Back to Madeline Island Page 11

  “Thank the good Lord,” Sam huffs out. “I would hate to leave Mister Yoga outa this belly dancing thing we got going on here.”

  “We’re nearly done,” Lilly reminds us. “Now, let’s finish with the movement I showed you. The triangle vinyasa. This time we’ll be adding warrior two on the end; that’s what makes it a vinyasa.”

  We go through the mountain pose, then the triangle, and then Lilly gets us to perform the warrior, and honestly, it’s work! But it’s also working, we’re all feeling healthier and I’m trying to light up less of those nasty things I’m so addicted to. It’s really hard to quit smoking, but the benefits are so worth it (like breathing), and besides, those babies are pricey.

  “You know,” Ruby says knowingly, “I believe I’m feeling less fatigued after our sessions, more zip in my zipper!”

  “Right on!” Lilly says and we chuckle.

  “Now,” I say cautiously, “I’ve been dying to have Sam give the model a look and see if the little cabin is—calmer. For lack of better words.” I look toward Sam and she rolls her beautiful eyes.

  “Somehow, girl,” she offers, “I jes knew you’d be wanting me to give your little model a goin’ over. C’mon, I’m just as curious.” She saunters over and we follow.

  I have to smile. Here we are, up in the loft, dressed head-to-toe in flowing skirts that make more noise than you can imagine, about to see if several spirits are gone—and how was your day?

  Sam dramatically slings her violet scarf over a shoulder and then reaches down to flick on the model’s lights. We group around the edge and peer down; Ed had built it over the top of an old pool table, just to give you some idea of how large this thing is.

  “Well, I’ll be,” Sam says and we hold our breath. “That little place out back is gone dark, nothing hanging around there, and over here, at the cemetery—same thing. Them souls have gone on home.” Everyone sighs.

  “That’s a relief,” I say with relief. “So the island is pretty calm then?”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t go that far, honey.” Sam shakes her head. “This island is filled with history and all sorts of souls come and gone—not to mention them that lost their way. And you need to keep in mind, some spirits drop in from time to time and so I’m thinkin’ we need to let this here little island—be.”

  “I tend to agree,” Ruby says and snaps off the model’s lights. “Let’s cover it up as well then, shall we?”

  Each of us takes a corner of the canvas cloth that was lying on the floor and lifts it up and over the model. It floats down, covering it completely. We head over to the huge window overlooking the lake and take a seat.

  “Now that we’re doing all this brilliant belly dancing,” Ruby says, “not to mention the addition of yoga—which I love, by the way—perhaps this would be a good time for us smokers to once again—”

  “I suppose,” I offer in a timid, whiny voice, “it would be, but what the hell are we going to do when the pounds start adding up? I’ve treasured having a crutch or two and a girl can only give up so much.”

  “Eve Moss,” Ruby replies with gusto, “I hardly think of smoking as a crutch, more like a calming friend. You certainly can’t blow a good smoke ring with a carrot hanging from your lips, can you?”

  “Lilly,” I say, “you smoke the least, if at all. How do you manage not packing on the pounds—you’re as shapely as a…well, a belly dancer.”

  “Why, thank you, dear.” Lilly adjusts her bifocals way up in her hairdo. “Actually, most belly dancers are more—voluptuous.” She shoots a look toward Sam, who smiles back. “But I only seem to smoke when I’m here with you all and then it’s only a puff or two after having our lunch.”

  “Afraid I can’t say that,” Sam says. “I get my voluptuous self to the Mr. Coffee and then light me a smoke every morning—wouldn’t seem right if I only had the coffee.”

  “I do have my other—habit,” Lilly confesses.

  She opens her white patent leather purse. Among an enormous pink can of hair spray and other assorted sundries are several bags of chips in various states of fullness. The tops of the bags are carefully rolled down and held in place with different colored clothespins. A woman after my own heart.

  “Rather high in sodium, darling,” Ruby says. “But really, shouldn’t everyone have a nasty habit of some sort? If nothing else, for the sake of character building.”

  “Oh honey,” Sam drawls and then waves her hand for emphasis. “We all got that character thing down pat. I do suppose I wouldn’t have my nasty cough in the morning if I put my smokes out for good.”

