Bitter Sweet (30 page)
Katy halted in surprise. ‘What!’
‘She hasn’t seen it yet.’
‘Haven’t you invited her?’
‘Oh, I’ve invited her, but she always finds some excuse not to come. I said she infuriates me, didn’t I?’
‘But why? I don’t understand.’
‘Neither do I. We’ve never gotten along. I’ve been trying to puzzle it out lately and it’s almost as if she doesn’t want others to be happy... I don’t know. No matter what it is that anyone mentions, if it makes them happy, she has to either put it down or scold them for something that’s totally unrelated.’
‘She scolded me the minute I came in the house, because I didn’t have my boots on.’
‘That’s the kind of thing I mean. Why does she do that? Is she jealous? It sounds ridiculous, but sometimes she acts as if she is, though I don’t know of what. In my case, maybe it’s my relationship with Dad - he and I have always gotten along fabulously. Maybe about the fact that I can be happy, even in spite of your dad’s death. There’s certainly something bothering her about my buying this house.’
‘So I take it we’re eating Thanksgiving dinner at her house?’
‘Yes.’ ‘And you’re disappointed?’
Maggie summoned a bright smile. ‘Next year we’ll eat here. How about that?’
‘It’s a date. Without any grief from me.’
Maggie put her mother from her mind. ‘And when summer comes, if you want to, you can come and work for me cleaning rooms. You’d have the beach right here and I know some young people I can introduce you to. Would you consider doing that?’
Katy smiled. ‘I might.’
‘Good. Then how about some apple crisp?’
Katy grinned. ‘I thought I smelled it when I walked in.
Maggie linked an arm around Katy’s waist. It had been three months of antagonism between them. Having the weight of it lifted was the only thing Maggie had needed to make her Thanksgiving happy. Side by side the two of them ambled toward the kitchen.
Chapter 9
They had withstood Thanksgiving day with Vera. Katy stayed four days and promised to return to spend at least the first half of bet winter break with her mother, after which she planned to fly to
Seattle
and stay with Smitty.
December arrived, bringing more snow and virtually no tourists until after the holidays when the cross—country skiers and snowmobilers would begin invading
Maggie drove uptown one day shortly before
to pick up her mail. The Streets had ample parking now so she pulled up to the kerb halfway between the post office and the general store. She was just stepping up onto the sidewalk when somebody called, ‘Maggie! Hey, Maggie!’
She looked around but saw no one.
‘Up here!’
She raised her head and shaded her eyes against a piercing
sun. A man stood in the bucket of a boom truck, high overhead, waving.
‘Hi, Maggie!’
He was dressed in a parka and held a giant red Christmas bell in one hand. The sun caught in the tinselled greenery which cascaded over the edge of the bucket to a light pole on the opposite side of the street.
“Eric, is that you?’
‘Hello: How are you?’
‘Fine: What are you doing up there?’
‘Putting up Christmas decorations. I volunteer every year. ‘
She smiled, and squinted and felt improperly glad to see him again. ‘They look good!’ She glanced along Main Street where swags of garland already created a canopy effect above the street and red bells decorated the poles dear to the curve at the east end. ‘My. Such impressive civic pride’ she teased, glancing up again.
‘I’ve got plenty of time on my hands. Besides, I enjoy it.
Puts me in the holiday mood.’
Me, too!’
They smiled at each other several seconds before he called, “How was your Thanksgiving?’
‘Fine, and yours?’
‘Okay. Did your daughter come home?’
‘yes.’
From the sidewalk below the boom another man yelled, ‘Hey, Severson, you gonna hang that thing or should I go take a lunch break while you decide?’
‘Oh, sorry. Hey, Dutch, you know Maggie?’
The man peered at Maggie from across the street. ‘Don’t believe I do.’
‘This is Maggie Stearn. She’s the one who bought Harding House. Maggie, Dutch Winter. He fishes.’
‘Hi, Dutch!” she called, waving. Dutch returned the wave as a red Ford drove past, veering to avoid the boom truck that was blocking one traffic lane. The driver of the Ford waved to Dutch and touched his horn.
When the track had passed, Maggie craned to look at Eric again. ‘Don’t you get dizzy up there?’
‘Who me? A fisherman who stands on a rocking deck all day long?’
‘Oh, of course. Well, it’s nice of you to volunteer and make the town festive for the rest of us.’
‘You get to see all the pretty girls from up here and they don’t know you’re watching,’ he teased.
Had he not been shouting so anyone on the street could hear, she’d have guessed he was flirting. She felt her cheeks grow warm and decided she’d dallied long enough.
‘Well, nice to see you. I’d better go get my mail and my milk. Bye!’
‘Bye!’ He watched her from above, following her dark head and her pink jacket.
Pink jacket!
It struck him at that moment how she’d always favoured pink. He’d forgotten. Now it came back, how he’d teased her, and given her small pink things. Once a pink teddy bear he’d won at a carnival. Once a pink peony from one of his mother’s bushes, which he’d stuck in the ‘cents of her school locker. Another time, pink tassels for her ice skates.
But the time he remembered best was that spring they were seniors. The orchards had been in full bloom, and he’d borrowed Mike’s car to take her to a drive-in movie.
On his way, he’d stopped out in the country and picked pink apple blossoms, whorls of them, and had stuck them behind the visors and in the handles of the wing windows, and behind the clothes hooks and even in the ashtray.
