Moon over Madeline Island (23 page)

“The sky is getting awfully dark.” Ruby gasps as a bolt of lightning snaps and crackles across the sky directly above the house. Oh boy.

I reach up to knock but change my mind and try the door instead. “Hello? Bonnie, it's—”

Bonnie rushes out of the darkness, grabbing me in a tight hug. She's so frail, even though much taller than I. There's just a hint of a woman wrapped up tight in a big blue sweater that I notice is inside out.

“Oh Eve.” Bonnie's voice is a hoarse whisper; her eyes are red and puffy as hell. I pull away and she immediately crosses her arms in front of her, pulling herself in. She “Hellos” Ruby, then steps aside for us to enter.

I'm surprised by how charming the living room is—small and sparse, but I can see there are good bones here. It's a typical Craftsman-style house with open rooms and lots of wooden built-ins. Everywhere you look—covering the mantle, on shelves and in several hutches—are trophies. Tons and tons of trophies. I'm doing everything I can to avoid looking down—but where the hell is…he?

“I'd offer you something, but he's…” Bonnie snivels, brushes hair from her face and then adjusts her body. She becomes a bit taller. “He's in the kitchen, in front of the refrigerator.” She stammers this fact. Ruby and I exchange a look of, “Now what?”

I sigh. “Where's the phone?” Bonnie points toward the back of the house. “Not in the kitchen?” I accuse, then think better of myself and grab Ruby by the wrist and we head off through the dining room and around and into—the kitchen. If I think too much about all this, I'll…I don't know…throw up maybe. The air in here is so tight.

“Watch for Sam; we're just going to call the sheriff or police or…” I manage to say over my shoulder while hauling Ruby beside me. We stand on the threshold of the tidy little kitchen and both of us stop short. Ruby smacks into me and I nearly trip over the big lump lying on top of a fuzzy green rug. The offending vacuum is parked neatly over in a corner. The phone seems to be miles away, over by the back door, which I really would like to dash out of.

“Thank heavens she thought to cover him.” Ruby sidesteps the pink chenille–covered Al, and joins me at the phone.

“I really can't get over how everyone has these old dial phones here,” I remark to the black plastic phone, its curly cord is all twisted.

“If you haven't a direct line when the power goes,” Ruby says while wrestling to open the back door, “then you're shit out of luck!” The door yanks open and we both gladly gulp in the damp, stormy air.

“Hello, I'd like to…There's been a vacuum…I mean…accident…” Ruby snatches the phone from me and explains the situation. In her clipped Brit way it sounds so less awful, like reporting the accidental demise of a soufflé that up and fell.

“There—that's done. Someone from the police station will be here shortly as well as an ambulance. The ambulance will be a bit as they've got to take the ferry over from Bayfield.”

“Let's go out front and see how Bonnie's doing,” I exit the kitchen with Ruby on my heels.

Bonnie rises from a rocking chair, quickly crossing the room toward us.

“I don't know why I didn't just call them myself. I wasn't sure what…” Her frightened eyes implore me to what? Forgive her? “I simply didn't—He's always had this power over me. I can't explain it.”

“Dear child.” Ruby reaches for Bonnie's hands. Holds them like a precious treasure. “You needn't be afraid any longer.”

Then the dam lets loose and Bonnie crumples into Ruby's tiny arms. Ruby leads her over to her couch, carefully sitting next to her, cradling her convulsing body.

I head over to the large picture window and sling open the drapes. The storm is still in the brewing stage. A few rumbles of thunder but no rain. My God, how in the world did I get myself wrapped up in all this? How do people get so twisted up together, and how is it that somehow you survive. Ruby's a big fan of the “surrender” concept and—I look over at them—it seems to work for her, but me, I'm just not really made that way.

Yet I do see how so much crap in life can land in your lap and you have to either accept it and move on, so to speak, or jump up and either run, or at least try to change things. I guess it boils down to whether you're the victim or not. Can you be a victim and still be a hero? Being a woman—hell, being a human—is such a drag sometimes.

“Hey,” I say too loudly. I've never been so relieved. “Here comes the ambulance with Sam and Lilly right behind.” I look down and notice that in my rush I put on one green and one blue Ked.

