Moon over Madeline Island (6 page)

“You wouldn't
believe
the stuff women are buying on the Internet. It's amazing. You can even order a man.” Ruby raises both of her perfectly arched brows.

“Did you bring your laptop, darling?” she asks, absently patting her perfect hair.

I sigh. “I'm serious, I think we could do this. I saw the shops and galleries and all the fancy cars when we got off the ferry.”

“There
is
a rather wealthy bunch up here in the summer, but the natives are much more earthy; they hide from them.” She gets up and smacks her rear back to life. “How about you and I get into cozies, throw some pasta in a pot, put a log on the fire and figure out our next move, or moves, for that matter,”

“Deal.” I stand up and do the same thing to my hind end. Feels like ginger ale has taken over my rear.

 

All hands are busy stirring things in the kitchen over the big, hulking stove. It gleams in the golden light reflecting off the pine walls. Steamy smells of fresh basil, garlic and pasta fill the air. Everything is bubbling away in blue-speckled enamel-ware pots.

Rocky is on the stump table crunching out of a beautiful crystal bowl Ruby found for him. There have been
five
mouse heart attacks so far, but hey—tomorrow's another day.

“This smells wonderful.” I take a whiff from a spoon Ruby has put under my nose. “Why is it that food you make with someone always tastes better?”

“Oh I think it's just the making of it that matters. You can cook good feelings right into a thing.
Especially
the way you stir.” Ruby grabs the spoon I was stirring with from me. “Good heavens, Eve, you're going to end up with mush if you don't let those noodles be.”

“Sorry, I do my best thinking when I'm stirring.”

“Here then…
think
this sauce.” She points to the pot of yummy sauce loaded with secret ingredients. She has a cache of canned tomatoes in her pantry back in Eau Claire that could feed armies.

“I
love
the idea of living on an island and being somewhat unplugged from the masses, yet
way
plugged in, thanks to the Internet.” I stir this way and that, thinking.

My hair has become tight curls thanks to the steam. I'm all cozy in a sweatshirt, favorite jeans and Winnie-the-Pooh slippers. Ruby has one of her fussy walking outfits on, blue with white piping. The kind that has matching top and bottom. The front is covered in garish stones, a starburst design. On her…it's cute.

“If I were to sell my house, it could bring in a nice bit of cash.” Ruby grabs the spoon out of my hand. “It's always been too much house for me. I bet it would be ideal for a young couple to redo.”

“I honestly think I'm ready to do something else, not as…safe,
and
different. To live here, on this wonderful
jewel
of an island…Well, knock me over!” I smack the top of the stump table for emphasis.

“You know…I think if we really are sure about this, if we go about it with as clear a plan as possible, well
hell's bells,
the sky's the limit and what's to stop us?” Ruby asks, opening and closing cupboards, handing me brightly colored plates, miss-matched glasses, napkins, silverware. She points to the stump table. I set the table, marveling at its rings and caramel colors.

“Let's eat and keep thinking.” I turn a plate just so.

The pasta sauce is divine, and since it's challenging to shove tasty food in your mouth and talk
and
think—we eat. Afterward, we go and sink down into the sofa in the living room, put our toes up and warm them in front of a very decent fire. Girl Scouts taught me a
few
things.

“I've not been this beat for a long time. Feels great,” I murmur in a sleepy voice. “We're going to sleep like logs. If logs sleep, that is.”

“We did so much today,” Ruby adds. “The place has not been opened up and full of life for such a long time. I love the way I feel when I'm here.”

I sit up to get a better look at all the stuffed deer heads, an entire owl frozen in midflight and animal skins hanging way up high from the rafters. The firelight throws dancing yellows and golds all over the walls. The snappy crackling of pine logs is a music that makes you very sleepy.

“This is sheer heaven.” I slouch back into the cushy sofa.

“Mmm hmm,” Ruby mumbles while petting Rocky, who's snuggling in her lap.

We sigh, watching the flames flicker and whisper. Just as my eyes are sliding blissfully shut…BOOM! A thunderclap echoes over our heads and the entire cottage shakes. We leap to our feet, instantly wide awake. Rocky lands on all fours on the coffee table. Then it starts to rain, the drops clattering on the roof.

“Good God!” It takes me a second to find my voice.

“I love the pitter-patter of rain on the roof, marvelous way to fall asleep. Let's turn in, darling.”

