Chapter 16
Sixteen
“Welcome! Welcome! My name is Bonnie. Please make yourself at home. I wasn’t expecting such a large turnout today, so I’ll try to keep my voice up,” a soft-spoken middle-aged woman with a sweet southern drawl vowed as she struggled to corral a boisterous group of ladies.
“Let’s try to form a semicircle. I will set up my mat in the middle so everyone can hear me, and y’all will still have a view of this beautiful ocean behind me. ”
She continued. “I’m tickled pink to see so many new faces on this sunny Sea Pines morning and am always elated when I get to start the day with my Wine After Nine gals.
While we get settled would everyone like to go around and introduce themselves?
Tell us what brings you to Hilton Head, and where y’all are visiting from,” Bonnie instructed as the gaggle of women floundered around her flapping their towels to the sand.
“Howdy, I’m Addison!” chirped a perky redhead who wore a cropped white tank with a washed-out American flag on it.
“My girlfriends and I are celebrating our forty-fifth birthdays! We missed a fortieth celebration and couldn’t wait until we turned fifty for a girls’ getaway!
We come by way of Austin, Dallas, and Houston. ”
“Hi, I’m Emma,” announced a petite blonde who was decked out in hot pink Lululemon gear from head to toe.
“We’re from Greenwich, Connecticut and Olivia convinced our Moms Who Tennis Club to come down for a weeklong camp at Smith Stearns,” she said pointing to a petite brunette wearing the same spandex ensemble in lime green.
“Good morning, ladies! My name is Suzanne, and I’m here with fellow bookworms from our Roanoke Readers Club. We’re open to suggestions for our November Book. We’ve been on a murder mystery run lately,” the gray-haired women advocated from under her Lily Pulitzer visor.
Ironic. If only I had written a crime book that I could suggest Suzanne and her friends read, Kenny thought.
“I’m Bailey, and I’m getting married next month!
” squealed a blonde wearing a white sports bra and white boy shorts flanked by five girls in black sports bras and black boy shorts.
“We’re from Columbus and, no, we didn’t drive down in a red minivan!
” she giggled, referring to an ongoing island joke popularized by legendary Hilton Head children’s entertainer, Greg Russell.
“But our Uber driver did pick us up in one from the Bermuda Triangle last night!” she continued from behind her full face of makeup that was likely still intact from the night before.
“Oh, honey, I thought your pretty faces looked familiar,” Addison from Austin interjected. “You were the group hanging out with that preppy bachelor party. They were too young and Vineyard Vines for our tastes, but I hope one of you girls got lucky.”
Kenny hated these round-robin introductions. She had no time for hobbies, going to bachelorette parties, celebrating birthdays, or letting anyone into her life. What could she possibly share with a bunch of strangers?
“Last one, dear,” Bonnie smiled at Kenny. “What brings you to Sea Pines?”
“Hi ladies, my name is Kennedy. I’m from Manhattan and”—she stumbled—“and I’m here because I needed a break from life. I haven’t unplugged in a long time, and I’m spending a few weeks on Sea Pines, hoping to recharge and get inspired.”
“Good for you, Kennedy. You won’t have to look too far to find inspiration around here,” Bonnie replied.
“Many thanks to each of you for sharing and joining our community today. I’m going to ask everyone to take an affirmation card and a chakra stone that we’ll keep on our towels during class.
The energy these crystals and mantras project will fuel our practice and carry us through the rest of our day.
Keep your card face down until the end of class.
After Savasana we’ll read our affirmations aloud, and I’ll tell you the significance of your stone. ”
Bonnie splayed the deck of light blue affirmation cards in a rainbow shape on her towel.
In the middle of the arc was a plush white velvet bag.
She invited the group to approach one by one and directed, “Slowly, wave your right hand back and forth over the cards and when you feel a slight pull or force from your index finger, pick up the card your hand is hovering over. Then, without looking in the bag, place your hand inside and pick out the stone that feels like it should be in your palm.”
Kenny didn’t have time in her overbooked life to balance her chakras or heal her body through Reiki, she thought it was all yoga voodoo.
But she had time today, so she played along and grabbed a card and a stone.
She didn’t feel any outside force pulling her pointer finger toward a particular card, but she did like the color of the stone she pulled from the velvet bag.