“Thank heavens,” Ruby remarks. “You let us handle things; you're in no shape…”

Bonnie closes her eyes for a moment and I'm sure she's going to pass out or something. Instead she pulls herself up. Pushes her hair back, out of the way and accepting a tissue from Ruby, blows her nose ever so politely.

“I'm fine.” Her voice is stronger. I look at Ruby and we shrug. “I'm really fine now.” She takes a deep breath and all three of us head toward the front door.

 

The ambulance has hauled Al away. He was declared dead by a very kind young man who gently gave the news to Bonnie. She mumbled a tearful “I know,” and they left with him. The young man also offered her something to calm her down, but she declined. I had all I could do not to butt in and ask for several somethings for myself. Ruby saw me step forward and shot me one of her looks.

“Lilly and me”—Sam motions for Lilly to follow—“we gonna brew up a big pot of Jamaican coffee.” They head back to Bonnie's kitchen and we hear drawers and cupboards being opened and closed.

“Exactly what's
in
Jamaican coffee?” I ask. Both Bonnie and Ruby shrug.

The smell of coffee starts to permeate the living room and draws us back into the kitchen. The three of us stand in the dining room and peer into the kitchen where Sam and Lilly have set up a lovely table. I notice the green rug where Al—never mind—but the rug is in the shape of a big lily pad with a red dragonfly in the middle. I smile and realize the vacuum has been put away as well. Good.

A knock at the front door is followed by a creak and a slam. Marsha rushes into the kitchen all out of breath, her hair dripping wet.

“I was in the shower”—Sam hands her a towel—“when my machine picked up and the man I rent from told me he was looking at something with his telescope and was watching an ambulance pull up to Bonnie's and…What the hell happened? You okay?”

“Pull up a chair sister,” Sam directs. We all find chairs here and there, reassembling around the worn Formica table. “A mug of this and things are gonna smooth out a bit.” After pouring all around, she plunks the pot down in the center and we reach and lift and tentatively sip.

“Oh my.” Ruby blinks her eyes a bit. “I believe I'm going to enjoy this.”

“This is…strong,” Lilly lisps. We nod agreement. “Would you mind if…” Lilly disappears into the living room and returns with her shiny purse. She snaps it open, roots around inside, then holds up a crumpled pack. “If I smoke?”

“Al never allowed it in—” Bonnie catches herself. Clears her throat, pulls a plastic orange ashtray out of a drawer and puts it in the middle of the table. “Could I have one of those?”

Needless to say, everyone but Marsha lights up. She's trying to quit—who isn't? Looking around the table and feeling calmer all the time, thanks to Sam's “brew,” I am grateful to be here. Grateful and more than that, I'm realizing that this bunch of women, in all our different shapes and sizes, are a family.

“Listen, Bonnie,” Marsha says, waving away smoke. “I'll help with the—you know—arrangements and—”

“We'll all help,” I break in and mean it. “I've got an idea.”

“Oh dear,” Ruby says with a sigh.

“By any chance have you got a big trunk?” I ask Bonnie. I put out my cigarette.

“No,” Bonnie answers. “Wait a minute. In the living room. Al brought it home when he emptied his parents' trailer.”

“I bet you're not very attached to it.” I get up, push in my chair and suggest we adjourn to the living room.

Bonnie liberates the steamer trunk, which used to be their coffee table. The thing is enormous, but after several bangs with my trusty Ked, the stubborn hasp falls, allowing me to open it all the way. An odor of damp and old seeps out. Thunder shakes the house and the lights dim but come right back up. Thank God.

“I was thinking”—I reach for one of the gazillion trophies—“that maybe these need—”

“To go!” Bonnie announces, louder than I've ever heard her speak. We all marvel. She stands and takes the trophy from me. With great care, she sets it gently down inside the trunk.

I hand another to her; it's dropped with a resounding clang and we're off. All the gals get up and start chucking trophies. From the buffet and builtins, side tables and wooden hutches, Al's bowling trophies clump and clang into the trunk.

“We
sure
can't be forgetting this.” Sam lifts the pink vacuum up. She places it onto the pile of trophies. Lilly pulls the lid up and over and down. It thuds closed.