“Okay.”

 

I'm lying under sun-fresh sheets and a heavy quilt decorated with little squares of pastel colors. A cool, rainy breeze carrying the soft scent of pine hovers around me while raindrops tap softly above. Rocky gently purrs, snuggled by my side; in a second or two he's asleep. I can see out my window to the sky. Every so often it flashes as lightning cracks, illuminating the night.

Being here, I feel lighter somehow. Like the cloud of guilt—heaps of it, thanks to my Catholic parents—seems less now. The rain-soaked air smells so…delicious, too. I did nothing wrong—well, okay, we did the deed and all, but the baby…I didn't plan on
that,
and at seventeen…I shake my head.

Am I going to be in this in-between place forever?
No.
I shift to my side and give the pillow a good punch. Just because one detective couldn't find her doesn't mean I give up. 'Course, he did suggest that maybe she doesn't want to be found, either. Who the
hell
wouldn't want to meet me?

T
he next day I wake at dawn to total and complete quiet. The kind of sleepy quiet that's reassuring, like a spell has fallen over everything around you. In order not to break the spell you do everything carefully, trying your hardest not to make a sound. I've always loved waking up slowly, with strong, sugary-sweet coffee and a smoke. I'm going to quit smoking, I am, but honestly, isn't everyone entitled to at least
one
really bad habit? Okay, maybe two.

I braid my curls up into a fancy French twist and secure it with a scarf, pull on gray warmups and slip down to the kitchen. Assuming Ruby's cupboard system up here is similar to the one in Eau Claire, I open the door to the left of the stove and violà! I take down instant coffee, a bowl of sugar and a mug. After zapping the filled mug in the microwave, I have a sip and sigh as I feel my head begin to clear.

On the way through the living room, I grab a fringed blanket. Careful not to let the porch door bang shut, I head down the path to the dock. Sparkling dewdrops are chilly, splattering onto my toes. My wet feet make my flip-flops end each step with a squeaky-slap that's very satisfying. I thump down onto the dock and snuggle into the old blanket.

A crisp, clear morning awaits. I take another sip of coffee; the warmth fills my empty stomach and I let out a little laugh. Who would've thought this is where I would be at forty-seven. I was beginning to think that maybe I'd missed out, not having a family of my own. But I'm realizing that I
do
have a family right here.

I'm learning that who you end up with doesn't have to be a husband and two-point-five children. Sometimes you're lucky enough to have a “someone” that makes you feel whole. I know a lot of people feel that way about their partners, but I know
just
as many that don't. I put my toes into the ice cold water and shiver so badly I spill hot coffee on my thigh.

“Shit!” I yell across the lake; my voice echoes back. I imagine some housewife hearing me. She looks up from her dishwater, plate in one hand and scrubber in the other, in some cozy little kitchen over in Bayfield. I wonder if she feels this satisfied, this complete. I wonder.

Since I thought to bring the keys, I figure now is a good time to explore the barn. Besides, my toes need to thaw out a bit and turn back into more of a flesh color instead of this blue. I pull the blanket around my shoulders and head up the path around the cottage. Halfway up, I stoop to pick a few daisies, which I weave into my hair.

Walking around the side of the cottage, I run my hand along the logs, admiring how well the building is put together. At each corner, the ends of huge pine logs are notched into one another like Lincoln Logs.

The barn has a big accordion door, half covered with vines that are heavy with grapes. Beside this is a regular-sized door. One of those charming divided-in-half Dutch doors. It's locked with a big paddle lock similar to the one on the gate at the entrance. With the fifth key I try, it clicks open.

Smells of electric machines, oil and damp all escape the barn in a huff of cool air. On the wall is a battery of switches. I figure what the hell, and in no time flat, the entire place is lit up.

“Huge,” I say to the vast, yawning space. My words bounce off the walls and high crossbeams. The barn is much larger than it looks from the outside. Straight ahead, built underneath the staircase, is what looks to be a workbench. It consists of a long, waist-high counter with shelves above. They're filled with jars of every size and shape holding screws, nuts, bolts—you name it. Around the corner, on the other side of the staircase, is a jumble of chairs, lamps, boat paddles, a huge stuffed moose head and a wooden canoe hanging from the rafters.

