Back to Madeline Island (13 page)

“Do I have to grate all this Asiago cheese?” I ask and know the answer. “It's hard as a rock and this grater is a piece of shit!”

“Use this, darling.”

She rummages in a drawer and then hands me a small grinder with a handle. I load in a hard chunk, close the little presser thing and start cranking out little slivers of smelly cheese. Much better and no damage to these nails either.

“All those years,” I say, “of you bringing this casserole over to the salon for Thanksgiving—I had no
idea
the hell you went through.”

“That's the hardest part, all that grating. Do you some good.”

In a big yellow mixing bowl, she tosses freshly washed, and now chopped, broccoli. Then gives the onions on the stove a good stirring. The smell is divine. I finish with the cheese and move on to chopping up a pile of garlic. We'll add this to the onion, and even Rocky, who's now back, lounging on the countertop, is taking notice of the aromas oozing around the kitchen.

“Let's beat three eggs and then pour that in here with the broccoli, shall we?”

“You got it—boss lady,” I say, and do as I'm instructed.

Adding the caramelized onions, salt and fresh pepper, I mix the whole shebang and pour it into an oiled, glass lasagna pan. Ruby covers it with wax paper and shoves it into the already packed fridge.

“How does frozen pizza sound?” Ruby suggests and I grin.

“I can preheat like a pro.” And so I do.

 

“A true lifesaver.” Ruby hands me a steaming hot plate to dry. “I think it's off to bed for me. I simply
must
find out whose finger it was they found in the marmalade.”

“Yeah, a thing like that would have me on the edge of my seat, too. What great things to read about right before falling asleep. Do you
like
nightmares?”

“I sleep like a baby,” Ruby replies. “I simply like the mystery of it. If there happens to be some gruesome details involving body parts—well—all the better.”

“You really are nuts, woman.”

“I should think—I'm living up here with you—aren't I?”

“You've got a point there.”

 

I'm all snuggly warm under several quilts, surrounded by fluffed-up pillows and a snoring Rocky off to my side. I do this every year about this time: review my life and try to be thankful about the good stuff and not too pissed about the crap. The truth behind why we really celebrate Thanksgiving is so embarrassing, for lack of better words. I mean, we did it right here on this beautiful island, came in and either killed or at least chased all the Indians away. From
their
land!

Then we held a big catered party and were
thankful
. I don't celebrate that. I try and face that horrible truth, somehow forgive my forefathers and then do my “year in review” with a
clearer
conscience. Like
any
of the wars we've been in—nothing good comes. People die, for what? Land? Let's face it, we're all just renters anyway…

I have to stop. My heart gets beating and I'll
never
get to sleep. Okay, let's start over. I'm thankful for this place, this cozy bed, Rocky not having gas tonight, Ruby, the green turban she wrapped around my hairdo, the…I drift away.

I
awake to the delicious aroma of turkey baking with an undertone of fresh coffee. It's the latter that interests me most. I slip into my robe, pull on a pair of warm sweatpants and step into my bunny slippers. I need a little more warmth on my legs with this chill in the air. Rocky leads the way down; into the dimly lit kitchen we go.

Folding my arms across my chest, I say, “You are so busted—I can't believe it!”

“I simply couldn't help myself.” Ruby quickly stumps out the offensive cigarette. “You mustn't tell the others…oh heavens, perhaps that Sam already knows. I'm a goner for sure.”

“I'm not going to say a word,” I say, opening the back door to let some fresh air in. “Only—how am I going to
not
join in? I mean, there's a nice fresh pack of Virginia Slims right there on the counter and I want one, too. God, this is pathetic.”

Ruby picks up the evil cancer-causers, pours them out onto a cutting board, lines them up, and before you can say “lung cancer sucks,” they're in tiny little pieces. We both start breathing again. She scrapes them into the waste bin.

“You don't expect me to believe,” I imply, pouring a mug of java and sitting on a stool, “that that was your
only
pack—I know you too well. Now where's the rest of the carton?”

“Cartons.”

“Oh boy.”

“I'm
practically
perfect,” Ruby implores. “One tiny little bad habit—adds so much character, don't you think?”

“What am I going to do with you?” I shake my head. “Look, I'm certainly not giving up on you and no—it doesn't add character. It's a smelly, highly addictive thing and we have got to stick together here. Now go and get
all
of them and meet me in the living room.”

“Oh, all right.” Ruby shakes open a handled grocery sack and heads into the living room.

Here we are, grown women in robes with colorful turbans on our heads, about to burn up some rather pricey cigarettes. As if I haven't thought of—what am I saying? I go over to my coat that's hanging by the door, riffle around in my “secret pocket” and then pull out an unopened pack. Like I'm any better. But I haven't opened them—yet.

I hear her upstairs, opening and closing dresser drawers. I wonder how many packs
she's
got up there, the little sneak. Rocky and I move into the living room and I start to fiddle with a fire to offer our unsmoked ciggies to, whom? The cancer demon? Nah, more like to
us
. To the thought that hopefully we can kick this. I had no idea how hard it would be.