“There's just one thing left to do,” I announce. Thunder booms in agreement.

 

I'm backing up my van to Bonnie's front door, Ruby is directing me this way and that.

“Not too much farther, darling. There! Perfect.”

“We can push it out,” I direct the group. “Thank goodness it's on this rug.”

With Sam and Lilly on one side and Marsha and me on the other, we grunt the trunk into my van. Bonnie and Ruby push the doors closed.

“Lilly,” I suggest, “how 'bout you and Sam give Marsha and Bonnie a lift back to our cottage.”

“Sure thing.” Lilly cocks her head toward her Lincoln. She takes something out of her purse, gives it a shake and unfolds it over her towering hairdo. It's one of those plastic pleated rain hats.

“C'mon,” I say to Ruby. We climb in my van and head out of town.

“I didn't tell the boys”—Ruby dabs color onto her lips—“exactly what was
in
this trunk, just that we would appreciate the help of two big strong men.”

“We'll tell them eventually,” I say. “Of all people, they'd understand the symbolism. My God, talk about good anchor material. But you know, I didn't really see anything of hers. Like she wasn't really there.”

“Perhaps she wasn't.” Ruby sighs.

We drive on in silence, the morning's goings-on receding little by little. A soft rain begins. I spy Lilly's car in the rearview mirror, give my hair a push here and there and signal to turn left down our winding driveway.

“Wish I had Lilly's hat,” Ruby remarks, hopping out of the van in order to open the gate.

She thumps back in and pulls the door shut. “It's a lovely rain.”

The van chugs up the final little knoll before reaching the back door to the cottage. Lights are on in the kitchen. As we pull up, Johnny and Howard wave us over.

“Too cute,” I comment. “Matching yellow slickers.”

The rain starts coming down harder. We make a mad dash for the back-porch door that Johnny is gallantly holding open. Bonnie's the last in. I see that she's got on one of Lilly's plastic scarf-hats.

Ruby herds the ladies into the warm kitchen while I explain what happened to Al and also what I want them to do. I assure them there's no one actually
in
the trunk, but Johnny still takes a peek inside, shows Howard and then they close it again. They walk toward the barn, shaking their heads. Maybe I'll just let them wonder—I mean think about it: a trunk of trophies and a pink vacuum. Hmmm.

I hear the toot of my van horn, our agreed upon signal. Those guys are so great. I told them we needed to do this without any testosterone around. But I did have to promise them a complete explanation over dinner later tonight.

“Okay ladies,” I announce to the group huddled around the stump table. “Time to roll.” As they pass the basement door on the way to the barn, I hand each one of them an umbrella from the pegs. I watch four round puffs of color appear outside as they pop open. Bonnie's is the only one with bright flowers on it. The other three are dull shades of red, yellow and brown. I put my arm around Ruby's shoulder and give her a good squeeze.

“Shall we?” I hand her a bright red one and decide on a basic black. We follow the line of color.

The ladies are gathered around the side door waiting for me to unlatch it. I open it and in we traipse. All the umbrellas close real slowly. Then I punch the big green button and the barn doors swing open.

The boys had hefted the trunk up onto the very back of the duck and tied it on. I get in first, start up the engine and pull up to the door. One by one the ladies climb aboard. I come over to the side to give Sam an extra tug.

“Suppose you're wondering,” she gasps out, “if the trunk or me weighs more—hmm?”

“Of course not,” I lie. “I'm sure
you
do. Now sit down so Ruby can climb aboard.”

“Thank heavens,” Ruby says, plopping down beside me, “this thing has a top on it or we'd all get soaked to the skin. Should we even be out in this rain?”

“Probably not.” I click on the lights and pull out of the barn.

Since the boys are back at their place, I drive us down the hill leading to the boathouse. We travel past it toward the dock. I head us into the lake, switch on the outboard and off to the east we float. I decide music would seem inappropriate. I look into the rearview mirror and watch Bonnie. She's going to be okay now.

“How about here?” I ask no one in particular. “There's no cottages in sight and we're far from the shore.”

“This'll do just fine,” Sam says.

I cut the motor. We all turn to look back at Bonnie and the trunk perched on the lip of the duck. She stands, figures out the rope and unties it. Then she looks back at us.