Bitter Sweet (17 page)
Next came Brett, the eleven-year-old. Eric fingered the silk lapel of Brett’s tuxedo and whistled through his teeth, ‘Would you look at those threads! Michael Jackson, sit down!’
‘I’d rather be wearing my football jersey,’ Brett grumbled, reaching inside his tax jacket to tug up his cummerbund. ‘This thing keeps fallin’ down all the time.’
They laughed and moved on to the end of the line where Eric broke into a wide smile at the sight of a familiar face he hadn’t seen in years. ‘Well, I’ll be darned. Lisa... hello!”Eric!’
He hugged the pretty, dark-haired woman, then backed away to make introductions. ‘
Nancy
, this is
Gary
’s sister, Lisa. Homecoming queen, class of ‘65. You can see why.
She and I were friends way back when
Gary
was just a little punk who always wanted us guys to throw him some passes or tag along on the boat. Lisa, this is my wife, Nancy.’
The two women greeted one another and Eric added, ‘Lisa, I mean it. You look sensational.’ The line edged forward behind him and he was forced to move on, adding, ‘We’ll talk more later, okay?’
‘Yes, let’s. Oh, Eric...’ Lisa caught his arm. ‘Did you see Maggie?’
‘Maggie?’ His bearing snapped alert.
‘She’s here someplace.’
Eric scanned the wedding guests milling about the sidewalk and boulevard.
“Over there...’ Lisa pointed. “With Brookie and Gene.
And that’s my husband, Lyle, with them, too.’
‘Thanks, Lisa. I’ll go over and say hi.’ To
Nancy
he said, ‘You don’t mind, do you, honey?’
She did but refrained from saying so. He touched her shoulder and left her with his mother, saying, ‘Excuse me, honey, I’ll be right back.’
Watching him go,
Nancy
felt a shot of trepidation, realizing he was walking towards his old high school steady.
The woman was a rich widow who’d recently called him in the dead of night, and Eric was an attractive man in a new grey suit and white shirt that accented his trimness and his healthy summer tan. As he moved through the crowd two teenagers and one woman a good seventy years old let their eyes follow him as he passed. If they looked twice, what would his old girlfriend do?
Eric saw Maggie for the first time from behind, dressed in white with a splash of watermelon pink thrown around her neck and over one shoulder, still dark-haired, still thin. She was involved in an animated exchange with the others, raising both hands, clapping once, then settling her weight on one foot and tilting the opposite high heel against the sidewalk.
Approaching her, he felt a smack of tension- anticipation and curiosity. She poked Brookie in the chest, still apparently talking, and the group laughed. As he reached her she was exclaiming, ‘... the
Wisconsin
state milk inspector, of all people!’
He touched her shoulder. ‘Maggie?’
She glanced back and went motionless. They both stared.
Years had gone by, but past intimacy held them trapped in a moment’s beat while neither knew quite what to do or say next.
‘Eric...’ she said, recovering first, smiling.
“I thought it was you.’
‘Well, Eric Severson, it’s so good to see you.’ Anyone else she would have hugged, but to Eric she only extended her hands.
He took them, squeezing hard. ‘How are you?’
‘Fine. Much better.’ She shrugged and smiled broadly.
‘Happy.’
She was wand thin. The cleft still gave her chin the shape of a heart but had been joined by two deep grooves that parenthesized her mouth when she smiled. Her eyebrows were thinner and at the corners of her eyes crow’s feet had appeared. Her clothing was chic and her hair- still auburn - a study in stylish indifference.
‘Happy - well, that’s a relief. And looking wonderful.’
‘So do you,’ she replied.
The blue of
Lake Michigan
still tinted his eyes, and his skin was smooth and dark. His hair, once nearly yellow and well past his collar had darkened to the hue of apple cider, and was now trimmed short and neat. He had matured beyond the boyish good looks of his teenage years into a honed, handsome man. His trunk had broadened; his face had filled out; his hands were hard and wide.
She dropped them discreetly.
‘I didn’t know you’d be here,’ Eric said.
‘I didn’t know myself. Brookie talked me into coming home, and Lisa insisted I attend the wedding. But you...’She laughed as if in happy surprise. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here either.’
‘Gary and I are members of the Fish Creek Civic Association. We worked together to save the old town hall from being demolished. When you stick with a project that long you either become friends or enemies. Gary and I became friends.’
At that moment Brookie stepped forward and interrupted.
‘And what about the rest of your friends, Severson not even a hello for us?’
Belatedly Eric turned to greet them. ‘Hi, Brookie. Gene.’
‘And this is Lisa’s husband, Lyle.’
The two shook hands. ‘I’m an old school friend, Eric Severson. ‘
“Tell him. your news, Maggie,’ Brookie demanded smugly.
Eric glanced down as Maggie smiled up at him. ‘I’m buying the old Harding house.’
‘You’re kidding!’
‘No. I just put earnest money on it today and signed a conditional purchase agreement.’
‘That big old monstrosity?’
‘If all goes well it’ll be Fish Creek’s first bed-and breakfast inn.”
‘That was fast.’
‘Brookie coerced me into looking at it.’ She touched her forehead as if dizzy. ‘I still can’t believe I’ve done it... I am doing it!’
‘That old place looks like it’s ready to crumble.’
‘You could be perfectly right. I’m having an architectural engineer take a look at it next week, and if it’s anything less than structurally sound, the deal’s off. But for now, I’m exited.’
‘Well, I don’t blame you. So, how long have you been home?’
‘I got here Tuesday. I’m going back tomorrow.’
‘Short trip.’
‘But fateful.’
‘Yes.’ They found themselves studying each other again two old friends, slightly more, realizing they would always be slightly more.
‘Listen,’ he said abruptly, glancing over his shoulder.
