside a short, stocky man. They sip from the long necks of their beers and let the waves roll over their calves. She waves at us before returning to her conversation.

A few bonfires are already lit on the beach, and people dot the shore, some armed with guitars slung over their backs, a fiddle or two in attendance. Feet and sandals dig into the sand.

Claire calls us over with a quick wave. My feet adjust as we step lopsidedly, sinking into the sand.

“Ah, good. You made it,” she says, hugging each of us. Then, she hooks my elbow into hers and pivots me to her group. Caroline, meet my gals,” she gestures to the group before nodding towards me. This is the young lady I mentioned is staying at Helen’s for the summer.”

“Ah, the one with stories to tell,” nods a short woman with snowy white hair and a smile that reminds me of my grandma. Plump and pleasant.

“Diana — no bugging her now. But yes,” Claire smiles, passing her cigar to a woman beside her. Then, gesturing to her, says simply, “Jeannie.”

“And we’ll hear some of them before this night is through, knowing our brood,” Jeannie says, puffing her cigar away from our faces and nodding at me with a wink. “Careful, kiddo, we’re known for learning all about a person in less than an hour.”

“Oh, I’m not afraid,” I grin. “I have the same talent. But not a knack for cigars,” I add, shaking my head at the one Jeannie offers me.

“Do you have a knack for music,” Claire asks me, looking at the fires behind us.

“Dancing to it — yes. Singing — not as much. But I can play a mean drum solo if we pretend I’m fourteen again. It’s been a while.” The group smiled at me expectantly, so I added, “I’m a great dancer.”

“Excellent. We expect you on the dance floor tonight, with the rest of us lot,” says Effie.

“Effie is a wonderful dancer,” adds Rebecca, a glint in her eyes.

“As if,” Effie guffaws. “All speed and limbs; no rhythm,” she adds, demonstrating by wiggling her arms up and down like an octopus.

“How is that even possible, with all of your natural talents,” I ask, laughing at her demonstration.

“I’ve got all of the athleticism, none of the grace. Or the patience to learn to improve that bit,” Effie says, taking the cigar from Diana and puffing the smoke out into rings.

“Impressive,” I nod, watching her. “I would be hacking up a lung if I tried that before I’d puke it back into the ocean.”

“Food for the fishies.”

“Gross, Effie,” Jessica comments with a grimace, but I can hear the grin in her voice. Effie sticks her tongue out at her.

“Seeing as I’d prefer to avoid feeding the fishies, I’ll pass. Thanks,” I reply.

“It’s best to stick to other activities, then.” The deep and soft voice behind me causes the other women to smirk. I turn to see his chest, level with my head. My lips pout before I can flatten them into a neutral line, and I tilt my head to look at his eyes.

“Oh, it’s you then,” I reply nonchalantly. His eyes crinkle in amusement.

“Claire. BBs,” Eric says. They shift to draw him into the circle. One of them passes the cigar to him. He shakes his head at the offer. “Wouldn’t want our visitor to be left out.”

“Don’t let him fool you, dear. He has a sensitive tummy, too,” Diana says, patting his stomach briefly with a quick staccato chuckle.

“Gee, thanks, Aunt Di,” he groans, smiling at her and rolling his eyes before kissing her cheek. The familial intimacy tugs at me, and my face softens. Eric notices the change and watches me. I miss my family and look out at the ocean for a moment. The group leaves me be, filling the silence for a minute with their own noise, jabbing and teasing each other until Claire squeezes my arm gently, pulling me back into the conversation.

“Eric, did you know that Caroline is an excellent dancer? Did you bring your guitar or the accordion with you this time?”

He blushes. “Both, just for you, Claire.”

“Accordion,” I ask, “That’s not as common as the guitar.”

“Oh yes,” Diana says. “In our family, you have to play it. Everyone has — for generations. We’re born playing it and several other instruments. Hearty Irish and Romani stock.”

“Diana and her siblings are in a couple of different bands. Eric sits in with them sometimes,” Jeannie says, “When he’s not playing solo.”

“And that is the story of Eric,” he says, clearing his throat. “I’m headed to the cooler. Who wants a drink?”

“Not I,” Jessica replies, wiggling her eyebrows for effect. “Waiting for the lemon drops to wear off. Caroline — lobster first?”

I nod with a smile. “Lead me to the fish!”

“Crustaceans, love,” Jessica says. “Or bugs, if you want to be affectionate about it. We’ll turn you into a local in no time. Effie? We’ll give you ladies time to gossip about Caroline.”

Effie nods, and we approach one of the large pots. I watch Emma and Rebecca head for the cooler on Claire’s deck with Eric, noticing how comfortable they are with each other. The women elbow him along the way, teasing laughs out of him.

“You guys really do know everyone, don’t you?”

