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  “Stop.” I hold up my hand. “I want this to be a surprise to remember.”

  Sam mutters something about how it’s going to be, sister as I climb up the ladder into the duck. I pull the seat way up (Charlie’s tall), push my hair around and put it into gear. Waving to the smiling group—my family—I head around the cottage and down toward the lake.

  Passing the boathouse, I look up and spy Rocky perched on the balcony rail. He gives me a cat smile and I wave back. I hit the gas and splash into the lake. While drifting out a bit, I switch to the outboard motor, light up a cigarette and push in a CD. Soon soft flutes float out of the speakers; The V.I.P. Club sure knows jazz. Turning left, I head the duck toward Bayfield; toward her. With all this wind, my hair shouldn’t get too smoky. I hope.

  A V of geese sails across the sky and it makes me wonder. I mean, they don’t use cell phones and look at the perfect flying they do. Right about now, I honestly wish I could just stretch time out a bit, you know, make this moment—longer. Funny how you wait and wonder about something or someone and then, when you’re about to see that person, you want just a few more—what—hours? Like Sam said, “The time is right.” Tell that to my stomach.

  I put the pedal to the metal and can begin to see Bayfield. Even though it’s only two-and-a-half miles to the shore, I feel my bladder saying, “Many cups of coffee in here!” Great. Pulling down my visor, I redo the lips, give the hair some scrunching and snap it back up, the visor, that is. I think I’m pitting out. Double great. I remember when I was packing up some of my mom’s stuff; I found a package of armpit pads. At the time I thought they were really silly—now, I could use some extra protection in there.

  Chugging to shore, I flip a switch for the duck to become a land vehicle and drive up the boat ramp at the City Marina. I make a sharp right onto First Street. Several people turn and stare; this is not your typical SUV. Clicking on the microphone, I singsong, “It’s a beautiful day in Wisconsin.”

  Since the restaurant is only a block away, in moments I’m about to turn into Greunke’s parking lot, then remember the duck is too long to park in there. I pull up along the curb on Rittenhouse Drive and push down the parking brake. Here I go. I climb down the ladder, not an easy feat with heels.

  Pushing into the restaurant, I slip off to the left, into the world’s tiniest potty. But thank God it’s here—relief—and one more opportunity to make sure nothing’s about to leap out of my nose and no lipstick on the teeth; hate that. I reenter and look around.

  The walls are amber-colored pine and they’re covered with cool stuff. Mirrors, plates and platters, old movie-star photos, newspaper stories, you name it, the walls are packed. Judith, the owner, breezes by and sends me a “Hello, Eve” on her way to answer the phone.

  She hangs up, then turns to me. “You’re looking great, two for lunch?”

  “I…” Stammering I say, “Yes, and could I have that corner, the one with the little church pews?”

  “It’s all set for you.” Judith gives me a knowing look and I follow her around and up several steps into a favorite nook. “Lilly and Sam stopped in on their way over to your place this morning and—”

  “There aren’t any photographers or…” I slide onto one of the pews, shaking my head.

  “Of course not, wish I’d thought to call the Island Gazette—I’m kidding.” She sees my “raised to heaven” eyebrows. “It’s lucky for you I’m busy; otherwise I’d be hard to get rid of. I’ll send Helen over the minute she comes in…I’m so excited for you!” She gives my shoulder a squeeze and flits away. Here—there are no secrets.

  Judith has run this place for years—that’s her classy vintage Cadillac parked out front—and I wonder who’s doing her hair? It always looks great. If I have to sit here for long, I’m going to die. Or order a glass of wine—a bottle with a straw?

  “Excuse me, Eve—Moss?”

  A tall, slender woman, dressed in a tailored gray outfit, is extending her lovely hand. Her straight blond hair is streaked with strawberry and gold. That’s my nose! I slowly stand and she steps forward and—we hug and cry and laugh, too. The small crowd behind us claps and cheers and then—thank you, Judith—they’re led away.

  “You’re just beautiful,” I gush. “Nice color job, but you have got to eat more. Sit down, I’m about to faint.” My eyes will not stop tearing.

