Moon over Madeline Island (19 page)

Ruby smells it, scrunching her nose. “My word—strong.”

“Pour!” I pass the bottle to Howard, who hands out amber-filled highballs all around.

We look at one another for sipping cues. I pour big glasses of water since I'm sure we're going to need a chaser.

“I say”—Ruby raises her highball—“to Toad Tea!”

We clink our glasses and take cautious sips. Everyone reaches for water. Johnny gasps. Ruby's face turns scarlet. Howard tips his glass and finishes every drop. Me, I follow Howard's lead and empty my glass. The fire starts in my belly and travels everywhere real quick. There must be smoke shooting from my ears.

“Mmmmm,” I say with tears running down my cheeks.

“You drank the whole lot?” Ruby asks, her voice rising in disbelief.

“Yup.” Howard decants more into his glass.

“Jesus.” Johnny gasps, chokes, then gulps down his glass of water followed by Howard's.

“Well,” Ruby says. “Perhaps now we can have dinner, but let's have some of Ed's wine. I think that this”—she points—“should be mixed with a great deal of—”

“Mix,” we all reply.

While Howard and Ruby are washing the dishes after our feast, Johnny and I take a stroll down the hall, finally cozying up in the library. A cool breeze is slipping in the open windows and moonlight illuminates the toad-window, filling the hall with a silvery green.

“This is a great room to sneak off to and do some serious thinking,” Johnny says. “I know that Ed used to practically live in here.”

“I wish I could have known him better.” I sit down in one of the wingback chairs facing the potbellied stove.

“He was very…intellectual,” Johnny says. “But in a subtle way. He just knew things, but didn't make you feel bad if
you
didn't. Ruby and Ed mostly kept to themselves.”

“I know he was crazy about his Ruby.” I get up and light the gas fire with a long wooden match, then close the door. “She misses him.”

“He looked at her with such…love,” Johnny says real dreamy-like. “They were always hand in hand or arm in arm.”

“How sweet. It sucks though, him dying and all.”

“How about you, Eve? Anyone ever hold
your
hand?”

“Oh, I really…no, I mean…Growing up, I was short, overweight. A redheaded only child with parents who were much older than anyone else's. I guess you could say I had…issues.”

“Thank God you still have the red hair and I'm afraid you
are
short, but I'll tell you what, you're very beautiful.
And
I think it's just a matter of time—okay, maybe a long time—before we, as a culture, realize that beauty isn't just about high cheekbones and perky breasts.” He reaches over and we clink glasses.

“Thank you. You're good for a girl's ego, but what the hell's wrong with my cheekbones?”

“Oh…I didn't mean…”

“I'm kidding.” I've never liked talking too much about myself, so humor usually takes the spotlight off me. Usually.

“What else Eve?” Johnny prods gently. “That Toad Tea has made me brave…. You seem to have a something in your eyes, I'm not sure what. Something. I don't mean to pry, but…I was a hairstylist too, you know.” We laugh. A good hairstylist works on what's
inside
the head as well as what's on top of it.

“I made some hormonally driven, stupid choices and ended up pregnant,” I say quickly. I can't believe I'm sharing this. But along with all the other changes in my life, it's high time to open up a little. I need to, and you know what? It doesn't hurt a bit.

There are some things that I've never shared with anyone, and I sometimes wonder if that makes those experiences less or more real. Like how you feel when nature hands you a beautiful deer to admire or what a certain smell reminds you of. It's sometimes just you and that thought, and off you go in your head to that place that's only yours. Does everyone dash around through thoughts in the middle of a meaningful conversation?

“Abortion?”

“Adoption.” Do I dare look for her again?

“How long ago? If you don't mind me…”

“I was seventeen….” I take a sip for strength. “My parents drove me to a
convent
and picked me up six months later when it was…after she was born.” A single tear sneaks down my cheek, but Johnny doesn't see.

“Damn,” he says, and we're quiet for a moment and that calms the air. “You try and find her or…?”

“A while ago I did, but never heard a word back.” I want to
not
talk about it anymore.

“We could help. If you ever decide to…you know…look for her again.”

