South of Superior (31 page)

“I don't think so.” Arbutus applied herself to her lunch, and gradually Gladys relaxed. Then Arbutus said, “Oh, by the way. I invited the fellow who wants to buy my house to brunch on Wednesday.”

“Doesn't that sound fun? They were talking about it on the morning show the other day. It's later than breakfast and earlier than lunch—”

“I know what it is.”

“I thought we could have that egg pie Verna brings to church.”

“Quiche,” Gladys said flatly.

“Yes, that's right, quiche. Pete's a friend of Madeline's from Chicago, did I tell you?”

“And just when did all of this come about?”

“Yesterday, when you were at Mabel's. He stopped by, and I gave him some coffee. I invited him then. I told him we'd like to have Madeline come too, it'd seem funny to him if she didn't, and besides, I'd like her to.”

Gladys stared at her sister, speechless.

 

 

At nine thirty
Wednesday the whole sorry lot of them—and Gladys included herself in this description—sat in the parlor making small talk about Madeline's car. “It's started making bad noises in the last few weeks,” Madeline said. “A kind of knocking.”

“Bad gas, maybe,” Pete Kinney said.

“She fills Up down in Halfway. I told her Umpteen times that gas is old, you don't want it, but she won't believe me.”

Madeline sighed.

“Well, I did tell you.”

“Yes you did.”

“As far as the knocking, it could be a number of things, I'd have to take a better look at it, give it a drive.”

Gladys sniffed. Obviously it was bad gas, but it was civil of Pete not to insist.

“Would you like more coffee, or some juice?” Arbutus offered, smiling prettily.

Pete gave her a keen, pleased look. The look of a man who has taken a fancy. Gladys felt both proud and vexed. Well past seventy, crippled Up, and her sister was still wrapping men around her finger quick as a wink. “I would,” he said to Butte. “More of this good coffee would be just the thing.” Then he recollected himself, included Gladys. “I'm pleased to meet the both of you, by the way. It's good of you to have me in to eat. It'll be a treat to have some home-cooked food, my daughter gets after me for not fixing myself better meals.”

“Speaking of which.” Gladys got Up to check on the quiche. Leave the lovebirds alone for a minute. She didn't know whether to be glad or mad. Madeline followed to fetch Pete's coffee. They eyed each other warily and didn't speak. When they returned Pete had scooted down the couch close to Arbutus's chair and they were chatting with animation. Gladys and Madeline glanced at each other and then away, but before they could stop it there'd been a flash of Understanding between them—is this what it looks like, and how nice if it is.

Pete liked the quiche, the seasoning Gladys Used, what was it? (Salt and pepper and a little paprika, nothing special, she said, frowning with pleasure.) He loved Gladys's bread, and the wild blueberry jam. He remembered a neighbor lady from when he was a boy who'd made cardamom rolls at the holidays, he hadn't had anything like it since. She was Scandinavian and painted her porch roof blue like the sky and swept off her sidewalks every morning with a broom. Pete patted the Formica table in an appreciating way, admired the cookstove, complimented Gladys on her flowers and the neat shape she kept her house in. He liked McAllaster, he said, he and his wife had always told each other they'd maybe retire here one day. “It was a dream of ours. Seems wrong to me still that we never did do it. We had good times here.”

Arbutus was nodding, her face sympathetic. “You miss her.”

“I do. She wouldn't want me to mope, so I don't. But the world's a little lonely, on your own.”

“My Harvey, my second husband, was the same way. He couldn't stand to think of me downhearted. And I haven't been. But there've been lonely times.”

They smiled at each other in a way that left the rest of the world out.

“Thank you for a delicious meal and your kind hospitality,” Pete said after they'd finished and he was at the door. Arbutus invited him to come to supper the next night if he was going to stay in town.

“I'd be pleased to if you're sure it's not an imposition.”

Of course not, Gladys assured him stiffly. He shook all their hands, saving Arbutus for last, and held hers a little longer than he might have.