  She sits opposite of me and I notice the freckles marching across her nose. My nose. Her eyes are mine, too—green. But that’s all the resemblance I can see, so far. I’ll be checking further, though.

  “This is so incredibly—emotional,” Helen says. “I’ve not often considered this actually happening, you know? I mean, I knew since I was young that I was adopted. ‘Chosen’ is the word my father preferred. He made us promise never to look, but—”

  “Ah, well…that’s understandable—really.” I suppose it is.

  Judith swings by and takes our drink order. We both are getting wine—thank the Lord. Or Allah or Buddha or…

  “My father passed away recently, and so, some of my siblings are considering looking.” Helen gives me a guilty look. “I’m sorry I took so long to respond, but—”

  “Don’t give it another thought. I’m just glad that you finally did—decide, I mean. Personally, for selfish reasons, I felt it was time for me to try and find you, and if you weren’t wanting to meet me, I—probably would have gone mad.” Could that have come out worse?

  “But I did want to. I can’t imagine not wanting to meet your birth parents—yet I think it’s a very personal choice. One of my brothers has no interest at all. But I’ve got an older sister who tried to find her birth parents and they let her know that would never happen.”

  “I can appreciate that,” I offer. “Many of my clients—I used to own a hair salon—have shared their secrets with me. Having a child, when you’re a child yourself, can make you very un-marry-able later on. Especially thirty years ago. So I suppose, for some women, they feel it could affect their life—now.”

  Judith plunks our wine down, gives me a wink and offers us tissues from a box covered in a zebra pattern. We each take several—then she’s gone.

  “Hey—your birthday was a couple of weeks ago! Happy thirtieth,” I say. We clink goblets. “I always think of you on October sixth.”

  “Me, too. I mean…think of you…I mean.” Helen looks uncomfortable. “I’m not usually very good at this, talking about myself, but you seem to have an effect on me.”

  “Good. Truth is, all my life people have told me the darndest things. I should have charged double at my salon. Hard enough doing hair all day, but you have to be a good listener, too. What do you do, to pay the rent?”

  “I’m a mathematics professor over at the University of Minnesota, Duluth.” She straightens and tucks a lock of hair behind an ear. “My focus is on differential calculus and how…sorry, I’m boring you. Ryan always says that I—”

  “Now who’s this Ryan?” Oh-my-God, she’s blushing, this might be a serious Ryan.

  “He’s my—boyfriend. He’ll be done with his doctorate in forensic psychology in another year.”

  “That’s the study of criminals—isn’t it?” Ruby will love this guy.

  “Yes—and no,” she ponders, retucks the hair again. “Ryan’s focus is on the psychology part. Why a crime is committed, what was the person feeling and thinking at the time. Were they mentally competent—things like that.”

  “How…interesting,” I lie and she sees right through me and we laugh. “I’m afraid I’m not the intellectual type, but I think I can keep up. You certainly have my brains, though.” We chuckle and it feels great. Something in the air loosens a bit more.

  A waitress interrupts us, offers us lunch suggestions and sets down fresh wineglasses.

  “I see what you mean.” Helen peers over her “newspaper” menu. “The whitefish liver is a hot item here.”

  “The fillet sounds perfect,” I offer. “Broiled whitefish, with almonds and dill d
rizzle. Honey—sign me up!” Helen looks around her menu—and smiles. I melt.

  We don’t chat much while eating; the delicious food is beyond words, almost. I order coffee, it’s tea for Helen, and then we decide to split a chocolate sundae. Ah.

  “Helen, you must have questions or…” I ask, suddenly nervous again.

  “My mother’s not quite ready to meet you, but she suggested I ask if you have any—medical conditions that…”

  “Nothing out of the ordinary.” I think for a moment. “Well…my mom, your grandmother—I’m sorry to say—died years ago of stupid cancer and my dad…we haven’t been very close. I’m an only child.”

  “So Ruby’s your…girlfriend?” she carefully asks and I can tell she’d be fine with it.

  “No.” I giggle at the thought. “She’s just a very dear friend. I’ve been less than lucky in the love department, but—I have Rocky.”

  “Rocky?”

