2. Strangers on the Beach
Getting through the portal required a bit of work. The size wasn’t an issue: it was large enough for a person of Rippa’s height to walk through if she crouched a bit.
The wardrobe itself was the issue. It wasn’t built for portal travel. A top shelf above, drawers below. There wasn’t enough room to stand.
Rippa grumbled as she climbed into the wardrobe, from which she continued crawling on all fours through the portal.
Once through, Rippa stood up and dusted off her knees and palms. She felt the warm breeze that carried the smell of the ocean and rustled the palm leaves above. And the sound of waves. Mom and Dad were already looking around, their hands shielding their eyes from the sudden change in light.
Rippa turned around to see if the portal was still there. It was. She could see her room, the image gently rippling like a mirage.
The trail they were on ran both left and right, in a slight curve. It seemed to be in the middle of some tropical woods. Looking ahead, through the trees and leaves, Rippa could see things resembling tables and chairs, arranged like some lounge café. Beyond, the beach with white sand.
“Let’s check this side first,” Dad whispered, indicating to the right.
He led Mom and Rippa slowly and silently. The trail wasn’t long. After rounding the curve, the trail ended at the beach. Dad hid behind a tree, and Rippa and Mom piled up behind him.
The three surveyed the beach. White sand. A red toy bucket and a shovel. Gentle waves. Blue sky with cotton candy clouds. A large parasol and an empty deckchair. And some palm trees casting cool shadows on the sand.
The beach itself was surrounded by crescent-moon-shaped woods. Craning their necks, they could see the other end of the trail leading to the left side of the beach. Dad drew a half-moon in the air with his finger, to which Mom and Rippa nodded in agreement.
On the far side of the beach was a white-painted pavilion. A large bed sat inside, with white sheets and pillows. But empty. A bit behind the pavilion, a jetty led to the water, with a modest water slide in the middle.
Dad pointed at something.
Between two palm trees, a hammock. It sagged a little under a weight, piled with white pillows and an equally white sheet. Next to the hammock, in the shadow cast by the tree, a blond girl sat in a wooden chair, facing the waves. Her left hand gently nudged the hammock into a pleasant swing.
Dad and Mom exchanged looks and made hand gestures that only a married couple would understand.
After a brief silent discussion, Dad stepped out onto the beach, looking around. Then he spotted something to his left that had been blocked from view by the trees.
Against the backdrop of the tropical woods was the large canopied lounge that they had seen through the trees from the trail.
In the shadow were tables and benches, sofas and coffee tables. And a bar. The lounge even had a large open kitchen, with grills and ovens and sinks and a large prep table made out of a solid tree trunk.
And at the bar, a dark-haired man was setting out glasses. He saw Rippa’s dad and politely nodded in greeting.
“Are we at some kind of a resort?” Mom whispered. She and Rippa had also come out onto the beach and stood next to Dad.
“It’s day here,” Dad said. “Home is night. Definitely not the same time zone.”
“We are three to two,” Rippa whispered. “We can handle this.”
Dad eyed the blond girl once more. She was still facing the other way.
He put the hand holding the gun behind his back. Mom did the same.
“Let me do the talk.”
Dad then stepped forward, approaching the bar. He raised his left hand. “Good evening.”
“Good evening, sir,” greeted the man. “Would you like something cold to drink?”
“Thank you, but maybe later.”
“As you wish,” the man said. Then he cracked open a can of Cola and poured himself a glass. “I will have one myself, if you don’t mind.”
Rippa noticed that the blond girl had turned around. When her green eyes met Rippa’s, she nodded politely and turned her gaze back to the waves, her hand still nudging the hammock.
“We came through a wardrobe… if that makes sense,” Dad told the man.
“Why, yes. That was the purpose.” The man seemed nonchalant about it.
“How?” Rippa stepped forward. “What have you done to my wardrobe? How did you do it?”
“Aha, hmm,” the man looked for suitable words. “Aha. Space laser.”
“You are Jews?”
“No. Scots.”
“Huh?”
“Filippa, shut up,” Mom hissed. Then she gave the man a sweet smile. “I’m sorry, but this is all very sudden. Would you please tell us who you are? And what is this place?”
“And why my daughter’s room in particular?” Dad added.
The man gestured toward the sofas. “I am afraid this will be a long story. Perhaps we’d better have a seat.”