“Thanks.” I
really
want to change the subject to, say, fly fishing or flatulence issues. How about menopause? I suppose that's on the way. One more thing I'll never be able to ask my mother about.

“Thank
you,
” Johnny says before I say something really ridiculous. “Takes guts to share something so personal like that…. I'm flattered.”

“I never thought of it that way,” I say. “How about you, Johnny? What is it that's behind
your
eyes? There's something sad there.”

“Oh…well…that's pretty easy. AIDS. It cleared out—gutted—wiped out—my entire circle of friends. Every last one of them. I'm forty-eight and there was a time when Howard and I were going to more funerals than dinner parties. It's this haunting guilt.”

“I'm so sorry.” I look over at him. “Guilt?”

“Because
they
got it and
we
didn't and they're dead and gone. I know guilt. I'm Catholic.” He tries to laugh, but it doesn't come out right.

“I don't know what to…”

“Knock knock.” Howard peeks into the library. I look over to Johnny; he smiles and gives me a knowing nod.

“Come in; join the circle,” I offer. Howard drags a chair over. “What did you do with Ruby?”

“She's fiddling in the kitchen still.” Howard sits down next to Johnny. “Hard to keep up with that woman. And bossy?”

“Here you all are.” Ruby enters the library, carrying Rocky and a half-filled wineglass. “This is so cozy and if you're talking about Eve…she
is
bossy.”

“Come have a seat and put your feet up,” I say. She thumps into a chair with a big sigh. “I can't budge.”

I
wake up to the magical sound of rain pitter-pattering gently on the roof. My cat-clock, rhinestone-swinging tail, eyes that move, says “six” on the nose—literally. Rocky is sprawled on my chest, between my girls. It gets chilly during the night, so I don't mind.

“Hey, lazybones…time to rise and shine…buster.”

I give him a little kiss,
never
on the mouse-tainted lips. Off he dashes out the door, down the stairs. I pull on my robe and slippers to follow.

Mornings here are something. Not a sound. Oh, the old fridge in the kitchen whines and groans a bit, but no planes overhead, no cars rumbling past, shaking the whole place all to hell. I wonder how many humans in the world have ever heard all there is to hear in silence?

In the kitchen I put two rocks from Eau Claire on the windowsill and they look
just
right. Then I root around for some instant coffee. A few scoops, hot water and violà. I have a slurp; it hits my stomach and I feel the oomph start to work its way around. Instant's not my favorite, but sometimes I just need to get a move on! I feed Rocky, then head back up to change.

The rain has let up a bit. Now it's turned misty, like a huge walk-in facial. Pulling the back door closed behind me, I head around the cottage toward the boathouse. Taking two steps at a time, I scuttle up the wooden stairs and pull open the screen door. As I cross over the threshold, I glance toward the lake and see the sun starting to shine on the water, bringing warmth along with some brilliant yellows and oranges. Taking a deep breath of deliciously damp air, I listen to the sounds of the lake lapping the dock and birds announcing a fresh day. Damn—this is living.

Putting “Vivaldi: The Four Seasons” on the tape player, I fill up the electric percolating coffeepot for any joiners that may wander in. Looking around, imagining what lies ahead, I sigh and feel my stomach knot. What if this crazy apron thing falls flat and all is for nothing? It won't.

The deer-phone rings, bringing me out of my thoughts.

“Ruby's Aprons…Eve speaking,” I say.

“Yes hello there, this is Cook, Mrs. Prévost, speaking
clearly
into her mouthpiece. I was wondering what Eve Moss would like on her toast?” Ruby says in a nasally Brit tone that makes me smile.

“Peanut butter…with butter, please.”

“I should think…that's exactly what I have here, but you best get your rear in gear as I may be tempted to have a bite or two.”

“Okay, okay, don't do anything drastic. You know…there's really not much to be done here. It looks…
fantastic
,” I say, thinking of Howard and Johnny.

“I think we all need a break,” Ruby says, and I can hear Rocky meowing in the background. “Not a bat in sight, nor squirrel or mouse, or—”

“I'm on my way,” I say, chuckling.