  “My cat. Longest relationship I’ve ever had, besides the folks.”

  “There is one thing, though”—she tucks both sides—“my mother said that when she brought me home from the convent, I was dressed in a perfectly knit yellow sweater. Did you make it—or?”

  “No—I don’t know a thing about a yellow sweater. Maybe one of the sisters put you into it.”

  “Doesn’t matter…but I loved that sweater. I used to dress my dolls in it. Mom kept it for me in her cedar chest.”

  “I’ll take that,” I say to the waitress, snatching the check away. “My treat.”

  “Thank you. What should I call you? I mean I don’t mean to—”

  “How about Eve? You have a mom and Eve would be just fine.” Tears start up again and I just redid my face. Waterproof mascara is such a joke.

  We gather up our things and head out the door. I notice eyes peeking out from the kitchen. Outside, the afternoon air is crisp and feels so wonderful; after all, I’m with my daughter.

  “What in the world is that thing?”

  Of course, she’s pointing to the duck. “That, my dear Helen, is my mode of transportation. C’mon, let’s take her for a spin!”

  She tentatively follows me over. I step up the ladder and turn back to reach down for her arm. After thinking it over, she puts her hand in mine and clambers up.

  “It’s like a bus,” she looks about. “But I can tell—hey—this is one of those amphibious vehicles used in the Wisconsin Dells for river tours. I rode on one of these years ago when my parents took us there for a summer vacation.”

  “Would you like a dry land tour of Bayfield?” I suggest as she sits down next to me. “Then a quick dip in the lake? I know you need to get back. Next time maybe you could come over to the island.”

  “I’d like that,” Helen states. “The ‘next time’ part, too,” she says softly.

  I look over toward her and my heart swells to bursting.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Back at the cottage, I’m strolling along the shoreline after changing into warmer clothes; a walk to sort things out seems just the ticket. Since fall is sweeping its arm across the island, the air is crisp and chilly and refreshing, good for clearing the head. Pulling my sweater close, I bend down and scoop up a piece of green glass that was reflecting sunlight. Swishing it in the cool lake water, all the sand and goo slips away, revealing a bubble way inside. Since this isn’t the sea, I guess this would qualify as “lake glass.” I slip it into my pocket and walk on in the direction of the boys’ cottage.

  There’s a grove of birch trees between our places, and the leaves have turned a brilliant yellow. A gust of wind reaches skyward, tossing hundreds of them into the air above me. I smile—then frown, wondering if Helen, what Helen is thinking right about now. Am I a disappointment to her? I’m no princess. I sigh and chuckle, wiping another tear away. Where’d that come from? I couldn’t believe how I lost it at Greunke’s earlier; talk about an “emotional episode.”

  As I wade through the leaves, my boots make a crunching sound and it reminds me of corn flakes. Does she think like this? She’s so smart—slim, too. I look down at my chest and heave a sigh. Missed out on the big boobs, too. Good. They’re certainly hard on a girl’s shoulders. Bras, what an invention. At least she’s got a boyfriend; wonder if they’ll marry? Will I be invited? Probably not, I mean, her mom isn’t even sure if she wants to meet me, and really, who can blame her? The girl who gave away, I gasp, her girl. My imagination drives me crazy sometimes.

  Sighing some more—I think I have to, no, I know I have to figure out what to do about my dad and all. It’s the “all” part I’m having trouble with. After so many years, what will I say? I’ve tried my damnedest not to even think about him. Now, things are different and I’m different and Helen, well, she’s got the right to at least meet him. A red cardinal zooms in front of me and lands on a low-hanging branch. I halt in my crunching tracks and watch. He seems to be looking me over, his head turning from side to side, considering me. I’m so close I can see his heart beating fast as hell in his pint-sized, puffed-out chest. I move a bit closer; he hesitates and then zips up and away toward the boathouse.

  Funny how nature can pull you into the right place at times. This wind in my hair, these crispy leaves and the smell of fall, all damp and getting ready to go sleep. Madeline Island with its mossy meadows and woods that give way to gentle knolls crowned with silver birches and poplar trees. I love the white pine avenues that lead to hidden cottages like this one. It’s really such a wild place with a touch of mystery and a sky that goes on and on. Here, I’ve found so much—and now Helen.