“Yup,” Effie says. “I’ve known the locals the longest because of my Aunt, but the gals have come up with me a few times over the years. During and after uni.”

“What does BB stand for?” I ask, earning a smirk from Jessica before she replies: “Bitches Brew. Those gals are fantastic. You just met some of them, Helen, too. They’ve known each other since they were kids here. I’d consider a few more to be a part of their group. They do a bit of everything with each other. They’re the local coven on the island.”

“Coven? Bats and broomsticks? Or herbs and tea leaves?”

“Oh, they get out the broomsticks for the kids on Halloween, but those ladies dabble in a bit of everything. More Glinda than they are wicked. Although Helen has a strong penchant for righting wrongs. You never know with her. Excellent green thumbs. As you’ve seen,” Jessica says, gesturing towards Claire’s garden, full of pink bleeding hearts and phlox in all shades of purples and pinks and white. I notice the pots of herbs sunning on her deck.

“Interesting,” I murmur. “I’ve yet to meet a witch, let alone a coven. I’ll know who to go to if I need a good salve. Or a curse on a bad ex.”

“That’d be Helen for that,” Effie says.

“Hm. I was teasing, but I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Oh, I see, a doubter in the midst. I get it. But you just wait until they invite you over if they decide that they like you. You’ll see.”

“Or, at the very least, I’ll walk out with some excellent tonics for a sore tummy,” I chirp.

“She’ll learn. Here, grab a bowl and dig in, Caroline,” Jessica laughs, handing me a soup ladle as we gather around a large pot of chowder.

“Our starter course,” Effie nods, grabbing her bowl and waiting for me to scoop. “Get ready to eat. You’re going to love it.”

The chowder is chock full of lobster, corn, potatoes, bits of onion, and carrots and is thick with butter and cream. I sniff at it while the others fill their bowls, and it’s heavenly — all garlic and thyme and teeming with herbs and spices that reach my nose in waves. We grab spoons and napkins and plant ourselves in chairs on the deck. Eric and the others pull their chairs next to us.

“Here,” he says, handing me water and a glass of white wine. “Claire’s kid let me give you a fancy cup since you’re a newbie. It’s a Sauv Blanc.”

“Chicago’s not any more high brow than Sydney,” Effie snorts, reaching for a red plastic cup.

“You’re too clumsy for glass on your best day, Eff,” says Rebecca, earning herself a poke in the ribs from Effie before Rebecca can run away, joining Emma as they wander towards the chowder, leaving Eric to linger.

“Hmph. She’s not wrong,” Effie says before telling me to dig in.

“Not going to get your own,” I ask Eric.

“I am. But I want to watch you take the first taste.”

“Oh,” I blink but lift the spoon to my mouth, letting the different tastes sit on my tongue before I swallow. Dill, chives, pepper, and something more than butter and cream. Effie and Eric both watch me quietly.

“What is that?” I ask them. “No, wait, don’t tell me yet. Allspice? And bits of chives and — I can’t figure it out. It’s — “

“Anise,” he interrupts gently, his eyes steady on my mouth, which curves into a quick smile.

“That’s it! This is amazing. I’m going to need buckets of this in me before the night is over.”

They both laugh.

“Wait until you eat the lobster as a main course. That is the real treat,” Effie tells me, happily digging into her bowl.

“Thank you for letting us watch. It’s nice to see someone experience our familiarities for the first time,” Eric says, taking my napkin and unfolding it before he places it on my lap.

“That’s the second time you’ve made me blink,” I tell him, looking at the napkin. He says nothing — only waits and listens.

“You remind me of this time when I was fifteen and in Washington, D.C., with my family.” I pause, waiting for him to say something, but he tilts his head towards me, waiting for me to continue.

“We went to this fancy restaurant. White table service. The waitstaff dressed like penguins.”

“Tails on their coats,” he nods. “Nice.”

“Exactly. I wanted to waddle around with them but was old enough to know to behave. Our waiter made a big show of picking up my white linen napkin and swishing it open like this,” I add, mimicking the movement with my paper napkin, with a flip and a few swishes. “I remember what it sounded like when he did that. Then he bent forward, placed it expertly on my lap, and straightened back up at attention. I was surprised. Sweetly befuddled, really. I looked at my lap and said in this quiet, naïve voice, “But I can do that.” He smiled and my parents were tickled by how new the experience was for me. My siblings are younger than me — they were all eyes wide too. Anyways,” I add, “Thank you for being my penguin.”

Effie’s eyes widened, amused by me. Eric stares at me, his eyes narrowing before I watch them soften, and then says quietly, “Charming,” then “Charming,” a second time. “Well,” he says, slapping his knees and standing, “Now I’m off to grab my own food.” He heads to the shore, his long legs striding ahead in no hurry.

