Family Trees (24 page)

C
HAPTER
32

O
len had rarely attended services at the Lutheran church on the corner of Pine and Myrtle, but he had been a spiritual man. On most Sunday mornings, while Ginny and Shelby reflected on sermons and sang from their hymnals, Olen had joined Lou Olson and Bernie Cromwell on Bernie's Mainship trawler, the
Nimbus
. It was there where the old friends would go out in search of anything they could nab at the end of a fishing line. During those outings they prayed for fish, worshiped the godliness of the lake, and broke bread together. And yes, they were even known to share a communal bottle of wine—or two. Or perhaps it was simply an ice-packed cooler of Old Milwaukee beer. Regardless, Olen had always said he never felt closer to God than when he was on the lake.

So when it came to Olen's ashes, the Meyers women knew exactly what to do. They would wait for the ice to melt. They would gather on a sunny morning. And then they would take Olen to his church.

“Mornin', ladies,” Bernie said as the women climbed aboard the
Nimbus,
which was idling in its South Point Marina slip. With Shelby and Jackie barely speaking to each other, Ginny was the most animated of the women, dressed in a lavender sundress and carrying a plastic bait bucket that contained her husband's ashes.

Jackie walked unsteadily across the boat deck in her ridiculously high-heeled pink wedges to find a seat, while Shelby rolled up the sleeves of her chambray shirtdress and helped Bernie untie the lines and toss them onto the deck.

Ginny looked around the boat and asked, “Wait, Bernie, where's Lou?”

“Sorry, Ginny, he couldn't make it,” Bernie said, coiling the stern line neatly in the corner of the cockpit. “Stomach bug,” he added with a sour face. Despite Shelby's somber mood, she couldn't help but appreciate Bernie. On any given summer day, he would have been shoeless and dressed in khakis with frayed hems, faded T-shirts, and a black knit cap that covered his bald head. But on this day, he was dressed in a pair of newly pressed khakis, a navy blue blazer with brass buttons, and a proper shirt and tie. If it weren't for his bare feet, you would have thought he belonged on the
Queen Mary II
.

“Poor man.” Ginny shook her head and drummed her fingers against the rim of the orange bait bucket. “I heard it's going around.”

At the sound of Ginny's tapping, Jackie shifted in her seat to face her mother. “I still can't believe you put Dad in that disgusting thing,” she said with a scrunched-up nose. “It's disrespectful.”

“Excuse me,
who's
disrespectful?” Shelby muttered under her breath as she took a seat across from her mother.

“What's that?” Jackie asked, raising an eyebrow in Shelby's direction.

Shelby looked away and Ginny continued with her tapping. “Actually, he would have thought it was funny,” Ginny said of the bucket. “When I say good-bye, I want to remember him laughing.” Looking down at the pail and running her hands over its surface, she added, “Besides, it's not like there was ever any bait in here. I cared enough to buy him a new bucket. It's even his favorite color!”

“You're right, Mother,” Jackie said with a look of mockery on her heavily made-up face. “I'm sure Dad would have
loved
to know that, in the end, his life was reduced to being no greater than a bucket of minnows.”

Shelby was about to stick up for her grandmother when Bernie interrupted with perfect timing to say it was time to cast off. He shifted into Reverse and used the bow thrusters to alternate power from the starboard and port side jets to skillfully ease the boat out of its slip. Then, as the boat slowly powered forward, they passed the
Spindrift,
Ryan's former charter. Looking at the sailboat as the
Nimbus
continued to motor out of the marina, Shelby felt as empty as it appeared.
That boat shouldn't be bound to its slip, so lifeless and alone,
she thought.
It should be out on the lake in full sail, crashing over the waves and racing in the wind. It should be alive!

Once the
Nimbus
passed the end of the dock and the breakwater pilings, it picked up speed and headed out to open water. With the swift breeze whipping her hair back, the sun warming her face, and the beauty of the Apostle Islands surrounding her, Shelby realized she hadn't been on the water since sailing with Ryan. She had missed the lake.

“So, ladies, where are we headed?” Bernie called over his shoulder, loud enough to be heard over the engine. Jackie turned away from the group and stared off toward the mainland as Shelby glanced at Ginny for direction. She was relieved when her grandmother stood and made her way to the captain's chair.

“I trust you, Bernie,” Ginny said, clutching the bucket of her husband's remains against her chest. “You know where he'd want us to go.”

Bernie reached down beside his chair and pulled out his black knit cap, stretched it over his bald, sun-freckled head, and grinned. “I do indeed.”

She patted his shoulder in gratitude. They would make the hour-long trek to Stockton Island, a favorite with the Meyers family and most area boaters. The island boasted scenic walking trails, and a stretch of sandy beach that was as stunning as any you would find in the tropics. Although one would typically find several boats anchored around Stockton during the weekends and holidays, this was a Tuesday and they knew the island would be virtually deserted.

“Do you remember what Olen used to say about Devil's Island, Ginny?” Bernie asked.

Ginny nodded with a grin, saying, “What's the Devil doing smack in the middle of this heaven on earth?”

“That's right. This heaven on earth,” Bernie recalled fondly as the boat skipped across the sun-sparkled waves that led to Stockton.