In the middle, covered with a green tarp, is a boat. Reaching up, I yank the tarp off, making dust fly every which way. The boat is painted a bright white. It's around twenty feet or so in length and as wide as my van is long. A red-and-white striped canvas awning stretches over five rows of seats with an aisle down the middle. The weird thing about it is the fact that it has wheels.

What the hell? Is it a boat or a bus? Then it comes to me. Has to be one of those boat-tour contraptions called a duck. Similar to one I'd ridden years ago when my folks took me to the Wisconsin Dells. As I recall, they were originally used in World War II.

Hmmm, we could give Madeline Island tours, weave rugs, maybe do some wine-making on the side. It's a shame I'm not a fan of bed-and-breakfasts, what with all the room here. But I'd go nuts if I had to eat breakfast with strangers. I'm deep in thought, moneymaking wheels cranking away. So when I turn, apparently having gone momentarily deaf as well, I bump head-on into Ruby.

“Good Lord woman. Where the hell did you come from? You just aged me about a hundred years!”

“Good morning, darling.” Ruby grins, ignoring my outburst. “I didn't mean to scare the
bejeezus
out of you like that, though I must say it was most satisfying.”

“Good morning to you. I was deep in thought about
this.
” I pat the duck. “Does it work?”

“Oh of course it does, love. Ed's been caring—used to care for it ever since he hauled it here. Ran like a charm. We would take it out to one of the Apostle Islands, pull up on a nice sandy spot and have a picnic.”

“How romantic,” I mock. Ruby sticks her tongue out at me. “I'm jealous.” I climb up the ladder on the side. “Looks easy enough to drive.” For kicks I turn the key that's hanging in the ignition; nothing.

“
Do
be careful, darling.”

“The battery probably needs charging and a bath in the lake wouldn't be a bad idea, either. Things always seem to work better if they're cleaned up.”

“Spoken like a true hairstylist/boat mechanic.” Ruby absently smoothes the apron she's wearing over her lavender outfit.

“I would love to get this puppy going.”

“There's a workbench,” Ruby offers, pointing to it. “I'm sure there's a charger over there…somewhere.”

“How about you make breakfast and I'll see if I can get this started?” I pull the key out and climb down the ladder. “We could have our very own lake tour this morning, if it works, that is.”

“Sounds lovely, darling. Don't go blowing anything up, for heaven's sake.” She turns back toward the cottage.

I head over to the workbench. On the way, I pass a stack of dusty steamer trunks, several pairs of wooden snowshoes, a deer head and an enormous stuffed bear on wheels wearing a lampshade. Beyond this, nearer to the workbench, are winches, pulleys, coffee cans overflowing with nails, and blow-torches. After rooting around and sneezing myself silly, I find it.

I've had to hook my van up to many clients' cars over the years to give them a jump, so I consider myself an expert. After attaching the charger, I realize I left the keys on the workbench.

“Damn.” Heading
back
over, I notice a painted wooden sign in the shape of an enormous key. It has about twenty little hooks running along the bottom holding every shape and length of key, most of them with a string attached to a handwritten label. Hats off to Ed for being so organized. After swiping away spider webs, I read the labels. “Lawn mower, boathouse, guest cottage, porch door, front door, back door, duck keys.
Duck keys
.”

I grab them and then of course, I find the key I left on the bench, too. I take both sets, just in case. Since I'm really
not
into inhaling fumes, and since I half expect the boat to run, I need one large barn door to open.

I can see a motor way up there at the top of the door and by following the wires down, I walk over to a round green button the size of a saucer. I press it and am impressed by the small concert of squeaks and groans that echo all the way down from the ceiling. The massive door smoothly folds to either side of the opening, leaving a veil of grapevines to sway in the wind. Morning sunshine floats on dust clouds into the barn. I stand next to the duck, looking out toward the cottage and the lake beyond.

I decide not to try turning it over until
after
we have breakfast so it will get a good dose of juice. On the way back to the cottage, a meowing Rocky greets me. I scoop him up in my arms and give him a big fat kiss, right on the lips, and he purrs. Then I remember his lips have clamped around mice necks and I spit into the grass. Rocky gives me one of his looks.

“
There
you are, darling. Did it start?”

“Needs to charge for a bit.” I plunk down on a wicker stool and spin.

“Good thinking.” Ruby pulls two bowls from the fridge and plops them down on the stump table.