‘Come and say hello to my mother. I know she’d love to see you.’
‘She’s here?’ Maggie asked eagerly.
A grin climbed Eric’s left cheek. ‘Got her hair all kinked up for the occasion.’
Maggie laughed as they turned towards a group several feet away. She picked out Anna Severson immediately, curly-headed, grey, and stacked like a double-decker ice cream cone. She stood with Eric’s brother, Mike, and his wife, Barbara, whom Maggie remembered as an upper classman who’d played a murderer in the class play. With them, too, was a beautiful woman Maggie immediately took to be Eric’s wife.
Eric ushered Maggie forward with a touch on her elbow.
“Ma, look who’s here.’
Anna cut herself off in mid-sentence, turned, and threw her hands up. ‘Well, for the cry-eye!’
‘Hi, Mrs Severson.’
‘Margaret Pearson, come here!’
Anna took Maggie in a gruff hug and thwacked her on the back three times before pushing her away and holding her in place. ‘You don’t look much different than when you’d come in my kitchen and dean me out of a batch of warm bread. A little skinnier is all.’
‘And a little older.’
‘Yeah, well, who ain’t? Every winter I say I ain’t going to run the business again next spring, but every spring at ice out I start getting itchy to see those tourists come in all excited over the big one they caught, and to see the boats coming and going. You watch for them boats your whole life, you don’t know what you’d do if you didn’t have to anymore. The boys got two of them now, you know.
Mike, he runs one. You remember Mike, don’t you? And Barb.’
‘Yes, hello.’
‘And this,’ Eric interrupted, resting a proprietorial hand on the nape of the most awesomely beautiful woman Maggie had ever seen, ‘... is my wife, Nancy.’ Her features had a natural symmetry almost startling in their perfection, enhanced by flawlessly applied makeup whose shadings blended like air-brushed art. Her hairstyle was chosen for its simplicity so as not to distract from her beauty. Added to what nature had provided was a carefully-honed thinness enhanced by costly clothing worn with an insouciant flair.
‘
Nancy
...’ Maggie extended a warm, lingering handshake, looking square into the woman’s eyes, noting the hair-fine lashes drawn on her lower eyelids. ‘I’ve been told by a good half-dozen people how beautiful you are, and they were certainly right.’
‘Why, thank you.’
Nancy
withdrew her hand. Her nails were garnet, sculptured, the length of almonds.
‘And I want to immediately apologize for waking you up the other night when I called. I should have checked the time first.’
Nancy
tipped up her lips but the smile stopped short of her eyes. Neither did she offer any conciliatory nicety, leaving an unpleasant void in the conversation. ‘Maggie’s got some news,’ Eric announced, filling the gap. “She teil’s me she’s put in a bid on the old Harding place. Wants to be an innkeeper. What do you think, Mike, will that old house stand up long enough to make it worth her while?’
Anna answered. ‘Why of course it’ll stand! They built that house back when they knew how to build houses.
Milled the lumber down in Sturgeon Bay and hired a Polish carver from Chicago to come and live here while it washing up, to hand-carve all the newel posts and spandrels and fireplace mantels and what not. Why, the floors in the place alone are worth their weight in gold.’ Anna interrupted herself to peer at Maggie. ‘An innkeeper, huh?’
‘If I can get a zoning permit. So far I haven’t been able to find out where I have to go to apply for one.’
‘That’s easy,’ put in Eric. ‘The
Elated to learn this much at last, Maggie turned eagerly to Eric. ‘What do I have to do?’
“Go before them and appeal for a conditional use permit and tell them what it’s for.’
‘Do you think I’ll have any trouble?’
‘Well...’ Eric’s expression turned dubious as he reached up and ran a hand down the back of his head. ‘I hope not, but I may as well warn you, it’s possible.’ ‘Oh, no.” Maggie looked crestfallen. ‘But
‘Well, I agree, but unfortunately I’m not on the board any longer. Five years ago I was, and we had a situation where -’
Brookie interrupted at that moment. ‘We’re taking off for the reception now, Maggie. Are you riding with us? Hi, everybody. Hi, Mrs Severson. Anyone mind if I haul Maggie away?’
‘Yes, but-‘ Maggie glanced between Brookie and Eric who ended her consternation by saying, ‘Go ahead. We’ll be at the reception, too. We can talk more there.’
The yacht dub was on the
Lake Michigan
side of the peninsula, a twenty-minute drive away. All the way there Maggie talked animatedly with Brookie and Gene, formulating plans, projecting into next spring and summer when she hoped to be open for business, worrying about her teaching contract and what difficulties she might have getting out of it, and the sale of her home in Seattle.
Reaching the yacht dub and marina where dozens of sailboats were moored, she exclaimed, ‘And my boat! I forgot about my boat! I’ve got to get that sold, too!”
‘Easy, honey-child, easy,’ Brookie advised with a crooked smile. ‘First we’re going in here and have us a wedding feast, then you can start worrying about your new business and making the move.’
Bailey’s Harbor Yacht Club had always been one of Maggie’s favouritc places, and entering it again she felt its familiarity impose itself upon her. Ceiling-to-floor windows wrapped around the broad, low-slung building giving a captivating view of the marina and docks where cabin cruisers, down from
Chicago
for the weekend, shared the slips with more modest sailboats. Beside the bleached grey planking of the docks their white decks gleamed like a string of pearls floating upon the crystal-blue water.
Between the club and the docks, pampered lawns inclined gently to the water’s edge.
Inside, the carpet was plush and the air filled with the odour of freshly-ignited Stereo from a twenty-foot stretch of buffet tables placed against the windows. Blue flames swayed beneath gleaming silver chafing dishes. A line of cooks in tall, white mushroom hats waited with their hands crossed behind their backs, nodding to the arriving guests.
