Sunday, Laurie and I agreed, had been a stellar day in every way. As we turned the car keys over to the bellman at the entrance of our hotel, we discussed how we couldn’t have planned a more perfect day.

Then we walked into the lobby, and the tide turned.

Our hotel was filled with people. All of them wore bright yellow laminated name tags. A reception was in full swing out at the pool with live music echoing through the hotel. We wove our way through clusters of conventioneers and waited for the elevator. A particularly loud pair of men joined us, holding plastic drink cups and laughing over a less than honorable joke.

“Pardon me,” another man said, stepping toward us. “Are these gentlemen bothering you young ladies?”

Laurie ignored him.

I offered a slight nod because, at first, I thought he was with hotel security. Then I noticed he was holding a plastic cup. The faint scent of tiki punch wafted in the air.

One of the guys said to the other, “These hotshots from Division Twelve think they can come here and kick some serious—”

Just then the elevator door opened, and Laurie and I hurried inside, claiming the front corner by the control buttons.

“We’re gonna dominate this year!” Tiki man called out, as the doors closed with Laurie and me in the elevator with the two guys.

“So, what division are you two in?” one of the men asked us. It sounded about as skanky as if he had said, “So, ya come here often?”

Laurie ignored them.

I was about to state firmly that we were not with their convention, whatever their convention was, and therefore we had no interest in divisions of any sort. But the elevator stopped unexpectedly on the second floor. It wasn’t our floor, but Laurie gave me a stern look and stepped out. I followed her.

“See you girls later,” one of the guys called out as the door closed.

“Come on.” Laurie took my beach bag from me so that my hands were free. “We’re taking the stairs. I didn’t want them to know which floor we’re staying on.”

“Oh, right, like they were trying to pick us up.”

“Hope, it’s not worth trying to reason with an inebriated person. I’ve been to enough art-world dinners with Gabe to know that. Come on.”

I followed her to the stairwell and took the steps, feeling as if I had fifty-pound weights tied to each ankle. Laurie scooted up the stairs as if she were trying out for an exercise video.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” I called out.

I made it all the way to the eighth floor. Breathing hard, I stopped outside the stairwell door. “Isn’t it the big bad wolves who are supposed to do all the huffing and puffing?”

“In fairy tales, I suppose.”

“Next time, we take the elevator and make the wolves take the stairs.”

“I hope there isn’t a next time.” Laurie led the way down the hall to our room.

She showered while I went out on the lanai to cool off. I called Darren, planning to tell him about Juliette’s grave and the Hawaiian hymn that went inside me and the zippy little silvery fish that I tried to touch while snorkeling.

However, Darren started the conversation with, “We stayed home from church today. Blake has a cough, and the other two said they felt like they were coming down with something. It snowed six inches last night; did I tell you that?”

Snow. What a foreign concept. The only white stuff I could relate to was the six inches of white sand granules that still lined the inside of my bathing suit.

“Is it cold?” I knew the question was ridiculous the instant I asked, but I was standing outside, barefoot and wearing shorts and Darren’s big, white shirt. And I was perspiring like crazy.

“It’s freezing,” Darren said. “How’s the weather there?”

I remembered Laurie’s rules for calling home and talking to husbands. What was number two? Something about sounding a little tired and a little sad?

“It’s been okay. Friday it rained all day. Just poured. Our luau was canceled because of it.” I added a little sigh.

“That’s too bad.”

“Yeah.”

I was thinking of how ridiculous it was to pay roaming fees to Connecticut to talk with my husband about the weather. I knew once I got home I’d be able to give him all the details face-to-face, so I cut to rule number three and gave the ol’ one-two closing punch in the right order. “I miss you, Darren. I love you so much.”

“I love you and miss you, too. All of us do. It’s not the same around here without you.”

“I’ll be home in a few days. Tell the boys I love them.”

“I will. Give Emilee a pat from her daddy.”

“Okay. I’m patting her right now.”

“Hey,” Darren said. “I just looked at the clock. It’s after midnight here.”

“I know; it’s getting late. I should let you go.”

“No, I’m saying it’s after midnight … so it’s your birthday. At least it is here. Happy birthday, Hope.”

“Thanks.”

I hung up feeling stunned. I wasn’t ready to be forty. I went inside, sat on the edge of the bed, and contemplated how I happened to get so old so fast.

Laurie stepped out of the bathroom, her skin glowing with the coconut-scented after-sun lotion she used.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“I called Darren.”

“Uh-oh. Another dish soap crisis?”

“No. He told me, ‘Happy birthday.’ In Connecticut I’m already forty.”

“Well, then it’s a good thing you’re not in Connecticut right now, isn’t it? Because you’re still thirty-nine in our time zone.”

I offered a weak smile.

“I know.” Laurie perched on the edge of my bed. “Here’s an idea. Let’s celebrate by catching a plane to Hong Kong.”

“What are you saying? Traveling east is going to keep me young?”

“Sure. If we time it right and catch the right flights, we could keep you thirty-nine almost all the way to Helsinki!”

“Nice try, Laurie. Thanks. E for effort.”

“You are seriously bummed about this, aren’t you?”

“I didn’t think I would be. It sort of sneaks up on you, doesn’t it?”

Laurie nodded sympathetically. “It’s not so bad once you get to the other side. I know a woman who had never surfed a day in her life. After she turned forty, she was out there surfing like Gidget with the big boys.”

Laurie had no way of knowing that her successful attempt to shoot the curl with Moondoggie carried a sting of regret for me since I wasn’t even able to try.

“I’m okay,” I said. “Just tired. It’ll feel good to get this sand out of my shorts.”

