Island Girl (57 page)

Read Island Girl Online

Authors: Lynda Simmons

BOOK: Island Girl
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I read over my entry. Clicked Exit. Again the box came up.
Post?
Again, I clicked No, do not post. And entry number 30 or 31 disappeared like all the others. Poof. Gone. Time to go.
Rising slowly, I stood a moment. Stretched. Despite the rough night, I felt good. Stronger than I had in a while. Perhaps because I had a goal today. Something I had to do. Go canoeing.
I changed quickly into jeans and a T-shirt then lit up one of my hidden joints and took two puffs—not because the pot was doing anything to stop Big Al, let’s be frank—but because I liked the way it relaxed me, if only for a little while.
After two puffs, I stubbed out the joint, pinched the end, and shoved it into my pocket with the lighter. For later.
Grabbing my notebook, I saw Benny pop up in the picture frame. Waving to me. You old codger. What were you and my grandmother up to anyway? I’ll never know. Another Donaldson mystery. Like what really happened to my mother. Did she fall or did she jump? Grandma Lucy never talked about it, never let me talk about it, but I think she jumped. I think that subway train was her Ice Floe. I’ll just never know why.
Mary Anne must have heard me coming down the stairs because she was there at the bottom, smiling, wishing me good morning. Looking a little wary, not sure what mood the beast would be in. Did we start tap-dancing now, or could we have tea first?
“Good morning,” I said, and smiled.
Mary Anne smiled back. “Your meds are ready.”
She had them lined up on the table, a glass of pomegranate juice beside them.
There’s a good girl, Ruby. Take the pills nicely.
That was Big Al waking up. Walking around, touching things. Bastard.
“Any tea in that pot?” I asked, swallowing the meds and vitamins. No need to raise suspicions. I peeked out the window at the lilac. “Those babies flying yet?”
“Not that I saw, but Grace says they will any day now.”
Too bad I wouldn’t get to see them.
I glanced over at the door. The paddle was there. The life jackets were there. Mary Anne was watching me, suspicious. Or was that Big Al adding a touch of paranoia to the mist?
“Mark’s gone for his paper,” she said, assuming I wouldn’t know. Bitch.
For God’s sake, Al, could you give me a minute?
I took the mug of tea she offered. That was when I saw the hurdle—how to get out that door alone, with Mary Anne in the way. I wandered to the window. Watched the storm clouds gathering and turned back to her. “You know what I have a taste for? One of those fabulous cookies from the bakery at Sobeys.”
She laughed. “White chocolate macadamia? I always have a taste for one of those.”
I picked up the phone. “I should call Mark, ask him to bring home a few.”
She waved a hand. “I have some in my freezer.” Big Al and I were hoping she’d say that.
“I’ll be right back,” she said. “Don’t go anywhere.”
I didn’t go anywhere. Merely grabbed my paddle and a life jacket. Carried them upstairs, opened the window, and let them go. Watched them fall into the bushes where they’d be easy to find later. If I was lucky.
I raced back down the stairs, reaching the kitchen just as Mary Anne came in with the cookies, her smile bright, the way it was the day she brought over the first little bag of pot.
“We shouldn’t,” she said as she opened the package of cookies.
“But we will,” I said, and we laughed and ate them still frozen.
I finished my tea while Mary Anne chatted about the upcoming school year, the hopes she had, the disappointments she already knew were in store. Watching her fluttering fingers, her easy smile, I couldn’t help thinking that men were stupid, by and large. Mary Anne was a beautiful, fascinating, intelligent woman, a catch by anyone’s standard. Yet she’d been on her own for years, and for the first time, I wasn’t jealous when I thought of her living next door to Mark, seeing him every day. For the first time, I hoped they did find each other, because neither one of them deserved to be alone.
I checked the clock. Ten minutes until Mark’s ferry returned.
I pushed my cup aside. “I thought I was ready to get up, but I’m feeling tired all of a sudden. I think I’ll go back to bed.”
“Mark said you had a terrible night.” She walked with me to the bottom of the stairs. “You go back and lie down. I’ll let Mark know when he comes in.”
I put my arms around her. Hugged her. Kissed her cheek. “You’re a good friend.”
She laughed. “I try. Now get up there.”
Climbing the stairs, I heard her sit down at the table. Probably having a second cup of tea. Counting the seconds until Mark returned. Closing the bedroom door, I crossed to the window and opened it again. Went to the closet, reached way into the back, and took out the emergency escape ladder—the one I bought when I renovated the second floor, along with a carbon monoxide monitor /smoke detector. Funny the things the brain holds on to—or maybe Al was giving me that break.
