Page 48 of The Wilder Widows

I looked up at Marge and saw the tight-lipped smile forming on her face.

“No. No way!” I waved the paper in her face while I shook my head. “I can’t run! I have bunions!”

“What is it?” Alice ripped the paper from my hand and gasped. “Run with the bulls? Are you nuts?”

“Run with the bulls? Holy shit,” Sylvie whispered as she ripped away the paper and read the words herself.

Marge crossed her arms and smiled wide. And from the look on her face, I knew she wouldn’t take no for an answer. This was her wish, and we’d promised to make it happen. With one last look over the sparkling lights of Paris, I tapped back into those newfound feelings of bravery and adventure. I took a deep breath and turned back to her. It seemed the first chapter in the new book of my life would take me to Spain. “Looks like we’re running with the bulls, ladies.”

MARGE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“You ready, Doris?” I called through the bathroom door of our hotel room in Pamplona.

“One second!” she sing-songed back, her new joyous outlook on life highlighting her tone.

“Hurry up! I need to touch up my makeup.” Alice shouted over my shoulder, then grumbled under her breath. “The last time I had to share a bathroom with three other women was back when I was a showgirl. And even then, I got my own bathroom at the end when they chose me as the lead.”

After spending a week in our luxury hotel rooms in Paris, Alice hadn’t shut up since we arrived in this rundown hotel last night.

“Cripes. Can it, Alice. You’ll survive a few days shoved in this sardine tin with us. It’s a hell of a step up from the accommodations back in ‘Nam. This may as well be the Ritz in comparison. You’ll live.”

She answered with an eye-roll. Since finding out this was the only room we could get in Pamplona during San Fermin Festival on such short notice, and at a price as high as our suites in Paris, it seemed like her eyeballs were in a constant state of rotation, and her breathing reduced to only long sighs and huffs. What a pansy.

Looking around the tiny room, I felt more at home here than I had this entire trip. Alice’s insistence on luxury hotels and fine dining every step of the way was a far cry from the life I’d spent seventy-three years living. Between growing up in a two-bedroom apartment with my Italian immigrant grandparents, my parents and older brother, and my tent in ‘Nam, I was used to cramped quarters. This dingy hotel with the stained orange carpets and two twin beds taking up most of the space made me feel at home. In fact, the carpet was the same shade as my mother’s, so maybe that was why it felt so familiar.

Sylvie sat on the edge of the tiny bed, picking a piece of lint off her white pants. The room was so small with our bags of luggage crammed inside, she used my suitcase as a footrest.

“Sorry I took so long. I wanted to put on a little extra make-up for the party,” Doris said, emerging from the dilapidated bathroom.

Doris wearing make-up. It still looked odd to me to see the Old Maid I’d known for years sporting her fashionable new hairdo, eyeshadow, and pink rouge on her cheeks. While the other three widows enjoyed their makeovers from Las Vegas, I was still content to look the way I always had. I’d never swiped a make-up brush across my face before, and I wasn’t about to start now. Even when they’d told us we needed to wear makeup in Vietnam to help perk up the soldiers, I’d railed against it, relying on my nursing skills and winning personality.

“Took you long enough.” Alice pushed past her but paused before stepping into the bathroom. Lines crinkled along the bridge of her nose while she tipped it up in disgust at the sight of the less-than-ideal space. “It may as well be an outhouse. And I don’t do outhouses.”

“Cripes, Alice. It didn’t kill you going in it last night. and it won’t kill you now.” I gave her a shove, and she skidded to a stop in front of the cracked mirror.

“What time does the opening ceremony start?” Sylvie stood and stretched.

“It’s already started. But the main celebration starts at noon. That’s when they fire the rocket to signify the start of the San Fermin Festival. We need to get there early, though, or we’ll never get anywhere near Plaza de Castillo, and that’s where the party is... and where we need to be.”

“It’s all so exciting!” Doris clasped her hands together, the anticipation sparkling inside eyes tipped with dark mascara. “A Spanish festival. The perfect start to my new chapter.”

“You’re just lucky the timing worked out,” Alice called from the bathroom.

But it wasn’t luck. I knew this festival was coming up when I made my wish. I’d wanted to attend since I’d first heard about it back in ‘Nam. After learning about San Fermin at a club at our military base, we’d made a pact to come to this festival and run with the bulls after we got out. But like most things in life, it never happened. “All that matters is that we’re here. And I want to see it all, so hurry your skinny ass up and let’s go.”

Alice stepped out, her perfect silver hair shaped into place, and her makeup flawless as always. I suppressed my chuckle, knowing something about this festival that my better-looking counterparts were unaware of. And it was something I would let them find out themselves.

“How do I tie this on?” Sylvie asked, holding up the same red scarf we’d each bought when we got to town. Along with our white pants and white shirts, the red fabric completed the costume everyone wore to the San Fermin Festival and for running with the bulls. I’d insisted we each buy two pairs of white pants and shirts, as well as two scarves when we arrived. Even though they’d thought only one outfit was necessary, I knew they would thank me for the fresh change of clothes after today ended.

“You don’t tie it on yet.” I pulled mine out of my pocket. “It’s tradition to wait until the rocket fires at noon and the festival starts before putting it on. Just hang onto it and follow my lead when it’s time.”

Doris tucked her scarf into her purse. “You sure know a lot about this festival, Marge.”

“I’ve been waiting my whole adult life to do this. I’ve studied all the traditions and watched every National Geographic episode on Running with the Bulls. And if my shows are right, we’re running late, and I don’t want to miss the opening ceremony. So, let’s hop to it, soldiers.”

Bumping her hand against her head in a salute, Doris gave a sharp nod. “Yes, sir!”