When he’d gone to pick her up he’d parked two houses away from hers, afraid her mother would see and think he was crazy; Vera was always gawking out the window when he came to get Maggie. When Maggie saw the blossoms she’d covered her mouth with both hands and got all flustered. He remembered hugging her- or she hugging him - in the car on her street before he’d started the engine, and the smell of the blossoms heady around them, and the spring evening pale at the windows, and being in love for the first and most wondrous time in his life. They’d never made it to the movie that night. Instead they’d parked out in Easley’s orchard, beneath the trees, and they’d opened the car doors to let their blossoms mingle with those crowding the roof of the car, and there, for the first time, they’d gone all the way.
Standing in a man lift twenty feet above Maggie on a frigid winter day, Eric watched her pink jacket disappear into the post office and remembered.
When she was gone, he returned to work, distracted, keeping one eye on the post office door. Momentarily, she reappeared, shuffling through her mail as she walked toward the general store a half-block away. When she drew abreast of him she waved again- a waggle of two fingers- and he lifted a gloved hand, wordlessly. She disappeared into the store and he finished hanging the phstic bell, then peered down over the edge of the bucket. ‘Hey, Dutch, you getting hungry?’
Dutch checked his watch. ‘By golly, it’s nearly
. Want .to break for lunch?’
‘Yeah, I’m ready.’
Riding down, to the hum and shudder of the bucket, Eric kept his eyes on the door of the general store.
You’re chasing her, Severson.
What do you mean? Everybody eats lunch.
The store was busy. Busy for Fish Creek in December.
Everyone in town knew what time the mail came in: between eleven and twelve each day. And with no home delivery within the city limits, noon brought a daily deluge of people who walked uptown to get their mail and pick up whatever they might need at the store, there was a social time in Fish Creek, marl time was it.
When Maggie entered the general store, most of the customers were up front. At the rear meat counter, nobody waited. She peeked around the high deli case.
‘Hey, what’s going on back here?’ she inquired teasingly.
Roy
looked up and broke into a smile. ‘Well, this is the nicest thing that’s happened today. How’re you, angel?’ He left his chopping block and came to bestow a hug.
‘Mmm . . . good.’ She kissed his cheek. ‘Thought I’d have you make me a sandwich as long as I’m here.’
“What kind?’
‘Pastrami. And make it thick, I’m hungry as a bear.’
‘Wheat?’
‘No, rye.’ He pulled out a rye bun while she investigated the contents of the display case. ‘What’ve you got good in here? Oh, the herring barrel’s in!’ She rolled back the heavy glass door, lifted a chunk of herring on a slotted spoon and popped it into her mouth with her fingers. ‘Mmm... now I know Christmas is coming!’ she mumbled with her mouth full.
‘You want to get me fired, picking in there with your fingers?’
‘They’re clean,’ she declared, licking off her fingertips. ‘I only scratched my armpit once.’
He laughed and shook a huge French chef knife at her.
‘You’re taking liberties with my livelihood, young lady.’
She pranced over, kissed his forehead, and leaned saucily against the butcher block. ‘Nobody’d fire you. You’re too sweet. ‘
On the other side of the deli case someone remarked dryly, ‘Well, I was going to order some herring.’
Maggie swung around at the sound of Eric’s voice.
‘Hello, Eric,’
Roy
greeted.
‘It’s hard to keep a Scandinavian’s fingers out of the herring barrel, isn’t it?’
‘I told her she’s going to get me fired.’
‘Whatever you’re making there, make two,’ Eric ordered.
‘Pastrami on rye.’
‘Fine. ‘
Maggie moved back to the meat case, crooked a finger and said in a stage whisper, ‘Hey, Eric, come here.’ After a stealthy glance toward the front of the store, she appropriated another chunk of herring and handed it to him over the top of the tall, old-fashioned cooler. ‘Don’t tell anybody.’
He ate it with relish, tipping his head back and grinning, then ticking his fingers.‘All right, you two, take your sandwiches and get out of my herring!’
Roy
scolded good-naturedly just as Elsie Childs, the town librarian, came around the corner. “I got business to tend to. What can I do for you today, Elsie?’
‘Hi, Elsie,’ Maggie and Eric greeted in unison, taking their sandwiches and making a quick escape. Maggie grabbed a carton of milk and they paid up front, then left together.
Outside, Eric asked, ‘Where were you planning to eat?’
She glanced at the long wooden bench against the store wall, where in summer tourists sat licking ice cream cones.
‘How about right here?’
‘Mind if I join you?’
‘Please do.’
They sat on the frigid bench with their backs against the white wooden wall, facing south, warming in the radiant rays of sun pelting their faces. Wearing thick-fingered gloves they unwrapped toppling sandwiches containing an inch-high layer of meat, struggling to open their mouths wide enough to accommodate the first bites.
‘Mmm...’ she praised through her first mouthful.
‘Mmm-hmmm!’ he seconded.
She swallowed and asked, ‘Where’s Dutch?’
‘He went home to eat with his wife.’
They continued their meal, conversing between bites. ‘So did you get your disagreement settled with your daughter?’
‘Yes. She loves the house and wants to come and work with me this summer.’
‘Wonderful.’
She reached in the brown paper bag for the milk carton, opened it and took a swig.
‘Want some milk?’ she offered, handing him the carton.
‘Thanks.’ He tipped his head back and she watched his Adam’s apple bob as he drank. He lowered the carton and backhanded his mouth with a gloved hand. ‘It’s good.’
They smiled at one another and she shimmied aside so he could set the carton between them.
With their legs stretched out, their booted feet crossed, they ate on, leaning hack lazily against the wall. Elsie Childs came out of the store and Eric drew back his feet as she passed in front of them.