I give the fire a poke and it snaps to life. Ruby comes slowly down the stairs with the grocery sack in tow. A guilty smirk sits on her proud face.

Crossing the room, she comes around the sofa and hands me the offending sack. Then she turns and sighs down into the cushy green chair. Rocky leaps up into her lap. He seems to know where he's needed most.

Ruby slowly pets him. “What
ever
can I say, darling. I suppose it's mostly due to the fact that I've simply no other visible weaknesses
or
flaws—such a burden. I just couldn't take the pressure.”

I open the sack and try not to gasp too loudly. There are probably three, maybe four, cartons' worth in here.

“I'll just add this,” I say, throwing in my pack. Ruby guffaws.

I toss the entire bag into the fire and I thump down onto the red sofa to watch. The flames lick hungrily at the corners, then the fire roars into a bigger blaze.

“Ruby, you weren't smoking in bed, were you?”

“Good heavens no, darling.” She lifts her chin to its normal regalness. “I would sit on the edge of my tub, dreadfully uncomfortable, I might add, and blow the vile smoke out the window.”

“We're going to lick this—we have to. The alternative is so—”

“Final. Now”—Rocky leaps off her lap as she rises—“we have seven hungry people coming in a matter of hours—oat-meal for breakfast?”

“Perfect,” I say and we regroup in the kitchen.

 

Pearl Bailey is belting out “Mama Ain't Cookin' Today” on the hi-fi, there's a perfect fire snapping away in the living room, and we're busy setting up several card tables as the stump table in the kitchen won't hold all of us.

Ruby's in dark tight pants and a flouncy polka-dot top with a complicated collar, accented with dangle earrings and many, many noisy bracelets. I have a similar number on—lavender capri pants, low-cut black sweater, and a pearl choker. I'm about to take these long rhinestone earrings off; they keep flying into my mouth. I touched up our beehived hairdos and sprayed them to death. Wherever we go, a trail of Aqua Net follows. (You know the smell.) We decided the formal, long dresses we found out in the barn are too hard to move around in—hot, too—and I have no desire to have my girls burst out and land on my plate either!

We're wearing matching, obnoxious fuchsia pink aprons that are so bright, they glow; lipstick (naturally) matches. I tied a pink ribbon around Rocky's neck, but he's already taken it off. Men.

“Knock knock,” Howard announces. Johnny follows him in the back door. “We came early to make sure everything is done correctly.”

They're both wearing suit coats and big grins, carrying an array of goodies, which they set down on the stump table. We all hug hello; Howard gives us each a sweet peck on the cheek.

“Ruby,” Johnny gushes, “I had no idea you could get your hair that high. What a riot. Lilly's going to be so jealous, and Eve—why, I've never seen such a creation.”

I turn this way and that. “Sam's handiwork. Not only can she see into your future, fix your clutch and sew faster than me, but she's also a whiz with the backcomb.”

“What all did you bring?” Ruby asks, peeking into their unsubtle Louis Vuitton satchel. “Smells divine.”

“Since we were assigned hors d'oeuvres,” Howard explains, “we brought several of our faves. This one”—Johnny lifts the bowl bonnet off with a flourish, to show us—“is homemade salsa. Using a jar of Ruby's tomato sauce, we added some goodies and it's darn amazing. The other featured item is something quite extraordinary. You start with won ton wrappers; we made a crab, roasted red pepper and herbs mixture, gently pressed the wrappers into miniature muffin pans, scooped in the mixture and baked them. You'll think you've died and gone to heaven.”

“Broccoli casserole,” Johnny coos as Ruby pulls it from the oven. “What waistline?”

“I can't get over how the aroma of baking turkey makes one a bit crazy,” Howard mentions. “God, it smells fantastic in here.”

“True, so true,” Ruby says. “Now, I need someone to carve this lovely bird, the tables in the living area need attention, and why hasn't anyone offered the cook a sip of wine?”

“Where are my manners?” I ask and head over to the cupboard for goblets.

Everyone falls into a rhythm. Howard carves the turkey with an electric Presto knife Ruby got as a wedding present. (They had electricity then?) I mention that it must be an antique and get a smack on my arm. Johnny puts the card tables together in the living room and proceeds to set them with Ruby's vast collection of mismatched china. The paper napkins of smiling pumpkins are fan-style-folded next to each plate. He even manages to create a beautiful centerpiece of pine branches and cones.

I go around and start lighting candles; we've got a lot of them. Soon the cottage is transformed into a festive dinner party. Sam and Lilly arrive, more hugs and hair comments. Lilly's silver hair is swept up higher than ever and she's sprayed it with glitter so that every time she moves her head, a rain of glistening silver flakes float to her shoulders. We all get sparkly just being around her.

Then Charlie, Marsha and Bonnie appear. More laughter and fingerpointing to our crazy 'dos. Sam lays out her sinful pies: lemon meringue and pumpkin. Lilly adds a plate of bars and Marsha and Bonnie plunk several bottles of champagne onto the table. Charlie says he's brought us a song, since his idea of cooking is pretty much open and eat.