It matched the palette of the tranquil bathroom at Pelican Pointe.
Bonnie was no Yogi Marah and beach yoga wasn’t a Bikram level workout, but Kenny was challenged by flowing through sequences and holding balancing postures on the sand and towel that shifted and sank with each movement.
She aligned herself with the tennis moms and golf club ladies who were taking the class seriously while she tried to tune out the bachelorette and birthday girls and the women of the book club.
Kenny thought those parties had mentally moved on to the next activity on their itinerary.
“Warrior one. Open. Warrior two. Reverse your warrior. Warrior two. Flip your palms. Tuck your chin to the left. Windmill your arms. Side angle. Hold,” Bonnie instructed.
Beads of sweat trickled down Kenny’s forehead as she stood with her body facing the ocean.
Her right knee was bent while her left leg was straight.
Her left arm stretched to the sky while her right arm reached for the sand.
Her gaze was fixed toward the sun. She regretted lathering the sunscreen on her face, her eyes were on fire.
The mixture of sweat, sand, and lotion that dripped into them felt like a mad hornet sting.
She blinked her lashes open and shut and hoped tears would wash away some of the burn.
Mental note: Buy eyedrops.
Kenny felt like she had been in right side angle pose for an eternity.
As Bonnie slowly guided the group out of the hold, a commotion erupted among the class.
Before Kenny was vertical or could make sense of what was going on, she felt something brush between her legs.
The force knocked at the back of her knees, threw off her balance and brought her face down in the sand swept towel that was crumbled beneath her.
Oh my God. What just happened?
Kenny heard the giggles. The “oohs” and “aahs” all around her.
“I’ve heard of goat yoga but never dog yoga!” someone hooted.
Kenny struggled onto all fours and when she picked up her head, she was face to face, staring into big blue eyes of a gray and white shaggy-haired, medium-sized dog. Tail wagging, tongue hanging out, panting like he had just been in right side angle for the last five minutes.
“Cliff! Come here, buddy. I’m sorry ladies. Please forgive my wingman,” a deep, sexy voice bellowed.
Arrogant. Arrogant jackass. Who lets their dog plow through a yoga group? It’s not even a cute dog, Kenny thought.
Still on her knees and wrists and shaking the sand out of her hair, Kenny imagined she resembled something akin to an agitated cat pose. Annoyed at being knocked over and now covered in sand, she cringed when she saw the shadow of a body hanging over her.
“Here, let me help you up,” the deep, sexy voice offered.
She took a deep breath and stared at her towel, contemplating the best abrupt, stinging remark she could conjure to express she was not amused by the dog or its inept owner, whose help she did not need.
But before she spewed out any nasty words, her breath was taken away again.
She glanced up and it was him. Bike Boy was standing over her.
With a dog securely cradled under one arm and the other extended like an olive branch.
“I’m sorry. Are you okay? Cliff, apologize to this lovely lady,” Bike Boy said. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him. He usually runs away from people. Never to them. Or through them for that matter!” he joked, and the group broke out into a fit of laughter.
“Oh yea, I’m fine,” Kenny nonchalantly replied, ignoring his hand, and rising to her feet as she brushed the sand off her shoulders, careful to keep her face down because she knew she was turning a bright shade of red.
“Well, I’ll let you girls get back to it. Cliff and I are late for a beach etiquette class. Namaste.”
While the rest of the group giggled, waved, and shouted goodbyes to Cliff and his ridiculously attractive handler, the pair strutted away from the no longer serene semicircle.
Kenny could only think about laying in corpse pose.
Dead. For the second time in as many run-ins with Bike Boy, she thought being dead would have been a better state than the ones he found her in.
“Okay, ladies, we’re nearing the hour mark. Let’s get back to our Pranayama. And, Kennedy, maybe you’ll find some inspiration from that meet-cute?” Bonnie said with a wink as she encouraged the group to inhale and exhale in unison.
The class picked up from the point of Kenny’s unfortunate tumble and Bonnie guided the students through the same sequence on the left side.
“This is your last Chaturanga, make it a strong one. Plank pose. Lower halfway. Upward facing. Downward facing,” Bonnie guided.