The women spoke very little during their boat trip through the archipelago. Shelby knew their silence had less to do with the ashes than the upheaval Jackie had caused by returning home. When Shelby first learned of her mother's intention to move back to the farm, her answer had been a firm no. But now, after some thought, she wasn't sure. Watching her grandmother chat openly with Bernie, Shelby knew Ginny didn't deserve to live in a tension-filled home. She deserved a mended relationship with her daughter. As for Shelby, her hope for a true relationship with her mother had been extinguished long ago. Although her grandmother talked about people's inherent ability to change, and of how losing her father had been a profound eye-opener for Jackie, Shelby was more wary of her mother's motives now than ever before.

If only her grandfather were there, Shelby wished. He would know what to do. Sadly, the hub of their family wheel was gone, and without him, Shelby didn't see how they could hold together and move forward.

 

Once they reached the island, Shelby knelt down at the bow of the boat and signaled Bernie as soon as the anchor caught on the lake floor and held. When Bernie cut the engine, the boat floated in silent isolation off of Stockton's Julian Bay. Shelby stood and leaned over the guardrail. Due to the excellent visibility of the lake's clear water, she could easily see the triangular blades at the end of the anchor hooked securely into the ripples of light sand nearly twelve feet below the boat. She listened to gentle waves lapping against the helm and the hollow
glug
of water resonating underneath the hull. Two gulls passed overhead, calling out in their search for food. Spying nothing on the
Nimbus,
they continued on toward the beach.

“Okay,” Ginny said, standing up and straightening the front of her skirt. “I suppose we should get started.”

Bernie had climbed down into the cabin and now reappeared with a bouquet of field daisies, zinnia, and white hydrangea. “Before you do, Ginny, I have these for you,” he said, standing before her with as much respect as a uniformed soldier presenting a folded American flag to the widow of a fallen comrade. “They're from our garden. Marilyn wanted you to have them.”

“They're perfect. Thank you,” Ginny said, graciously accepting the flowers.

Bernie turned toward the water, pulled off his cap and held it to his heart, and then tossed a single daisy into the lake. “See ya 'round, pal,” he said solemnly before descending back into the cabin to give the family privacy.

Standing at the stern of the boat, the women circled around the open bait bucket and peered down at the contents within. Ginny held the lid to the bucket in one hand and Bernie's flowers in the other. Shelby shifted her eyes from her grandmother and her mother, waiting for someone to say something.

“All right, let's get on with it,” Ginny said finally. “We have a ceremony to perform.”

“I'm not touching that,” Jackie said firmly, taking a step back. “There are pieces of bone in there! I thought it would all be dust. Why are there chunks of bone?”

“It's perfectly normal,” Ginny replied.

“It's gruesome.”

“It's your father, Jackie,” Ginny scolded in a forced whisper, as if Olen could overhear them. “Show some respect.”

“What can I do, Gran?” Shelby asked. She wanted this to be over, so she could return home, get back to her routine, and put the past behind her.

“Shelby, I'd like you to take these flowers. Jackie, hold the pail up on the ledge here,” Ginny said, passing the flowers to Shelby. Jackie looked visibly repulsed as she stepped forward and held the bucket gingerly by her fingertips, raising her pinkies in the air. Ginny set down the lid and removed a folded piece of paper from her dress pocket, explaining how she had selected a favorite poem for the occasion.

The breeze picked up a bit and the boat began to rock along with the waves, so instead of standing, they knelt on the starboard cockpit bench as parishioners would on a church pew. Shelby felt anxious. She wanted to talk about how much better this day would have been without her mother present. How Shelby resented her mother for being disrespectful. Or how she wished everything over the past year could have turned out differently. She wanted to shout it out loud! Make her mother take notice!

But she didn't. Out of consideration for her grandmother, Shelby remained as quiet as a hushed child at worship.

“Thanks for being here with me today, girls. I know that Olen would be happy to see us all together,” Ginny began. “Instead of a Bible verse, I thought this would be more fitting for him. It's by Robert Frost. Your grandfather admired Frost for many reasons, but he always talked about having a sort of kinship with the writer because both men lived on apple orchards and loved the entire growing season, from bloom to harvest.”

Shelby gave her grandmother an encouraging nod, while Jackie smacked her glossy lips together with a blatant lack of interest and moved to sit across from them. Shelby disregarded her and looked out at the lake as a gust of wind raced across the water's surface in a shifting orb of ripples and shadow. Like a dark phantom, it spun and darted past their boat and disappeared. It was time to say farewell.

“It's titled, ‘After Apple-Picking.' Okay. Here we go.” Ginny took a deep breath, composed herself, and began to read:

Hearing a sniffle, Shelby looked over at her mother. Jackie had one hand clasped over her mouth, trying to hold back a sound, but her eyes were laughing.

Ginny decided that it would be easier to sit on the cushioned benches than kneel, so she and Shelby shifted in their seats while Jackie dabbed at her eyes and nodded toward the paper in Ginny's hand. “How long is this poem, anyway?”

“Hmm? Too long?” Ginny asked, a bit flustered by her emotions and the interruption. “Let's see, maybe I'll just jump ahead . . .”

“Gran, it's beautiful. Don't rush it,” Shelby insisted. “Take your time.”

“It's all right, Shelby. Let's see . . .” Ginny replied, looking down at her notes. “Okay, I'll just pick it up here.”

For reasons that Shelby couldn't begin to understand, Jackie shook her head and smirked.

“You know what, Gran? It's not all right,” Shelby blurted out and stood to face her mother. “Mom, for once—for one single day—could you try not to belittle everything we do or say?”