Effie watches me for a moment longer.

“What,” I ask her, spooning more chowder into my mouth.

“You are going to be trouble for us,” she mutters. “Not that this is bad,” she grins before we slurp away in companionable silence.

“I should be insulted, but I’m not. I will have to figure out how to make this myself.”

Effie nods. “Claire’s given us the recipe, but she’s withholding. It’s never quite like hers.”

“Frog eyes, probably,” I mumble as I inhale the chowder.

“Frog’s ass?” she asks with a confused laugh. I remember my manners and slow down. Setting my spoon down in the bowl and pausing to explain, I point to my eyes.

“Eyes,” I say, drawing the word out for a laugh. I widen my eyes, and blinking slowly, I mimic the sounds of a frog. “Gluck-gling!” I tell her, pointing to my bowl, eagerly spooning up lobster. Effie’s belly laugh explodes from her lips. She responds in kind until we are red in the face, and I’m rubbing at a stitch in my side. Claire and her friends watch us, heads tilted and smiling.

When our group returned with bowls, Effie and I were still laughing and making odd sounds. Jessica and Rebecca claimed the chairs beside Effie, leaving Eric to sit beside me.

“Frogs,” Jessica asks us.

We nod. She nods back.

“It makes perfect sense,” Rebecca says, then digs into her food. Jessica leans back into her chair and sighs, rolling her shoulders back to relax her body before joining us in our quiet, happy slurps. Eric returns soon after, sitting next to me.

“Where’s Emma,” Eric asks us in between spoonfuls.

“Over there,” Effie points to a few people standing by a fire. Emma is standing next to a tall and wiry man. He handed her a violin and bent his body in half to speak with Emma while she admired the instrument, her fingers steady on its neck and body. She inspects the strings and looks at him, waiting for his nod before she adjusts the pegs.

Rebecca and the rest of the women are quiet as they watch Emma, exchanging looks with each other. The intimacy of knowing your people. They nod silently at each other, and then Jessica sighs again.

“Good. About time.”

“Too right,” Effie says, staring at the water.

“She hasn’t played in months because of that dickhead she was with,” Rebecca explains. “And she’s a brilliant musician. A true natural. Taught herself how to play when she was a kid. I hope Noah gets her to play. That’s the tall guy.”

“If anyone can, it’ll be Noah,” Jessica says. “He’s a whisperer of all sorts. Animals, children, and all of our wounded hearts. Takes our broken bits and heals them. He’s a lovely soul.”

“A miracle worker,” Effie nods. “But he understands Emma. He’ll get her to play. Look, she’s already testing the strings with a tune.”

“She stopped playing because of her ex,” I prompt them.

“He sucked everything out of her. Classic narcissist. Verbally and emotionally controlling. It was escalating. He’s the reason we came here. Well,” Jessica pauses, “It’s the impetus, at least. But we all needed this trip. He’d done a pretty good job of isolating her from us. Nearly lost her to him completely. Until Effie here got to Emma.”

“Thank Christ. He cheated on her. Again,” Effie spat the words out.

“Only this time, we caught him at it,” Rebecca said. “Effie had to show Emma the proof. It was ugly, but Effie dragged Emma to this party he was at to confront him. When Emma asked him if it was true, he tried every fucking trick in the book, and this time, none of them worked on her. So he got heated and started to yell, drunkenly of course, and Emma just stood there, not buying a word he said. He tried to scare her by punching a hole in the wall. He didn’t lose control. That was just another one of his many ways to try to keep her in line. That controlled, manipulative kind of violence. And, well, Effie was there. Our superhero.”

Effie laughed dryly.

“Yeah, well. I know how to handle men like him. Raised by one of them. If you could call it being raised. Gerry. That’s dickhead. Gerry’s not nearly as mean as my dad was. It was easy to flatten Gerry. And it helps that Rebecca’s mom is a prosecutor and knows a few of the right wallopers in town.”

Rebecca nodded before she spoke, watching her friend on the beach.

“They taught him a few lessons the next day after Effie had put him on the ground. Mom must have scared him off, too. Gerry’s left Emma and us alone since then. Already moved on to trolling the scene, though not with tremendous success,” Rebecca grinned.

“Jessica put up posters of the twat, with enough of the right info to warn women off.”

“Public restrooms are the best places for the truth to out itself,” Jessica said.

“It’s been about three months since they ended,” Effie continued. “This is the first time Emma’s touched a violin. Or any instrument. He’d managed to get her to stop playing any of them in the last six months they were together.”

Effie started to talk in quotations, her fingers punctuating each word. “Wasn’t spending enough time with Gerry, poor little shithead. How was she ever going to make music her career? It couldn’t be steady. It couldn’t be enough to start a family and be a good mom. And the nail in the coffin — she wasn’t really that good at it to do it right.”