Taking the ladder to the window, I placed the grips over the sill. Let the rest of the ladder down slowly, quietly, leaning over so the steel didn’t clatter and bang against the house. My heart was beating hard and fast, pumping adrenaline and much-needed courage into my veins as I peered down the length of those metal rungs. If I fell, it probably wouldn’t kill me—just put me in the hospital with broken parts, multiple restraints, and an IV drip of extra-strength antidepressants so I couldn’t hurt myself again. But what was my alternative? March past Mary Anne? Body-check her if she tried to stop me? Hardly, which meant it was the ladder or nothing.
The wind had a cold edge to it now that made me shiver. Reaching over to the dresser, I grabbed Mark’s sweatshirt, and pulled it on over my T-shirt. The sweatshirt was big and bulky, but warm, and the hood would be good when it started to rain. Checking to make sure no one was outside in the neighboring yards, I threw one leg over the sill, let my foot find the first rung. Gripped the handrail with trembling fingers and threw the other leg over. Found the rung and started down, slowly, looking up, not down. Breathing a sigh of relief when one foot finally touched the ground.
Gathering up the life jacket and paddle, I looked around one last time, then made a dash for the hedge that separated my backyard from Mary Anne’s. Pushed through the branches and kept going, through her yard and out to the street. Turned right and broke into a run. Heading for my canoe, making my own getaway, kind of wishing I had a swan.
I heard the
Ongiara
approaching as I hauled my canoe into the lagoon. Tossing in the life jacket, I laid my paddle across the gunnels and took my place in the stern. The clouds were growing heavier, darker. The wind was coming up stronger. Out in the lake there would be white caps, but here in the lagoon, the water was calm, the paddling easy.
Sailboats were heading in, along with motorboats and aluminum runabouts. I was the only one heading out, but no one knew that. I was just a little red canoe in the lagoon—destination unknown.
The dock was deserted, the ferry already on its way when I paddled out into the bay, keeping my strokes measured, even—conserving my energy for later. With my head completely clear, I steered the canoe through the Eastern Gap, taking the route Mark and I had been following for weeks, and grateful the current was on my side.
The lake was rough and the going hard once I reached open water and I pushed myself and the paddle to the limit—wishing Big Al would pull his weight for a change. By the time I made it past the Ward’s Island beach, I was already tired and hurting, but my timing was perfect. The sailors were all safely home and the threat of rain had driven the tourists away from the beach and the boardwalk. There was no one around to raise an alarm, report a lipstick-red canoe heading out farther and farther into the lake.
The storm blew in stronger and the canoe rose up on the waves and crashed down the other side. Water rushed over the bow, and she wobbled and struggled to stay upright, to follow me out where I wanted to be. The wind grew colder and the rain started falling, stinging my face, my hands. I pulled Mark’s hood up over my head, and the sleeves down over my fingers. I could smell him all around me as the canoe tipped from side to side and the waves grew higher and higher.
I knew a moment of fear, of panic, and heard Big Al laugh when I turned the Queen around and started heading back.
Come on in, sweetie,
he said.
I’ve got the fog cranked up and a nice deep cave all ready to go. It’s got your name on it, Ruby, and all your stuff’s inside, keeping warm. Come on back. I’m right here, waiting.
I stared at the shore rocking up and down in the distance. Thought of my girls. Patient Grace and wonderful wayward Liz. Thought of Jocelyn and the woman she could be, Mary Anne and the woman she was. I thought of the mockingbird with his endless love song, and Mark with his endless love for me, and I let my paddle go. That was when I started to cry.
For an instant, my bent-shaft paddle floated beside me, giving me a chance to change my mind, to turn back. But that wasn’t going to happen. I was Mark’s wife. His bonnie lass. And I would not let Big Al take me from him.
A wave came up, swept my paddle away. Then came another and another, lashing over the bow and across the gunnels. Soaking me, making me shiver. I closed my eyes and drew the sweatshirt closer around me. Filled my head with the scent of Mark and felt the Lipstick Queen roll.
LIZ
 