  “I can tell,” I confess, “things aren’t what they could be, doing all this exercise and then lighting up a stupid cigarette. Hell, Ruby and I have tried to quit I don’t know how many times. I just wouldn’t want these”—I raise my girls up and out and Lilly’s eyes bulge—“getting any larger. Jesus, I’d fall flat on my face.” Everyone laughs.

  “Smart alec,” Ruby admonishes me with raised brows. “We’re a pathetic lot—but why in the world couldn’t we stop smoking? We’re also a damn strong lot, as well.”

  “Maybe a major cutback,” I plead. “I mean, we have to work with one another and four irritable—”

  “Bitches,” Ruby adds.

  “Right,” I continue, “maybe there’s a hypnotist or…the patch or—”

  “Girl—I have tried them all,” Sam says, lifting her bulging purse up and rooting around inside.

  She pulls out three packs of cigarillos and tosses them on the coffee table. We each in turn open our purses, dig around all our stuff and then place cigarette packs into the growing pile.

  Lilly throws in a half-eaten bag of BBQ chips and says, “For good measure.”

  “Now,” I say in a commanding voice, “I’ve been doing some research on the subject, thanks to the Internet. One of the most important things they suggest on this ‘quit smoking’ website is to try and join a group and well…” I look around at each woman—my friends. “I think we’ve got that covered. But we need to support each other, and if the urge hits, as it will, they suggest doing some deep breathing.” I demonstrate by taking several deep breaths and then end up gagging.

  “Most impressive, darling,” Ruby says and hands me my water bottle. “But really, I do think we can do this and I suppose—know—it would be in all of our best interests. I mean, I for one want to enjoy my sixtieth birthday smoke-free.”

  I start gagging all over again and Ruby smacks my arm a good one.

  We “good-bye” Sam and Lilly, head in the back door of the cottage and plop down on stools. Rocky is sprawled out all relaxed and cozy in the middle of the stump table.

  “I am a bushed broad,” I say and Ruby nods. “Instead of cooking, how about we call the boys and head over to Al’s Place for supper—Rocky’s buying.” He lifts his furry head and meows in agreement.

  “That sounds lovely, darling. I think I’ll pop upstairs and freshen up a bit then.”

  Off she trots. I give Rocky a few scratches behind his ears and then head over to the phone. Before I call the boys, I click open the mirror-cupboard and have a closer look inside.

  “Boathouse, barn, tower, master BR. There’s all sorts of phones in this place.” I click the switch above master BR, which must be Ruby’s bedroom, and then I dial. Instead of a ringing sound, it’s a long buzzing noise.

  “To whom do you wish to speak?” Ruby’s very British voice snaps over the line.

  “To the sassy Brit, of course. Listen—”

  “Have I a choice in the matter?”

  “No—you know, right about now would be an ideal time for a cigarette…a really good time.”

  “We made a promise to try,” Ruby scolds me, and I know damn well she’s twirling a pencil or a pen around like a smoke, just like I am. “You said to take deep breaths and think of something else, like lung cancer.”

  “Right, me and my big mouth.”

  “It’s certainly not that big, darling. You breathing down
there or what?”

  “I guess so, but geez, this is harder than I thought it’d be and it’s been, what, fifteen minutes since the group quitting thing.”

  “Perhaps sixteen and a half, but who in heaven’s name is counting?”

  “I think the urge is passing—sort of.”

  “Good. May I take my shower now, or do I have to ring up Sam and have her breathe with you?”

  “No, I’ll be fine.”

  “You will and I will. Somehow we’ll make sure your girls don’t enlarge. I’d hate to come home one day and find you on the floor, unable to get up!”

  We laugh and then I hang up the phone, close the little cupboard and call the boys next door.

  Howard and Johnny, Ruby and I are gathered around a cramped table at Al’s Place in LaPointe. The place is packed, which is odd, since it’s November and most folks have fled for warmer climates, the big chickens.

