Balefire (9 page)

This is an excellent article about a unique resort. I guess I missed this one. We’re going to bump it up to the August issue, and great job with the photos! E
 

This meant she could start work on the hurricane piece as soon as she got back from seeing her parents. Not surprisingly, when she called her mother on Sunday, the begging started. The easiest way to get some work done in peace would be to drive out to Oconomowoc for a couple of days. If she waited until the weekend, they’d want her to drive up north with them.

She scrolled through her e-mails and saw one she had missed from Silke. It was from the Airport in Dallas three days earlier. She looked up at the calendar. That meant she was back in Milwaukee. She picked up her cell phone then stopped. The tenuous situation with her partner might be
aggravated by a phone call. Instead, she composed a casual e-mail sug
gesting they meet for coffee when she came back from visiting her parents.

Over her desk, she had hung a picture of herself with Silke at Fido’s By the Sea. They were both smiling and holding beer bottles. She hadn’t noticed until now how sunburned they both were. And happy. A knock on her door interrupted her mood.

“Hi, Kir. You all rested up?” Melissa entered without waiting for an invitation.

“Hi, Melissa. Would you like to come in?” She closed the door as Me
lissa groped her ass. “Hey.”

“Just wondered if you missed me.” Melissa’s hands were hot and busy.

“Don’t start,” Kirin said. “I need to finish getting ready. I’m going out to see my parents.”

“Well, I missed you. Are you sure you don’t have a few minutes?” 
Melissa’s low-cut short shorts highlighted her extra-long legs and the V-
neck tank top displayed her inviting décolletage.

Kirin knew she was blushing and hated the way her body betrayed her. Her momentary hesitation brought Melissa’s hungry mouth to hers. Her legs began to buckle under the assault as Melissa’s hands cupped her ass while pressing her back to the door.

“Please stop—”

“But I’ve missed you so much.” Melissa bit her neck. “Come on, baby, just a quickie . . .”

“No, I can’t.”

“You don’t have to do a thing . . .” Melissa covered her mouth again, unzipped her shorts, and wasted no time igniting a smoldering desire.

It was over before she could catch her breath. Her heart pounded and her legs shook. “Dammit, Melissa.”

She just smiled. “I knew you missed me. Have anything to drink?”

“Help yourself. I have to finish packing.” Kirin took her backpack into the bedroom and slumped onto the bed. She was still aroused and part of her wanted to drag Melissa into the bedroom. But they had to stop.

She lay back and took a deep breath. Their official breakup had been almost a year ago, but six months earlier Melissa had talked her into what she promised would be one night. It ended up as a three-day weekend and they never left the bedroom—well rarely. It was exciting, wild, and intensely satisfying, but she was exhausted for an entire week afterward.
Melissa knew all the tricks and all of her weak points. But there was noth
ing remotely emotional, loving, or romantic about it.

Kirin wanted more. She wanted an emotional connection. She wanted someone with whom to make love and not a just quickie in the hall.

Melissa appeared in the doorway. “Are you mad at me?”

Kirin sat up. “No. But I can’t keep doing this. You’re amazing, but I want more than sex, and we both know that isn’t gonna happen between us.”

“Okay, but I really do miss you and I miss sex with you.” She walked away, and Kirin heard the front door close.

She fell back on the bed and closed her eyes. She remembered the pic
ture above her desk. She wanted to talk to Silke.

“Enough. Get your stuff together and go see your folks.” She shoved
the few items into her backpack, went back to her desk to check her e-
mail, and then loaded her laptop into the backpack. She took one more look around and grabbed her keys.
 

SILKE STOOD IN the kitchen, waiting for the toaster. Rachel was packing. She had three Midwest sites to visit before the weekend. The tension was thick, but they had remained civil. Rachel had asked polite questions and admired the sketches Silke had brought back.

The toaster popped, and Silke spread peanut butter on the bagel halves. She heard muted conversation from the bedroom but didn’t want to hear the details.

A yellow note lay on the counter. She clenched her jaw and silently seethed for the second time. Rachel hadn’t the civility to leave Silke’s message. She went ahead and deleted it without permission.
Dammit.
And then she actually had the gall to be irritated because, “You never even mentioned applying for an NEA grant.”

She glanced at the scribbled note from the NEA. “Dear Ms. Dyson, We
are proud to include your name as a finalist for this year’s Grant. The win
ners will be announced in a few weeks.”

Rachel’s suitcase bumped down the stairs.

Silke shoved the note in her pocket.

“Remember that Carl is coming on Thursday to repair the dryer. It broke just after you left, and he and I couldn’t arrange a time until now. It’s been really frustrating.” Rachel rolled her suitcase to the front door and came back to the kitchen. “Is there any more coffee?”

“Sure.” Silke inhaled and started to pour from the coffeemaker.

