Notes from a Spinning Planet—Mexico (20 page)

“Well, we were worried,” says Sid.

I nod. “Yeah. We had no idea where you were or if you'd been hurt.”

“I was perfectly fine.”

“Well, if sleeping in the bushes is considered perfectly fine,” says Sid with a slight edge to her voice.

Shelby waves her hand. “Let's forget about it now. And our spa time will be my way of saying I'm sorry. Okay?”

Sid and I both agree. But I'm thinking we can still remember it later, like when we stage our little intervention. After all, she said herself it was sweet that the security guard thought we were her family. What kind of family wouldn't intervene with someone like Shelby?

We meet the guys for lunch at noon, explaining about our spa date, which looks like it could last several hours. I can tell by Ian's brisk attitude toward Shelby that he's heard about her late-night
escapade. I don't think it endears her to any of us when she orders a Bloody Mary with her lunch.

“I told Ryan I'd go fishing with him today,” says Ian. “I've booked us for the afternoon trip. We should be back here by five.”

“Sounds fun,” I say.

“You could ditch the spa and join us,” suggests Ryan.

I make a face. “Nah, something about lying around and being pampered is sounding pretty good to me right now.”

“You got that right,” says Shelby. “Besides, the spa is my treat. My little way of apologizing for being out too late last night.” She glances over at Ryan as if to see if he's aware of her disappearing act.

Ian clears his throat. “Yes, we heard about that, Shelby. You had everyone very worried.”

She tosses him a brilliant smile. “Oh, it's so nice to know I was missed.”

“You're just lucky you didn't turn up missing,” says Ryan with a scowl.

Then Sid changes the subject. “What are we doing for New Year's Eve tonight?” she asks no one in particular.

“Well, I'm glad you brought that up,” says Ian. “It just so happens I've made reservations for all of us at a very special place.”

“Where?” asks Shelby with enthusiasm.

“My surprise,” says Ian.

“Oh, I love surprises,” gushes Shelby.

“But I'll warn you ladies, this evening might call for your dancing shoes.”

“And Irishmen are good dancers,” says Sid, winking at Ian. “It can be a challenge to keep up with them.”

We finish our lunch, and Sid takes Ian aside for a few minutes afterward, I assume to inform him of our little intervention plan.

“Oh, young lovers,” says Shelby as she reapplies a thick coat of lip gloss.

Ryan sort of rolls his eyes and then excuses himself.

“When did he get to be so grumpy?” she asks me.

I want to tell her it might have something to do with staying up too late last night, combing the beach for dead bodies, and sitting around drinking coffee until two in the morning, but I control myself.

We wish the guys good luck with their fishing adventure, then return to our room to prepare ourselves for our spa afternoon. Okay, I suppose I wish it were just Sid and me, but if it keeps Shelby out of trouble for a few hours, well, that's worth something. And, I remind myself as we check into the spa, this is on Shelbys tab. More realistically, its probably her parents’ tab. I feel a little guilty for this, but on the other hand, I think her parents might appreciate that Sid and I have been trying to keep their daughter out of trouble.

Because the spa's fairly busy today, we can't have the same spa treatments at the same time. So the plan is to stagger them. Sid decides to start with the massage and end with the facial. I'll start with the herbal wrap and end with the massage. And Shelby gets what's left. Sounds fair to me, I'm thinking as I head off to be wrapped in seaweed.

I have to force myself to relax as cold pieces of slimy green goop are slathered around my body, but after a while the coolness is replaced
by a nice, warm, tingling sensation, which is actually quite relaxing. I'm thinking I could get used to this. In fact, I think I even fall asleep. After that, and a nice therapeutic shower, I have a facial, which leaves my face feeling as smooth as satin. Very nice. I see Shelby and Sid in passing, but so far we have exchanged few words. Like me, they seem to be enjoying this. Finally I have the hot-stone massage, which totally puts me to sleep. When I wake up, I'm so relaxed I think I could easily stay up long enough to see the new year in after all, perhaps even dance the night away. Well, that last bit might be a stretch.

I wait for Sid and Shelby in the spa lounge, a quiet room full of big, comfy, white chaise chairs that overlook the sea. I'm stretched out and sipping a tall glass of cucumber water when I hear the sound of loud voices. This strikes me as unusual since everyone in this spa talks as if they're in the public library. I perk up my ears to listen and find that someone's calling for a doctor, saying one of the guests is in serious medical need.

A few minutes later I think of my aunt. Could she have had a stroke or something? I get up and go out in the hallway in time to see one of the spa women talking to Sid in rapid Spanish, but it's obvious Sid has no idea what's going on. At least she appears to be perfectly fine. I hurry over to see if I can help translate and listen as the woman quickly retells me the horrifying story she was trying to communicate to Sid.

“Oh no!” I say when she's finally done. I turn to Sid. “Shelby's had an allergic reaction to something. She was so swollen she couldn't breathe.”

“Is she okay?”

“Yes. A doctor gave her some kind of shot—I cant remember what it was called.”

“Epinephrine?”

“Yes, I think that's what she said. Anyway, she's okay. But they want us to go check on her.”

“Of course.”

The woman leads us to the room where Shelby is recovering. Now, okay, I know it's not funny, but when I see Shelby wrapped in a big white towel, with greenish brown seaweed still hanging off her arms and legs, and her face all swollen and red and splotchy, well, it's hard not to laugh. I mean, this is so un-Shelbylike. Then I remind myself that this poor girl couldn't breathe just a few minutes ago, and I get serious.

“Are you all right?” asks Sid, bending over to peer at Shelbys puffy red eyes.

