Back to Madeline Island (10 page)

We all climb out, and since it's now pretty dark, several flashlights click to life. Sam and Lilly are dressed in dark clothes as well, but they both are wearing gloves, and as we come around to the side of her truck, it's obvious why. In between two upright stone markers is a small, rectangular hole.

“You all's right on time,” Sam says with a tender grin. “Close enough anyways. Lilly and I been getting things ready. Since Prévost is as unusual of name as you can get, it was no problem finding the mister and the missus.”

“Sam walked right to them,” Lilly says with obvious admiration. “We had no idea how big to dig the—”

“This should do nicely,” Ruby says, shining her light into the freshly dug hole. “Howard, dear, would you do the honors?”

He and Johnny retrieve the wooden box from the back of the van and place it next to the small grave. I step over, lift the lid and gently place the picture, as well as the card, in and then close it. Everyone steps closer and we form a tight circle. Howard bends down and places the box into the hole and then he stands again.

“Let's all take hands now,” Sam instructs us and we do. “Lord—things down here don't always make a lick of sense, but this is one of your children that's long ready to go home. So, we done what was asked, now's time to open them gates.” Then in her rich voice she sings several verses of “Amazing Grace.” We hum along.

Somewhere, I know in my heart of hearts, a tiny star flickers to life.

“T
hat's right,” Lilly encourages us over the hypnotic drumbeat. “Oh Eve, I believe you're a natural.”

“As you all know,” I correct her. “I am anything but natural. But thanks, Lilly. God, my hips have never been so damn sore.”

“That's exactly why,” Lilly lisps to the group, “I've added some yoga in the beginning as well as the end of our classes.”

“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.