“Just half a cup, I want to get to Fond du Lac in time to meet with our
trainers.” Rachel fussed with the cuffs of her shirt. Silke found it interest
ing how many things Rachel could do to avoid eye contact. “Do you need any money? Sorry I left the refrigerator kind of bare.”

“I’m fine. I’ll walk up to the corner store and pick up a few things. We can shop when you get back. Have a safe trip.” Silke’s stomach muscles tightened.

“Great. Okay, then. I guess I’ll hit the road. I’ll give you a call later.” Rachel gave Silke a quick kiss on the cheek and left.

Silke went around the counter, sat down, and clasped her head. Nothing had changed between them and the prickly discomfort returned. For two weeks she’d felt peace and now . . . she tore off a bite of her bagel.

She pulled a list from her pocket and spread it out on the counter. Her
plan. Rachel would be gone for three days. She’d be home for the week
end, and then was leaving for the East Coast for a week. She took a sip of coffee and felt the tension in her gut relax.

This afternoon she’d arranged for Roger to deliver his furniture to the studio across the alley. He had some friends willing to help move it and paint the upstairs to make it habitable. The landlord had been agreeable but told her she might have to pay more for utilities. He also agreed to provide a space heater when the weather grew cooler.

The orderly list filled her with purpose and courage. One of the remain
ing tasks was to call her brother. Philip was three years older, and they seldom saw each other because of busy schedules. He was a lawyer with a large firm in Brookfield. That ensured that he and his wife were
among the social elite in Southeastern Wisconsin. They were always po
lite and welcoming to her and Rachel, but she suspected underneath it, he might be ashamed of his bohemian lesbian sister.

The fact remained that she needed his help to protect her assets. He was the one who suggested that Tenants In Common Agreement and hopefully he would help her dissolve it. The house was mostly paid for, and she would happily sign a quitclaim in return for keeping the studio. Surely, Rachel could have no objection to that. If she did . . . they would just have to sell the house. That might be a better option.

She settled at her desk after cleaning the kitchen. She promised Diane regular updates to avoid worry. Diane had even threatened her, saying that she’d be on the next plane if she didn’t hear anything from her for a week. Silke smiled, grateful for Diane’s loyalty. And there was a new e-mail from Kirin, which she opened immediately.

Terrific, she wanted to get together. Damn, she was going to be gone for three days. It would have to wait until next week. She sent off her reply, agreeing to get together. Then she began a note to Diane.

Chapter Eighteen
 

KIRIN TOOK THE highway 16 exit from interstate highway 94. Ev
ery time she went to visit, she marveled at the extent of the urban sprawl.
Growing up in the Lake Country had meant miles of country roads be
tween small communities that popped up around a dozen small lakes thirty miles west of Milwaukee. Now most of those roads were four lanes
with very little in the way of farm fields. New housing developments
exploded in what used to be vast farm fields and the homes were enor
mous.

She rolled down the windows and took a deep breath. It still smelled the same—freshly mown grass, tall trees, dotted with lakes, ponds, and rivers. Nostalgia drifted in on the lake breeze—the interminable summers
she had spent playing with her siblings in their backyard and the neighbor
ing woods.

Her dad built them a tree fort that was the envy of the neighborhood. A hint of sadness tugged at her when she thought about how close they had been as children and how far they had drifted apart as adults.

She passed the car dealerships and the still popular drive-in before ar
riving in the downtown area. Now there were stoplights and turnabouts. It was
still a beautiful area trying to maintain the flavor of a bygone era. Origi
nally, the town was the summer playground for the moneyed
elite from Chicago and St. Louis. Large summer residences had been con
struct
ed on the shores of the larger lakes during the 1920s. Families migrated north
on the train for weekends and summer vacations. The beer barons of Mil
waukee bought land and built palatial estates.

Kirin continued through town to an older area west of the lake. The old two-story grey stucco looked the same as it always had with green trim and a wide front porch. She parked in front of the garage and turned off the car. For just a moment, she relaxed in the embrace of coming home. Not everyone had that privilege.

“I’m home.” The old screen door banged shut, enveloping her in a smell that she would always identify as home. It was a unique blend of older furniture, cooking smells, and lake air. She set her backpack on a kitchen chair and smiled at the freshly baked pie on the table.

“We’re in here,” her mother called from the dining room.

She gave her mom and dad a hug and sat down at the dining room table.

“We just finished lunch, but there’s more ham in the refrigerator if you’d like a sandwich. Iced tea?”

“No thanks. I grabbed something on the way out here. I did see the pie, special occasion?” She grinned at her mother.

Her mom raised an eyebrow. “Of course. It’s always a special occasion when you drive all the way out here from Oak Creek.”

“Very funny. You know very well I’ve been out of the country. I just got back Saturday.”

Her dad looked up from his newspaper. “Belize was it? I think that’s what your mother said. An interesting place I hear.”

“Yes, I really enjoyed it. Originally, I was going to review a new resort on a private island but a small hurricane derailed that plan. It knocked out their power for the whole week. The damage was pretty amazing.”