Just as he pulled out of the drive they heard a siren wailing. Gladys went to call Mabel Brink, as she did every time the ambulance went out, because Mabol had a scanner. Arbutus went in the parlor and turned on the television to catch the tail end of her favorite program. Madeline went to the kitchen sink and ran dishwater and Gladys was taken aback, but decided not to stop her. Not Until after she'd made her phone call anyway.

Two minutes later Gladys set down the phone and went into the kitchen, feeling dazed. “Mabel says it's a car accident down the highway. I guess they think it's Randi, with those summer kids she's been running around with lately. It's bad, she says.”

Madeline looked as shocked as Gladys felt. “What kids? The last I heard she was working for Paul
and
at the bar, how would she have time to run around? And what about Greyson, did Mabel know?”

“She didn't know. With Randi, I'd have to think. Jo Jo Finn's out of town, and Fran Kacks put her back out last week, had to tell Randi she couldn't sit anymore. Maybe he's at the Trackside, but—” Gladys shook her head, full of trepidation.

“I'm going to go see,” Madeline said, wiping her hands on her jeans and heading for the door. She looked apprehensive but resolved. She was going to
do
something, and Gladys was relieved.

T
he accident happened eight miles south of town, on the sharp curve that people sometimes missed if they were going too fast.

Madeline pulled to a stop well out of the way. The wrecked car was an older sedan, and it sat sideways to the road, its hood crumpled into a power pole, the side banged and creased, skid marks making figure eights on the road. Three kids stood huddled Under blankets, their faces somber and frightened. Madeline recognized them from Garceau's—summer people, college kids.
Too late, too late
, Madeline thought.
We're always too late to realize our mistakes, all of us.

The ambulance crew was working on the front passenger's side, which was crumpled from the force of the impact. One of the crew was the basket-making woman. Madeline recognized the man from the gas station, too. He and John Fitzgerald were carrying a stretcher toward the car. John's expression was bleak. Madeline felt sick.

She heard sirens approaching from the south and within minutes, two state police cars arrived. Then Paul's car appeared on the horizon, headed north from Crosscut. He pulled over and Madeline ran toward him.

“What's going on?” he asked.

Madeline had decided as she ran just to say it, flat out. “I think Randi's in the car. I think it's bad. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry you had to find out this way.”

His face went blank. “No. That can't be her, she's supposed to be at work in fifteen minutes. I don't even know whose car that is.” His eyes widened with a further realization. “Greyson?”

“I don't know,” Madeline said, and felt her hands begin to shake. Paul looked as if he was going to be sick. Madeline took a ragged breath. “I'm going to see if I can find out anything.” She was terrified to go closer, terrified of what she'd learn, but she headed across the highway anyway.

A policeman stopped her before she got to the other side. “Ma'am,” he barked. “Stay back. Get back in your vehicle and move along.”

“I know. I'm sorry. But we heard it was our friend in the car, his girlfriend. I—we need to know.” She looked back at Paul who stood with his arms wrapped around himself.

“I can't help you. Get back in your vehicle. You're in the way.”

“I'm sorry, I am. But—is she alive? Is it Randi?”

“I don't know who it is, and I don't know their condition.”

“But there's a woman in the car?”

After a moment the officer nodded, his eyes steely. “Yes, ma'am, there is.”

“Is there a child, too? A little boy, about five?”

“The child is fine. He's in the ambulance. Now go.”

Madeline ran back across the road. “I don't know for sure if it's Randi,” she told Paul, grabbing one of his hands with both of her own. “I think so. But there was a boy who's okay. He's in the ambulance. The officer wouldn't tell me anything else.”

Paul closed his eyes. When he opened them again he looked marginally less ill. “Thank you.”

More emergency vehicles arrived—another ambulance, a fire truck—and the crew cut the car's dash away, then positioned a board Under the woman in the car and slowly drew her out. Randi's braids dangled toward the ground, and even from across the highway Madeline thought she heard the faint clack of beads and jangle of tiny bells. She made an involuntary sound, a whimper, and Paul tightened his grip on her hand. When the second ambulance had roared away with Randi in it, John Fitzgerald headed across the highway.