“Yes,” says Shelby in a deep, hoarse voice.

“That must've been scary,” I say as I sit in a chair across from her.

She just nods.

“But you can breathe okay now?” asks Sid.

“Yes.”

“Excuse me,” says a man's voice. “I'm Dr. Heishcel. I gave the young lady the epinephrine shot.” He peers at Sid. “Are you her mother?”

“No,” explains Sid, “we're her roommates…and friends.”

“I see. Well, Chelsea, is it?” He looks at Shelby.

“Shelby,” I tell him.

“Right. Well, Shelby had a severe allergic reaction to something
she's been exposed to today. It could be one of the oils or something she ingested or even this kelp.” He pulls a string of seaweed from her hair. “Whatever it was, it caused her airways to swell and close so that she was suffocating. But the epinephrine shot took care ofthat.” He hands Sid a bottle. “This is Benadryl, an over-the-counter allergy medicine that she should continue to take for the next couple of days, just to make sure the effect of the assaulting allergens is out of her system. The dosage is on the package.”

“Thank you,” says Sid. “Is there anything else she should do?”

“She might want to try a soda bath to relieve the itching and swelling.”

“Itching and swelling?” asks Shelby in a raspy voice.

“Yes. It'should go away in a day or so. It's basically like a bad case of hives.”

“What kind of soda?” I ask the doctor, imagining filling the bathtub with Coke or Sprite.

“Just regular baking soda,” he says. “It's very soothing.”

“I'm so glad you were here,” says Sid.

“There's always a doctor on call at the resort,” he tells her. “Sort of a working vacation for us. Anyway, I've seen this type of thing before down here. Numerous times. In fact, I always advise my traveling friends to take Benadryl with them on their trips. You never know when a bee sting or spider bite or a piece of seafood can throw a real wrench in the works.”

He smiles at Shelby now. “You take care, young lady Drink lots of fluids and get plenty of rest.”

She just nods.

“What about alcohol?” I say before the doctor can leave.

He peers at me curiously, as if he's thinking I'm a lush who wants to get my friend drunk. “I mean, Shelby likes a drink sometimes,” I say quickly. “Is that a problem?”

“Yes,” he says sternly, “it most definitely is. She is not to drink alcohol with this medication.”

Shelby puts her head down and groans. I smile at the good doctor. “Thank you,” I say, suppressing the urge to yell
Woo-hoo!

e get Shelby back to the suite, and Sid makes a run to the grocery store for some baking soda while I start a bath in the big Jacuzzi.

“I need a drink,” she tells me in her gruff-sounding voice.

“We have orange juice, papaya juice, Coke, Sprite—”

“You know what I mean,” she huffs. “A real drink.”

“Sorry,” I tell her, feeling the water to make sure its not too hot. “Doctors orders.”

She goes over to the bathroom mirror and looks at her reflection, then swears.

“It's only temporary,” I tell her.

“I look like a monster.” She leans closer to the mirror, peering at herself with a look of complete horror. And I have to agree with her, I suppose; she does look pretty monstrous right now. Her face is swollen almost beyond recognition. She's covered with raised red welts. Her eyes are bloodshot, and even her lips are puffed out in an unbecoming and unnatural way.

“Why don't you take a quick shower,” I say. “Get the rest ofthat seaweed off you, then you can soak in the tub. Sid should be back any minute with the soda. And I'll go make you a drink.”

“A drink?” she says hopefully.

I smile. “Yes, my own specialty.”

She sighs and turns away. “Yeah, I'll bet.”

I find a big glass and put in some ice, orange juice, papaya juice, and then Sprite. This I adorn with one of her little paper umbrellas. Sure, it doesn't have any alcohol in it, but it looks pretty, and it will do her some good. I go set this by the bathtub and turn off the water.

Shelby comes back wearing a white terry robe and a little less seaweed and looks down at her drink. “Anything good?” she asks, picking it up. She takes a sip, then says, “Ugh.”

“Thanks,” I tell her. “I thought I did a pretty good job.”

She takes another reluctant sip. “I really don't see what a little bit of tequila in here would hurt,” she says. “Just a tiny bit? I know there's still a bottle around here somewhere. I think your aunt hid everything, but you could go look for it. Pretty please?”

“Shelby,” I say in a warning voice, “you heard the doctor.”

“He doesn't know everything.”

I consider this. “No, he doesn't. But I wonder what he'd think if he did, Shelby.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, nothing.”

She sits down on the chair near the tub and sticks one of her red swollen feet up on the edge and moans. “Just look at me.”

“It'll go away,” I remind her. “Drink your juice.”

She takes another sip. “But it's starting to itch,” she tells me, digging her nails into her skin.

“Don't scratch it,” I say, feeling more and more like my mother. “I'll go get you a Benadryl.”

“Hurry,” she cries. “It's starting to itch all over. Oh, Maddie, I think I'm dying.”

“Is she worse?” asks Sid as we nearly collide by the front door.

“She's starting to itch,” I say quickly. “I'll get the Benadryl; you put some soda in the tub.”

“Then shall I throw her in?” whispers Sid.

I laugh. “Yes, and dunk her too.”

I pick up the package of Benadryl, read the dosage directions, then shake out two caplets. “You can take two of these every six hours if you need to,” I tell Shelby as I put them in her hand. “That will help the itching.”

“And so will this,” says Sid as she stirs the soda into the water. “Feel that, Shelby. It's nice and silky.”

“Let me in there,” says Shelby, dropping her terry robe to reveal more red blotchy patches of hives all over her body.