  The boys are cozy in huge, warm sweaters and I notice that Johnny has shaved his goatee. He mentioned to me it’s going gray and he’d be hard spent to color it. The hair on his head, however, will forever be a nice chestnut brown; ah, the joy of chemistry. Thank God (or whoever) Howard created my “shop” here; now we can all be maintained properly.

  “Hello strangers,” Marsha gushes. “I guess, once a waitress, always one. But I have to admit—I miss the group, how’s Sam and Lilly doing, you want to order food or—”

  “I think a drink’s in order,” Ruby replies. “And would you be so kind as to take this vile thing away.” She hands Marsha the offending ashtray. “Dirty rotten cancer-causing butt holder!” she mutters extra dramatically. Good grief, talk about working things to death.

  I reach over and clamp Johnny’s mouth closed and then do the same to Howard.

  “You’re gunna puff up like a—” Marsha says, but Ruby holds her hand up for silence.

  “Not a negative word,” Ruby warns. “No telling what Eve and I may do. Withdrawal is providing me with desperately violent thoughts and I simply can’t be pushed. Now—how ’bout a round of your most expensive white wine—Rocky’s buying.”

  “You bet,” Marsha says and dashes off.

  “So”—Johnny hunches forward in his chair—“you two have quit smoking—cold turkey?”

  “Well,” I offer, trying not to sound too meek and mild, “we’re all quitting, the four of us, you know—the belly dancing broads.” We chuckle. “It really doesn’t make sense, working out three days a week and then afterward lighting up. Seems counterproductive. It’s like when you see people riding a bike and then taking a puff—while pedaling!”

  Marsha comes over and plunks down our wine. It’s in smart little glass tumblers that remind me of something the boys would do. That Bonnie thinks of everything.

  “These are from Charlie,” Marsha informs us. “Who’s at the bar, finishing up his supper. He had the special, and said it was darn good food. Tonight’s special, by the way, is Bonnie’s Secret Recipe Lasagna with a side of buttered corn and soup or salad—comes with I-talian bread, too.” She pronounces the Italian part real carefully.

  “I love lasagna,” Howard says. “How’s that Bonnie doing?”

  “Actually…” Marsha leans in closer, looking around for spies. “That Charlie has been pretty much a regular since Bonnie opened up and I think she’s almost got him convinced to cut his ponytail off. Let’s just say, Bonnie’s been wearing more lipstick lately.” She stands back upright. “I’ll be by in a sec for your order.”

  “The hussy,” Ruby hisses out, then raises her glass. “To lipstick wearers and the men who love them.”

  “Here here,” Howard and Johnny say at the same time.

  We clink. While setting my glass down, I admire the color of my lip mark. Everyone eventually orders the special and another glass of wine. Rocky can afford it. Charlie ambles over with a big grin plastered all over his rugged face.

  “Evening, ladies,” Charlie says, tipping his brown fedora our way. “Gentlemen. How are Ruby and her flock doing?”

  A waft of his cologne slips in my nose and I smile. He’s fancy in a worn tweed coat and faded jeans with that thick braid snaking down his back.

  “Lovely, darling,” Ruby offers with a tiny blush. “Was so kind of you to send over a round, thank you.”

  “It’s my pleasure,” Charlie says, mostly to Ruby. “I would have been by your place for a proper visit, but I’ve been helping Bonnie and Marsha over here a bit.”

  “How terribly generous of you, Charlie,” Ruby gushes out. “You must come for supper sometime soon.”

  “I’d like that.” He tips his hat again. “Good evening to you all then.” He heads on out the door.

  “That is one classy man,” I say and both Howard and Johnny nod. “I kind of like that long ponytail of his. It’s his trademark.”

  It’s the thin, skinny little ponytail I can’t stand; usually old hippies hang on to them while meanwhile their hairline has long ago headed south. I just want to run over and snip the thing off. It must be such a drag, going bald.

  “Remember that horrible man—Al,” Ruby says. “He had the most wretched comb-over. It would flop about when the wind wasn’t in his favor.”

  “Who could forget,” I add. “Here comes our food.”

  Bonnie, wearing one of the fancy blue-and-yellow striped aprons we made for her and Marsha, comes over with our order. I always think it’s so impressive when someone can carry loaded plates up and down their arms. She’s looking the most beautiful I’ve ever seen her, radiant even.