“Has the time come for some serious Oreos and Reese’s Pieces? You say the word, Hope, and I will brave all twelve divisions of those big bad wolves in the elevator, if you want a little comfort food.”

I laughed, but it sounded shallow. “No, I think my tastes are changing. If I’m going to have chocolate, I want the really intense stuff.”

“I know what you mean. Dark chocolate truffles with cappuccino filling. Now that’s something I always have room for. Two little bites, and I’m satisfied for the rest of the day. Of course, those two bites probably pack as many calories as I’d end up having in a stack of Oreos, but I’m convinced that dark chocolate truffles will cure anything. They are definitely my new take-two-and-call-me-in-the-morning favorite.”

“Chocolate sounds pretty divine right about now.”

“Why don’t I call room service and see what they can bring up to us?” Laurie walked over to the desk and opened the padded binder to the room service dessert menu. She read off the list of delectables.

I stopped her when she got to the cookie list. “That’s what I’d like: a couple of those white chocolate macadamia nut cookies. And a glass of milk.”

“Good choice for a bedtime snack.” Laurie picked up the phone.

“Yeah, my last meal as a thirty-nine-year-old,” I said glumly. “Tell me when it arrives. I’ll be in the shower.”

I took my time under the refreshing spray, shaving my legs and conditioning my short hair twice. I asked myself why it seemed like such a big deal to turn forty. All along I had been saying that it wouldn’t bother me. Laurie and I were here to celebrate, not mope.

Exiting the bathroom with a puff of steam following me like an albino parrot on my shoulder, I glanced around for the milk and cookies tray.

“Not here yet?”

“No, they said they had a backup of orders in the kitchen, and it would take longer than usual.”

I stopped and listened. “What is that noise?”

Laurie motioned to the wall behind our headboards. “Our neighbors are having a party in their room.”

“You don’t suppose it’s the Division Twelve guys, do you? I hope they’re not going to be at it with the loud music all night.” I listened again to the peals of laughter and loud voices. “How many people do you think they have in there?”

“Too many. If it doesn’t quiet down by the time we go to bed, I’m calling hotel security.”

Lowering myself into the chair at the desk, I said, “What happened to our cozy little hideaway hotel?”

“They booked a large convention. I know the objective is to fill all the rooms, but it does change the feel of the whole hotel, doesn’t it?”

“It will probably be bedlam around the pool and at the beach tomorrow. We had a hard time finding available lounge chairs the first day we were out by the pool. Imagine what it will be like with so many people here now.”

“Maybe they’ll be in meetings all day,” Laurie suggested.

“Or in bed with a hangover.”

“It’s a good thing we kept the car another day. We can find a less crowded place to spend your birthday.”

The cookies and milk showed up. I got comfy on my bed and began my dunking ritual. I tried to soak each chunk of cookie to just the right degree of sogginess before pulling it from the glass of milk and getting it to my mouth without dribbling.

“You’re pretty good at that,” Laurie said, taking nibbles of her cookie.

“Thanks.”

“It’s kind of like my little-known skill of roasting a marshmallow to a nice toasty brown without catching it on fire.”

Just then the rowdy neighbors hit our common wall with such a thump that Laurie and I involuntarily ducked.

“That’s it. I’m calling the front desk. This is ridiculous.”

I scooted closer to the center of my bed, away from the large pictures hanging over the headboard and tried to continue my cookie-dunking ceremony with a little dignity.

“It’s like in Breakfast at Tiffany’s,” Laurie said. “Do you remember the wild party Holly Golightly had in her tiny New York apartment?”

I shook my head.

“Mickey Rooney was the neighbor who ratted on them, and Audrey Hepburn had to sneak out on the fire escape wearing a dress.”

“Oh.”

“I can tell you, I’m not waiting until women from next door start using our lanai as their fire escape and try to sneak out—Hello? Yes, I’d like to speak to the manager, please.”

Within three minutes she seemed to have solved the problem because she hung up and gave me one of her goofy, lipless grins. “Guess what?”

“Surprise me.” I lowered another chunk of cookie into my glass of milk.

“We can move to a different hotel.”

“Tonight?”

“No, tomorrow morning. The other hotel is part of this chain, but they don’t have any conventions going on so they have lots of empty rooms. It’s another Kalamela something.”

Plop. I lost the last bite of my cookie into the deep white.

“Not the Kalamela Mauka. Tell me you didn’t switch us to the Kalamela Mauka. It’s not four blocks from here, is it? With a one-eyed dental assistant and a drooping ficus?”

“No, this hotel is half an hour away.”

“You’re positive they didn’t say a half a mile away?”

“No, he definitely said half an hour away in a less congested part of the island. It has a private lagoon.”

“It may have a private lagoon, but what is the hotel like? What is it rated?”

“I think it’s a five-star. He said it was built less than a year ago. That’s why they aren’t fully booked. People don’t know about it.”

“Is our room rate going up a lot?”

“That’s the best part. When I complained about our noisy neighbors, he apologized for the inconvenience and said we could switch hotels and keep the same rate.”

“You just said if we switched hotels. It’s not a done deal, then?”

“Of course not. Hope, I wouldn’t change reservations without talking it over with you. We can stay here if we want. Or we can change. At least we have an option. And the other hotel has a complete spa, which I found out is something this hotel is sadly lacking because I was trying to set up a surprise pedicure for your birthday.”

A loud bang against our wall jolted the picture above my bed so that it tilted to the left. I looked back at Laurie. “Private lagoon, huh?”

She nodded. “And don’t forget the complete spa.”

“I’m in.”

Then, thinking I was so clever, I added, “Go ahead. Make reservations for two for breakfast at Tiffany’s.”

“No, Hope, you see, you don’t actually eat at Tiffany’s. In the movie … it’s … oh, never mind.”