“Now then.” Ruby clangs her goblet with a spoon. “My goodness, it's so lovely to have us all together again. Since we've not the proper room in here, we'll do a buffet line on the stump table. There's some gorgeous hors d'oeuvres the boys created to go with—”

“A toast!” Bonnie adds. “I brought some of the best champagne I could find.”

Howard pops the cork and pours all around.

“To”—my voice falters a little—“to the best family ever.”

We all cheer and clink goblets and sip and talk and shove delicious goodies in our mouths. Ruby and I put out the rest of our feast. Howard has carved the turkey and then garnished it beyond anything Julia Child could swing. There are buttered sweet potatoes, a creamed corn dish and a steamy basket of fresh dinner rolls that Marsha's trying out for Al's Place. They sure as hell get my vote!

Eventually the feast is all arranged and Charlie volunteers to be the first in line. After we load our plates and find a seat in the living room, Sam stands.

“Before we all enjoy this here bounty, I, for one, would like to offer, not so much as a prayer, but a big helping of gratitude to the divine,” she pauses, and then speaks in a different voice, “It's a beautiful thing you've done—Eve—and Ruby. You ladies have given us all something to hold on to and a place to be together while we find our way and that's something to be thankful for.” Both Ruby and I fidget. Sam sits back down.

I stand, clear my throat and look at all the expectant faces. “You know I'm not very good at this, but you also know I can talk your fool heads off, so I'll keep it short.” I glance over to Ruby, who beams me a grin. “From the very first time Ruby brought me here, I
knew
this place. I knew that this was home. And before I knew what to do next, things came—you all came—and so much of me has changed and, well, I love you all very much.” A tear slips down my cheek.

“To us!” Ruby raises her glass and I slip back into my chair.

We clink all around and seconds later everyone is talking and, of course, eating. The musical sounds of utensils and glasses make me smile. After we all have seconds of this and that (seconds none of us needs), it's time for dessert!

We have all sorts of help stacking up plates and all next to the sink. Ruby instructs Howard to reach up and carefully hand her a pile of ruby red glass dessert plates for Sam and Lilly's items-o-yummy-ness. Oh boy!

Just then, the phone rings. “I wonder who that could be,” I say, walking over to it. “Everyone I know is right here.” Everyone laughs and goes back to pie slicing.

“Hello.”

“Hi, Eve.” A raspy yet familiar voice. “It's your Dad. Is this a good time? Sounds like you've got company.”

I feel a sudden pang in my stomach and scenes from Thanksgivings long ago flash before my eyes. Mom, Dad and me, eating our turkey dinner in silence. Looking around at all the happiness here, I sigh and feel fine, no guilt for this feeling; him not here.

“It's a lively group,” I say, twisting the cord. “A lot of the people we work with, and they're
all
friends actually.”

“I thought it appropriate”—his academic voice makes me straighten—“seeing as today is Thanksgiving and…I just wanted to tell you how much it meant to see you…and to meet Helen.”

“She really wanted to meet you and I'd heard you were ill and—”

“This disease isn't going to get me,” he says. Yet I can hear the defeat underneath his words. “Well, I won't keep you from your party—hey—maybe you could come again. Have some dinner with Kate and me. You could bring Helen or maybe that friend of yours…Ruth.”

“Ruby,” I correct him. “I don't know, maybe, but Kate—”

“I know you two don't get along but—”

I feel the anger rise. “Don't get along! She won't so much as look me in the eye. Last time we got together, she acted like I wasn't there!” I take a breath. “Sorry, but I don't think that's such a good idea.”

“Hey,” he says, way too happy. “Saw your website. Ruby's Aprons, what an enterprise you've got going. Your mother would be very proud of you.” He says the last part in a gentler voice and it stings me.

How can he make me feel so
much
, after all this time? It makes me crazy.

“Thanks—listen, I better be getting back and—”

“Sure, you bet. Nice talking with you—Evie.”

“Bye—Dad.” I slowly hang up the phone.

Sam comes over and puts her arm over my shoulder. “You okay, honey child?” She gives me a squeeze. “That your daddy on the phone, huh.”

I nod. “He wanted to thank me for visiting him.”

“I bet that was a hard call for him to make. You know…some things in life you got to just—let go.”

“I'm trying,” I offer. “It's just all right there, all the old anger and resentment and—”

“Hey!” Ruby calls to us. “Charlie's gunna warm up his clarinet and blow us some jazz.”

We take up our dessert plates and head back into the living room. I suggest crowding around the fireplace so he'll have more of a stage in front of it. Besides, it's cozier there.

Charlie warms up a bit and I just know that Sam is not going to be able to sit still, what with all that soul she's got. He starts in with a slow rendition of a bluesy tune I can't seem to recognize and then he maneuvers into one of my favorites, “Easy Street.” Sure enough, Sam starts humming and then stands to join him, and man, can she dig down and pull out some amazing notes! We clap and cheer. Sam does her finger-whistle thing that makes my ears ring for days.

“Look,” Lilly says, pointing out the window. “It's snowing.”