Rain was already falling hard when the deckhand lowered the ramp onto the empty dock at Ward’s Island. Fortunately, Nadia had shoved an umbrella into my bag as I was leaving, and I held it in front of me like a shield as I ran full out to the house, knowing I was already late.
My mother had been having a bad few weeks since the wedding, and I’d tried to help out as much as possible. Juggling my work on the Swan Affair with filling in as caregiver so Mark, Grace, and Mary Anne could go to their own jobs and Jocelyn could be a kid. Going to the protest for the first time in years because the bastards were trying to expand the airport again and the Diehards were going to need all the help they could get to fight this one. And spending more time with the woman my mother was becoming than I’d ever spent with the woman she had been and learning more about Alzheimer’s than I wanted to know.
But for all the times she’d been confused and angry, there had also been long stretches when she was herself again. Being alone with her—sipping tea in the garden or sharing a joint in the kitchen—had given us a chance to just sit and talk for the first time in years. She told me all the stories about Great-Grandma Lucy—most of which I knew, but a few I’d forgotten—as well as stories of the fight to save our home, and a few about my real father that I think surprised even her.
We talked about Grace too, and William. And the more we talked, the more I realized that Nadia was right—I had nothing to fear from Ruby and nothing to gain by holding on to the past. It didn’t matter that my mother wasn’t going to remember much of what either of us said. All that mattered was that I had finally forgiven her, and we had both forgiven me. We were starting over. Clean slate, move on. And as an added bonus, it kept Nadia from moving into my room.
When I reached the house, I dropped my umbrella on the porch and went into the kitchen. Mark was seated at the table with his cell phone pressed to his ear, and a laptop open in front of him. “Where’s Ruby?” I whispered when he looked over.
He put a hand over the phone. “In bed. Go on upstairs. She won’t sleep tonight if she sleeps much longer now.”
He went back to his call while I climbed the stairs. Her door was closed so I knocked once. “Ruby?” No answer so I went inside. “Ruby?” Her laptop was on the bed and the window was open. Rain blowing in. An escape ladder in place. My stomach dropped. What the hell had she imagined? A fire? The sheriff coming? Whatever it was had driven her out in a hurry.
I ran to the window and looked down, expecting the worst. Breathing a sigh of relief when all I saw were trampled bushes. But where had she gone?
“Shit.” I banged the window down and ran for the stairs. “Shit, shit, shit.”
“I’ll call you back,” Mark said when I swung around the corner into the kitchen.
“She’s gone,” I said. He stared at me like I was making it up. “The window was open. She used an escape ladder. I’m telling you, she’s gone.”
“Impossible.” He pushed past me, taking the stairs two at a time. He was closing the window again when I reached the bedroom door. “I didn’t hear a thing,” he said, his eyes moving from one section of the bedroom to the next, taking inventory. “I was downstairs the whole time, and I didn’t hear a goddamn thing.”
“She was probably determined to not be heard.”
“That’s what worries me.” He spotted her notebook on the nightstand. “So does that.” He flipped it open and I watched his face drain of color. “Ruby, what are you up to?” he whispered, and dropped the book on the bed. Headed back down the stairs.
I picked up the notebook.
I lve you
was scrawled at the top of the page.
“Her paddle is gone,” he said when I caught up to him by the back door. He took a raincoat from the hook. “Her goddamn paddle is gone.”

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