“No,” Salem interrupted. “You have to recite your full name.”
“And isn’t she supposed to be swearing on a bible?” Hadley asked.
“And take the licorice whip out of your mouth,” I commanded.
Wyn glared. “This ismyceremony. We’re doing this my way.”
“You have to swear on something at least,” Hadley said as she looked around the scattered remains of our picnic.
“Here,” Salem said, reaching into the basket and pulling out a jar of olives. “Swear on this.”
Wyn took the jar. “You’re kidding, right?”
“You could swear on the parmesan wedge,” Salem stated. “Or what’s left of the elk jerky.”
“Forget it,” Wyn said as she set the jar back into the basket. “This was a stupid idea. I’m getting in the hot spring.”
The heat wave had broken and with it came a rush of cool, crisp autumn air. We’d packed the ancient red farm truck that somehow still ran, and came out to the Powell family hot spring for an early afternoon hangout. Wyn was leaving tomorrow, so this was our last girl-time hurrah.
Wyn stripped off her jeans and sweater, revealing the one-piece swimsuit beneath her clothes.
“Poet?” she asked. “You coming?”
“Not until you swear,” I stated. “And sign.”
Wyn sighed and held up her right hand again. “I, Wyn Larsen, solemnly swear that I will not let the devil’s juice pass my lips, nor will I allow male entrance into my sacred channel lest I be smited.”
“Smote,” I corrected.
“Lest I be smote,” Wyn finished.
“Sign here,” Salem said, holding out a piece of paper and a pen. “Initial and date, please.”
Wyn took the pen and paper and used the soiled cutting board as her makeshift desk.
“Now it’s covered in jam and olive juice,” Hadley complained as she took the pen from Wyn and quickly scribbled her name.
“Pretend it’s a notary stamp,” Wyn quipped.
Salem signed and then I finished it off. I folded the paper and stuck it in the pocket of Wyn’s jeans.
“And now, for the final ritual of this ceremony, I will be cleansed in the healing waters of the hot spring.” Wyn stepped into the water and groaned. “Oh, this is good.”
“Jealous,” Hadley said, putting a hand to her belly. “I can’t wait to get in once the baby’s born.”
“Same,” Salem said. “Babies are cool and all, but man, there are things that I miss.”
“Oysters,” Hadley said.
“Sparkling white wine,” Salem said dreamily.
Hadley flashed a wicked grin. “Missionary.”
I joined Wyn in the hot spring. She floated while I perched on the smooth stone bench beneath the water.
Wyn looked at Hadley. “Tell me the story again.”
“The legend of Eamon Powell,” I murmured.