“Not supposed to do this,” he said, looking at Paul. “But I'm going to. She's alive, but she's all broken Up. I think she'll survive. I hope to God so, but it's going to be a long haul.”

Oh, Randi
, Madeline thought
. Little fool. Please don't die. Please don't.

“Greyson?” Paul asked.

“He's all right, basically, but Raylene's got her hands full with him. They don't want to give him anything, but they're afraid he's going to hyperventilate. Poor kid.”

“Can I see him?” Paul asked.

Madeline felt shakier than ever—relief that Greyson was all right, and that Paul had stepped in so surely. She had to see Grey with her own eyes.

John considered. “Maybe. I'll talk to Raylene.” He strode off.

Madeline kept her eyes on the broken car. She thought of Randi's husky voice that always drew her in against her will, her curvy, perfect body in snug jeans, that river of beaded braids flowing down her back, her bare feet Up on the dash of the Buick, toes wiggling. There was something so human and innocent and
alive
in that. She thought of Gladys and Arbutus's fondness for her, the granddaughter of their old friend. They would be devastated by this.
Live
, Madeline willed.

A few minutes later a woman she'd never met strode toward her carrying Greyson, who was swaddled in a blanket. “We left it Up to him,” she said gruffly.

“Paul,” Greyson said in a reedy voice, his fair skin paler than ever, and held his arms out. Paul scooped him Up and hugged him. But then John came back with a question about Randi's insurance—or lack of—and Paul gently transferred Grey to Madeline. His legs clamped around her waist and he buried his face in her neck. She felt him trembling.

“Hush now, sweetheart,” she said into his hair, which was damp with sweat, though his skin felt cold. “Everything will be all right. Don't worry.” Her heart was pounding and her hands were still trembling ; she had no way of knowing if things would be all right, but she had to say it. She walked a small distance off and then back again, rubbing Greyson's back. Some of the tension left his body as she paced, and the trembling had mostly stopped by the time Paul finished talking to John.

Paul reached out to touch Greyson's head as if to reassure himself that he really was all right, and Madeline felt Greyson relax a little more in her arms. “Hey, kiddo,” Paul said softly, his voice cracking a little. “How are you holding Up there?”

“Okay,” Greyson whispered, but his chin began to tremble and his eyes filled with tears. He stretched his arms out and Paul gathered him close again. Madeline touched Raylene's arm and drew her aside.

“I'm wondering what will happen with Greyson.”

Raylene made a face. “Not sure.”

“Would it help if I took him home with me?” She assumed Paul would be following the ambulance wherever it took Randi, and then he'd have his job at the prison and Garceau's to deal with, whereas she had nothing but time to spare. “I take care of him sometimes, I'm Madeline Stone, I came Up here to—”

“I know who you are.” Raylene studied Madeline, and then she said, “Maybe so. Maybe that'd be the best thing. Hate to disrupt him any more than he already has been. Let me talk to John. Randi's conscious, just. If she gives her okay, I think we can do it.”

Randi did, and John said he thought it'd be good if Madeline could take Greyson for the time being. Paul said he was going to follow the ambulance to the hospital and would let her know as soon as he found out anything.

“But Mommy's in the car!” Greyson cried when he Understood everyone was leaving.

“No, she's not,” Madeline reassured him. “They got her out and took her straight to the hospital, really fast. They're going to take care of her, and I'm going to take care of you.” She took one of his hands but he jerked it away.

“Noooo. Mom.
Mommy!
”

Paul said soothing things and stroked Greyson's hair as he walked him toward the Buick, but Greyson continued wailing. Paul gave Madeline a lost look. She shook her head, not knowing what to suggest, and held her hands out to take him again.

“
Mommy, Mommy, Mommy
,” Greyson wailed, twisting in her arms. She swallowed hard, but kept walking.