“This looks great!” We dig spoons into yogurt with bananas and granola. Rocky meows, wanting some. “He really shouldn't be eating anything other than his special-diet food. 'Course, I wonder if mouse would be considered
special diet
.
I
should talk about diet!”

“Eve, you've been fussing about your bloody weight ever since I met you. I think you should face the fact that you're…well, you're a fine figure of a woman. Who the
hell
wants to be as skinny as I am, anyway?” Ruby asks through crunching granola.

“I appreciate that—I do. I've fought with my weight forever! Diets…food plans, rice-only, protein-only, liquid diets…you name it. The only thing that ever
really
worked was Weight Watchers. But I cheated every chance I could.”

“We need to back off women nowadays. There's nothing wrong with just being the best and healthiest you can be…without killing yourself.” She scoops up Rocky under one arm and carries her bowl with the other. “Let's finish eating out on the porch. Seems a shame to waste all this nice morning sunshine.”

“I love the porch.” I follow her and sit on a cushy love seat.

“I enjoy eating out here when the sun is just beginning to come full force.” Ruby pulls up a wooden stool. “Where were we? Oh yes…women and weight.”

“It's all a part of fitting in and not being different and
God,
I used to hate taking showers in gym class. I had breasts
way
before the other girls did. I could feel their curious eyes on me. Made me feel so…busty.” I absently pull my sweatshirt out a bit.

“In my day,” Ruby says with a sigh, “it was pretty much the same…the ‘fitting in' part. Everyone trying to look like everyone else. I was short and skinny.”

“I
know
the short part—”

“In high school it was more important to have your hair rolled just so, your blouse pressed right and a wool skirt with shiny shoes.”

“For some reason I thought Ed was a high school romance. Were you doing all that fussing for him or…?”

“I met Ed my second year of college. I saw him coming out of the library and just
knew
he was the one for me. That and the fact that he was the most handsome man I ever laid eyes on. Had the most stubborn head of wild black hair, always falling into his eyes. Green—the greenest eyes.” She looks out to the lake.

“A college romance. Details, I want details!”

“Well, it's really very simple: we started dating and before you could say ‘Prince Charles has big ears' we fell madly and completely in love. After he graduated—
I
still had two years left—we married. I dropped out; the natural thing in that day was to get busy making a family.” Ruby fidgets with her fork.

“The kid thing…right?”

“We tried and tried, they didn't have the fertility drugs that make you have litters back then. No matter what, we couldn't get me pregnant.” Ruby shakes her head. “Though I have no regrets of all the effort put into it, mind you.” She winks.

“Did you ever stop to think that maybe it was him?”

“I have never told a soul this.” She leans way in. Like someone's going to hear us out here in the middle of nowhere. “It
was
him; he was so embarrassed.”

“Ah ha!”

“And you know, I wasn't as fired up about having children as Ed was anyway. I think a part of me was so relieved I wouldn't have to face some possible dread or resentment I may have had towards anything that took time from Ed and me.”

“You would've made a
fabulous
mother, but I'm glad you couldn't either. I would've been out to lunch as far as you and I…the cottage. Things would have all been different. Makes you realize how everything we are is connected to everything else.”

“Who's to say? Life does seem to turn out exactly how it's supposed to,” Ruby says. “Have you given some thought to looking for your daughter—for Amy—again? That was simply
years
ago, and maybe there's a new…Why, that laptop of yours could do the trick.”

“No, not really. And, yes—shit, all the time, Ruby.” I'm grateful she never pushes the issue, but mentioning it I appreciate. She knows it's a tender place. The sound of her name spoken out loud—something way inside me shifts, opens somehow.

I don't know if I have the right to open up that wound for
her.
The excuse I've told myself all these years is that it wasn't my decision, I was only seventeen and my parents just sent me away. Besides,
she's
never tried to find
me.
That's partly what keeps me from looking. That and the fact that I am scared to death of what could come after that.

“Well…if you change your mind, I'll be right here with you, darling,” Ruby assures me and the matter is put away. “Now, let's give that contraption a go. I would love to ride in it again and
you
will love the island even more from the water!”

“Let's,” I reply, grateful to step away from all these feelings I have crowding the porch. But do I think of looking for her? Has she tried to find me? Oh, great, now I'll be thinking about it all over again. Actually, maybe it's time to do more than that. Maybe.