  I’m so grateful she turned out to be far more than the image I’ve kept in my heart all these years. She’s so much bigger and brighter and, well, she of course has my perfect nose, too. I’m obsessing about her parts that resemble mine, but I’ve got thirty years of not seeing those things to make up for, so give me a break here. But I can see her dad, too. Won’t be long until Helen will want to know about him, too. Oh boy.

  “Well, here you are, darling,” Ruby puffs out. “Wasn’t sure if you wanted company or not, but then the strangest thing happened.” She flips her shawl over a shoulder for dramatic pause.

  At which point I dramatically ask. “Ruby—do tell.” She smacks me on the arm, raises her chin a bit.

  “A red cardinal had come tapping on the screen door over at the boathouse. I was afraid Rocky would investigate and wanted to shoo the would-be snack away. Well, when I came to the door, he flew off this way and I spied you.”

  “I think we have company.”

  Rocky meows a “hello” and rubs against my leg.

  “Oh, look who’s here.” Ruby reaches down to pick him up—he scurries away. “I forget. He never wants to be carried around by humans out-of-doors. Doesn’t want any fellow creatures to think he’s a sissy or any such rubbish. Really, men are all alike, aren’t they?”

  “Yes, I suppose they are. Hey—aren’t you going to ask me how my lunch went?”

  “I’m practically bursting, but always the polite one.”

  “Always?”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake—spill the beans and be snappy about it—I want all the details and don’t leave a single thing out!”

  A log snaps and crackles, shooting sparks this way and that. A red-hot coal leaps out of the fireplace, landing on the hearth. It sits there—throbbing with life. I jump up from the sofa and sweep it back into the fire. Dean Martin croons softly in the background.

  “What an adventure you’ve had,” Ruby remarks, adding just a dollop of cognac to our tea. “Here, drink this, darling.”

  “Sipping from these fancy teacups,” I say, softly replacing my cup into its lily-pad-shaped saucer, “makes me feel like I’m playing tea party.”

  “Good. Now let’s get back to you and Helen. What are your plans—now that you’ve met and seen her—she’s, let’s see if I can recall all this correctly: not a convicted murderer on death row with four illegitimate children, not a lipstick lesbian, not a l
azy moocher living on welfare, not married to a Baptist with five children and twelve grandchildren and not—God forbid the thought—a hairstylist. How’d I do?”

  “You forgot about the transsexual.”

  “Quite right,” Ruby states, pulling her afghan closer around her tiny shoulders. “Do you think we should throw a little soirée for her? Nothing fancy, of course. Invite the boys over; she could bring her boyfriend, Ryan.”

  “Hey, slow down here. I don’t want to scare her off or anything. I mean, we just met and we need to—you know—get to know each other. It’s so weird, I feel like I should know everything about her, but I don’t. I don’t know a thing.”

  “Yes, you do, darling.” Ruby reaches up and pulls a thread out of thin air. Swinging from the end is a big spider. “Think I’ll take our friend here outside.”

  She heads over to one of the two French doors that open to the lake and tosses him out.

  “There, now where were we—oh yes, not knowing Helen.”

  “It’s not like I…It just seems so odd that I never saw her…blow the candles out on all those birthday cakes…and never once gave her a Christmas gift, or made her a peanut butter and jelly sandwich or splashed in puddles or kissed a scratch,” I say, sighing long and trying hard not to cry.

  “Eve—things are exactly the way they’re supposed to be. Why—you didn’t have to change one diaper and never once had a crabby baby clamped to your breast.”

  “How would you know about getting clamped by a baby?” I chuckle. If men had to breast-feed, I bet things would be different.

  “I overheard one of your clients complaining about how sore her breasts were, poor dear.” We both suck our chests in. “She was ranting and raving about feeling like a cow and pumping at all hours of the day and night—really, darling, you lucked out, if you ask me.”

  “Maybe so and I guess you’re right about the other stuff, but…when will I stop this guilty feeling I have from stealing away all this good stuff?”