“Well, where did you end up staying?” her mom said as she took the dishes to the kitchen.

Kirin smiled. “Well, it was kind of an interesting twist of fate. I met an
other woman on the plane from Milwaukee. Turns out she goes down there every year because she has a timeshare. Unfortunately, she has a problem with her vision—tunnel vision—and really has a hard time in crowds so I was able to help her get out of the airport and find a place to stay. At first, we couldn’t get out to the island because the planes were grounded, and so were the boats.”

“Why in the world did the airline even fly in there if there was a tropi
cal storm?” Her dad sounded annoyed and a little protective.

“I’m not sure. Tropical rainstorms are not unusual. I think this one blew up faster than expected. The pilot did tell us they might have to turn around and land in Cancun because they were low on gas.”

“So you ended up going to the timeshare with this woman?”

“Oh, yes. My publisher couldn’t get through to the folks on the island and had no clue where I could stay, so Silke—that’s her name—offered to
take me with her when the boat came from her resort. Her friends from Wis
consin own the resort and have for a long time. They were very gracious to me, so I agreed to write a review about their resort instead. Win win.”

“Silke? What kind of a name is that?” her father mumbled.

Kirin laughed. “I don’t know. Probably something like Kirin.” Her
mother laughed. “Its Silke Dyson. She’s an artist. She has a studio in Mil
waukee and teaches at UW Milwaukee. Oh, she grew up in Elm Grove and went to Madison.”

“Isn’t that something? You fly all the way to Central America and end up meeting somebody from around here.”

Kirin stood up. “If it’s okay, I’d like to unpack and lie down for a few minutes. I’m still a little jet lagged.”

“Go ahead, honey. We’re going to start the barbecue around five, and we invited the Larsons from next door.”
 

“WHY DON’T YOU pile it up in the center of the loft until we get it painted,” Silke said.

Roger and his friend Steve propped the mattress and box spring next to the dresser. Silke had always used the upstairs to store her supplies, but it was a large room with a small bathroom and a sink in an alcove. The landlord promised a refrigerator within a couple of weeks.

The lot containing the garage was vacant since the owner razed the house following a tragic fire. Her landlord owned the house on the corner and bought the adjacent property as a buffer zone. Silke had first noticed the garage behind her house because of the large skylight over the north side of the structure. At one time, the owner had used it for a shop. He had outfitted it with built-in shelves and good ventilation. She knew it was perfect for a studio the moment she saw it. The bay doors allowed her easy access to move large pieces of wood in and out.

“One more trip and we should be done,” Roger said. “I’m really glad you could use this stuff, because I hated the idea of throwing it away. It’s pretty new. I mean my parents bought it for me when I started school. But I won’t need it if I get into the program in Florida.”

“It turned out well for me, too.” Silke wiped her hands on the front of her shorts. “The paint you wanted is on the counter, and I’ll just leave the door open for you guys, if that’s all right.” She unfolded an old sheet to cover the bedding.

“I’m pretty sure we can get the painting finished tomorrow, especially if you can do the trim around the windows.” Roger jogged back upstairs with two paint cans in his hands.

“That’d be great. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help. I have a new project that’s going to take a lot of time.” She smiled at his energy.

“Cool, is it for class?”

“No. Actually it’s a private commission from a man in Fox Point. He wants an old-fashioned lighthouse with a functional beacon that he can use to light his patio that overlooks the lake.”

“I bet you’ll do an awesome job.” Steve spread a drop cloth under the window. “The piece near the student union is awesome.”

“Thanks, fellas. I appreciate that. Interestingly, that piece got me no
ticed by the O’Hanlon Gallery. So remember, never give up.”

They walked down to the back door.

“We’ll be back with the rest of the stuff,” Roger said.

Silke waved as the pickup truck moved down the alley toward the street. Roger had been one of her most promising students, and she was thrilled when he received a scholarship to the Florida School of the Arts.
The innovative new program would be a perfect fit for his skills. She lingered in the studio doorway then walked through the gate into her back
yard. Their three-bedroom bungalow was still as charming as it was the first day she had seen it.

The flagstone patio bordered with perennials and a flowering plum tree looked inviting, just as she had planned. She sat on the garden bench and allowed her memory to flow. Her brief marriage to the handsome Dave Koch had dissolved quietly after two years. They had met as grad students and taught together. That was when their differences became blazingly apparent. She laughed and loosened the tie holding her hair. They had divorced amicably. She moved back to Milwaukee.

Years later, Silke found herself awed by the larger-than-life saleswom
an lecturing on self-promotion and small business. Rachel Bates had been the presenter at a seminar at UW Milwaukee who courted her aggressively and won her over easily.

Sunlight filtered through the leaves above her, providing a soft light to the small space. It saddened her to think of leaving this house and living in a small space across the alley where she would have to look at it every day. She stood.
I’ll cross that bridge when the time comes. For today, I need to try to get a hold of Phillip.