“Asshole,” I said.

“She’s brilliant. A fucking natural,” Jessica said. “Taught herself every instrument she could get her hands on growing up. And he tried his best to break her.”

The women were quiet for a moment.

“You already know this story,” I asked him. Eric nodded.

“Eric’s the one who brought Noah today,” Rebecca murmured.

“A healer too, then,” I tell him, watching his face. Effie exchanges looks with her friends, but they say nothing. Eric looks up at the blue sky.

“Look,” Jessica tells us, shifting our attention to Emma. “It’s working.”

Emma’s fingers hover across the strings before she takes a bow from Noah. Her face tightens, but he says something that makes her smile soft and slow. Then she nods her head and turns to look at the water. A woman passes Noah another violin and bow, then steps back from the two of them. He nods and points with his bow to a few logs by a smaller fire pit further away from the party. Emma nods slightly and our group watches them approach it. An older couple are seated on logs opposite the ones that Emma and Noah choose. Her friends watch quietly while Noah talks to the couple, introducing Emma to them. He whispers something to her and she lifts her violin, resting her chin, leaning carefully into her instrument before she raises her bow. Her shoulders rise and fall once then twice before her bow moves against the strings. The couple smile and hold hands.

I can’t hear the music that she plays but I watch as her body relaxes, somehow in perfect position but in a manner that is quite natural. Noah waits for a few minutes then begins to play with her. Their arms and elbows move together. Emma’s eyes are closed; his are open and observing her. For a moment. Then she looks at him, grinning. He plays faster, and she follows until she leads, the two of them taking turns, playing with each other in a way only musicians can, faster and faster, like two whirligigs spinning in the wind. Emma laughs. A real solid laugh. Her long curled hair shakes with joy. The music releases like gold threads from spindles. Like the sounds come from their bodies instead of the violins. They are beautiful in the sun.

“Let the healing begin,” I hear myself say aloud, propping my chin on my hands and resting my arms atop my knees.

“So true,” Effie says. Our eyes are wet. I pat mine gently before they spill over.

“Let’s give her a bit before we go over there,” Jessica murmurs. We nod as a group.

“Hey, guys. What’s a walloper,” I ask them, causing them to laugh.

“A copper, Caroline. Don’t worry, we’ll make you a dictionary of our slang.” Jessica says.

“You’ll be an honorary Aussie in no time,” Effie adds, thumping me on my back.

“I’m one of them,” says Eric. “Finally. Took a while, but I’m in their club.”

“Yup, you’re a mate now,” Effie says and stands up. “Come on, let’s get some lobster, and we can go over there to hear them play. Do you like potatoes, Caroline? And corn?”

“I’m Midwestern.”

“That’s a yes then. Get ready to loosen a buckle or two tonight,” Jessica tells me.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m making all of you work out with me in the morning,” Effie smiles savagely and ignores Jessica’s curses.

We load our plates with food and then head toward Emma and Noah, who are playing a new song. The couple ushers us to sit with them on the rest of the logs. A few other people have made their way to the fire to listen to the two of them play. An older man sits with them, playing a bodhrán. Eric switches back and forth from accordion to guitar. Emma grins at us. We stay there, eating the food that Claire has made for us, watching our friends play until the sun lowers, pausing just above the ocean, until our feet can’t help but dance in the sand. Our friends, I think, happy to have met them. I see the relief and the joy in the other women’s eyes as they watch Emma release her pain. I am distracted by the wonder of it until I hear my phone chirp.

“You’re missing one hell of a party, Caroline,” Henry tells me.

No, I’m not, I tell myself.

“Right where I belong for now,” I respond, pocketing the phone again and tossing an arm around Effie’s shoulder. She grins and whispers in my ear, “See what I mean? Emma’s brilliant. There’s our girl. She’s coming back to us. Thank you, Eric,” she adds. His eyes move from Effie back to Emma.

“Noah’s the healer, but Emma’s the one doing the real work,” he replies.

“I agree,” I tell him. “Doesn’t happen until you’re ready.”

“Know something about that, do you?”

I let my smile linger, the only response for now.

“That’ll do for now, then,” he speaks quietly.

“You have stories to tell, too, I bet.”

He smiles back at me but says nothing.

My phone vibrates softly against my hip, and he looks down at it before taking a sip of his drink. “We’ll see,” he tells me.

“We’ll see what?” I ask him, knowing the answer. When he stays quiet, I nod. I turn my attention back to Effie and the others, ignoring the slight tension in my shoulders. The women pull me into their circle in the sand to dance with them. Someone asks Emma to dance, but she laughs, shakes her head, and continues to play, her eyes closing while she tilts her head to the sky. It’s not until Claire brings her a plate of food with water and wine that she puts down her instrument, letting another person pick it up and play for her.