  “I would have come by sooner,” Bonnie says, plunking down our plates. “But we got swamped by a group that came over for some tour of yet another possible development on the island and I guess they’d gotten hungry, lucky for me!”

  “You look ravishing, darling,” Ruby says and Bonnie reaches up to pat her hair. “My heavens, this looks simply divine.” She sweeps her arm over the plate-laden table.

  “I haven’t worked this hard in years,” Bonnie replies, “but, well, you all know, when it’s something you love, it’s different. More of a pleasure and people have been so nice and Charlie—he’s a godsend.”

  “I’d say,” I say. “You do look great. Are you planning on being open all year round?”

  “I sure am,” she says with pride. “Listen, I gotta go, so nice to see you all—bye now and thanks for stopping in.” She darts back behind the bar.

  We inhale our delicious lasagna, eat all the bread and decide to head back to the cottage for dessert. I pull my van up to the back and we file through the porch and up into the warmth of the kitchen.

  “Hey, Rocky.” Johnny scoops him up and gives him a good scratching behind his ears. “Thanks for dinner, my good man.”

  “Yeah,” Howard says, giving his head a pat on the way to the living room. “I’ll light a fire.”

  “That would be lovely,” Ruby says, her head poked in the fridge. “I know I have something in here that would round things out nicely. Hey—bang on! Look what I found.” She plunks a familiar brown box onto the stump table, grinning proudly.

  “Oh boy,” I reach over and lift the lid. “There’s not a whole lot left in here; do we have to share—with them?” I slit my eyes. “This is B.T. McElrath chocolate and I don’t know if they deserve this stuff.”

  “Get that box in here!” Johnny yells from the living room. “Who do you think gave that to you in the first place, anyway?”

  I sigh, pick up the box, take a huge, delicious sniff and then close the lid.

  “I’ll put the kettle on for tea,” Ruby says, giving my arm a pat. “Now go and share a bit of that—but mind—you best save a piece or two for me.”

  “You best get your rear in gear,” I sass. “I can’t be responsible for my actions.”

  “Perhaps”—Ruby turns off the burner—“we’ll do tea later.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I’m sitting in my VW van, adjusting the shawl I’ve thrown over a soft yellow coatdress I ju
st love. My hair is up in a soft twist, so I really feel the cool lake wind on my neck. As the shore of Bayfield slowly comes into view, I scan the ferry parking lot for Helen’s silver car. She told me to look for the one with the red kayak on top. Shouldn’t be too hard to spot. Apparently, Ryan secured the boat with new locks and now he can’t find the keys.

  I reach over and turn off the CD of David Gray the boys lent me. Howard thinks I listen to too much music sung by dead people. Can I help it if I like classic jazz? I would kill for a smoke or a six-pack—no, make that a big-ol’-bag of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. Unfolding a stick of crappy smokers’ gum, I pop it in and do my breathing. Should be happy as I can, I keep reminding myself.

  While the ferry pulls up to the dock, I powder my oil-slicker nose, touch up the lips and then snap up my visor. Opening up the ashtray, I select several Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, then one more, and slide them into my purse. Revving the van to life, I pull off the ferry and head over to Helen’s waiting car.

  She’s standing outside of it and waves me over. I park behind her and climb out.

  “Have you been waiting long?” I ask after we hug. “They were having trouble unloading some mysterious-looking crates over in LaPointe.”

  “I purposely came early,” Helen replies, tucking a waft of blond hair away. “Bayfield reminds me so much of Mystic, Connecticut, does it to you?”

  “I’ve never been there. I honestly haven’t traveled much at all; that’s why I read so many books, I guess. You positive you want to drive?”

  “Oh sure. Hop in.”

  I sit down in her car and sink into the cushy seats. A seat belt loops up and around me. I adjust it a bit; the thing tried to clutch one of my boobs!

  “Nice car—what is it?”

  True, I could care less, but I’m still a little nervous around her and really nervous about seeing my dad. God, what if he slams the door in my face. I’d open it and slam it right back in his. I have to stop thinking like this.