I let the phone slip up into the deer mouth. I light up a cigarette and step onto the balcony, facing the lake. Whatever happens happens. I snub out my stupid smoke, take in a gulp of fresh air and head up the path, humming all the way.

 

“If I could only eat
smells,
” I say, coming into the kitchen. “I wouldn't
eve
r worry about fat grams or calorie counting or points!”

“Yes you would, darling.” Ruby slides eggs onto plates and we sit down at the stump table.

“True.” I take a sip of orange juice. “This basil bread is even better toasted, but I don't think it would work with peanut butter.”

“Oh, I…No, it wouldn't, darling,” Ruby agrees.

“I had the nicest chat with Johnny last night. He's so…deep and has more intuition than most
women
I know.”

“That's lovely. He and Howard share such a bond and have been together for—I don't know how long, to be honest. At least since they moved next door and that's a long time now.”

“I like how they treat each other.” I dab at my mouth with a Christmas-tree napkin. “Such good friends—and they laugh.”

“They do, don't they.” Ruby pours coffee. “You know, I simply have taken it for a given—they've always been a part of our summers up here. Howard and Johnny, the two of them constantly coming and going. In a way, it's as if I'd not been away.”

“Was Ed uncomfortable with them? You know…them being gay?”

“Good heavens, darling.” Ruby's brows rise. “He could have cared
less,
and to be honest, I rather think he enjoyed them admiring his bum.”

“Who wouldn't?”

 

It's around one. The boys spent the better part of the morning finishing the wiring for the sewing machines and Howard was able to get my mom's Singer going, too. Ruby and I have reorganized the fabrics for the hundredth time and now are in the office setting up the desk and trying to get my laptop to behave.

“There! Done. You can run scores of machines and not worry about an overload on the circuits,” Howard says.

“Thank you, Howard darling,” Ruby says. “The sky is still not sure if it wants to be sunny or cloudy today.”

“Good day to lie around and relax,” Howard suggests. “Anything else we can do before the big day tomorrow?”

“Not a thing.” I look up from my computer. “I'm going to call the ladies to make sure everyone is on for the morning. Then it's full steam ahead.” He and Johnny good-bye and head out the door.

“What say you and I have a girls' day,” Ruby suggests with a glint in her eye. “A late lunch, followed by cool showers. Then we can brew a spot of tea and do each other's nails over a lovely fireside chat.”

“You—my partner-in-aprons—are on!”

“Oh double drat…it's raining cats and bats.”

“Shut the lights off and follow me,” I say.

“We haven't umbrellas. The tunnel?”

“Don't be such a nudge. Come on.”

“Oh…super,” she says less than enthusiastically. I ignore this and grab her hand and give her a yank.

Down the wooden stairs and into the now torrential rain two crazy women scoot! Between my laughter and Ruby's cackle, we make enough noise to wake the dead. I pull Ruby along the path to the cottage: by the time we reach the back porch, we're soaked to the skin—feels wonderful.

“Oh my God,” Ruby says between gasps of laughter, “I am frozen clear to the
bone
!”

“Me too. What a marvelous rain.”

 

We're wrapped in fuzzy robes, yellow tissue between our toes. Our feet are happily warming in front of a crackling fire in the living room. Our toenails are a gleaming red. We've managed to polish off a kettle of tea. Our jaws are busy munching on a frozen chocolate bar that still has some of the wrapper stuck to it. I'm filing my fingernails while Ruby braids my hair.

“Now that we know Ed's grandfather's money was made from bootlegging,” I say, “what in the world will we ever do with all that booze down there? I mean, we can't sell it…can we?”

“I have no idea, darling.” Ruby gives the fire a poke. “It obviously keeps well. Pity it's not wine though. The hard stuff is so—”

“Strong.” I wince at the memory of tasting it. “They sure went to a lot of trouble. What a riot.”

Looking into the mirror underneath the stairs, I check out Ruby's handiwork. She has braided my hair into a thick rope that travels from the top of my head all the way to my nape, ending in three braids down my back. How in the world am I going to get this out? I do like the way it pulls my face back tight. Who needs a face-lift?

“Oh Ruby,” I singsong, heading into the glow of the kitchen and the clatter of pans.