South of Superior (32 page)

 

 

Randi ended up
in critical condition in the hospital in Sault Ste. Marie. The story of the crash had come out around town pretty fast. The three kids who'd been in the car with Randi were from out of town, staying at summer places with their families. There were drugs in the car, and a lot of cash. Someone was going to be in a lot of trouble. Probably not the summer kids, so much. Their parents could afford very good lawyers.

After two days, Madeline took Greyson to see Randi.

“
Mommy!
” he cried, breaking loose of her hold on his hand, running across the room, and clambering Up the side of Randi's bed. Madeline caught him before he could fling himself on her. The emotion in him was so raw, it chastened her. Was it really she who had thought with such cold certainty that he should be taken from Randi, that she was Unfit to raise a child? It was true, in a way. And in a way, he had been taken from her. So Madeline was right. But she saw now that this rightness was nothing.

“Careful.” She found an edge of the bed to set him on. “Your mom's pretty sore, you can't jump on her.” She could see the outline of a cast beneath the sheet. Randi's right arm was in a cast, too, and her face was badly bruised. The injuries went beyond that and Madeline wondered again about bringing Greyson so soon. But she decided it would be better to let him see her, no matter how bad it was. Better to know and see than worry and wonder.

It was huge, all this deciding on behalf of someone else. How had Emmy done it?

Sometimes Madeline wondered—had she been a burden, changed the course of Emmy's life? Was she the reason Emmy never got married; was a child—a sometimes nervous, needy child—too much for the handful of men Madeline remembered Emmy dating? Had she ever regretted her decision to take Madeline in some corner of her heart? Now she knew. You just did a thing like this, regardless of fear or doubt. Of course Madeline had changed Emmy's life. But then, everything did. A random cup of coffee, an overheard conversation, a chance meeting in a grocery store. But how, oh how, had Emmy known what to do from moment to moment?

Madeline told herself she would just take it one small step at a time, inch along from hummock to hummock, like working her way across a bog. First fix Greyson an egg and a piece of toast for breakfast, then drive him to see Randi. Then—lunch. After that, the next thing, which she would figure out when she got closer to it.

“Hey, little man,” Randi said in her husky voice. She seemed groggy.

“Mom, it was so scary when the car skidded, Leon was hanging on to me and everybody was yelling and then you were the only one who couldn't get out, and then the ambulance came and you still couldn't get out and I was
scared
.”

“It was pretty scary,” Randi said, her eyes half closed. Probably she was full of painkillers.

“
Mom
. Wake Up!”

Randi opened her eyes with some effort, smiled at Greyson. “Sorry, kiddo, I'm kinda beat.”

“But when are you coming home?”

“Dunno, Grey.” Her eyes were drifting shut again. “Be a little bit, I think. You staying with Madeline?”

“Uh-huh. She has a kitty, he's named Marley. He purrs a lot, he slept with me, I slept on the couch, that couch is
scratchy
. I want to get a kitty, Mom. Can we?”

“Mmm.”

Madeline put a hand on his shoulder. “Your mom's pretty tired. Let's let her sleep.”

“
No
. I want to talk to my mom, we just got here.”

“I know, Peanut—”

“Don't call me that, you're not my mom!”

Madeline took a deep breath. “You have to let her sleep so she can get better.”

“No!”

Randi's eyelids fluttered open. “Hey, Grey, you be a good boy for Madeline, okay? You do what she tells you, sweetie. Your mom kinda screwed Up, so—I can't come home for a while.”

“But Mom—”

She grinned. “Don't
but Mom
me, my butt's big enough already.”

He giggled. A joke of theirs.

“Give me a kiss.”

Madeline gave him a boost and he put a solemn smack on her cheek.

“Thanks, kiddo,” she said sleepily. Greyson looked as if he would break down sobbing. Oh, the desolation in his face. Madeline really did not know if she was equal to this, but that was beside the point.

“That kiss is going to help her sleep better,” she said, scooping him Up. “That's the best thing you can do for her. She's got to rest, but I'll tell you what, we'll come back in a little while and say goodbye before we drive home. We'll go shopping and find a little present to give her. How about flowers, what do you think?”

He said nothing, just shifted around in her arms Until he was looking over her shoulder, back at Randi.

“So we'll go get something to eat, some lunch. How about McDonald's, how would that be?” In Sault Ste. Marie, you could get fast food. There was a McDonald's, a Burger King, a Subway, a Taco Bell. Also Walmart, Kmart, gas stations with rows of pumps. It seemed so strange.

“Okay,” he said listlessly.

“Okay, then!”

Greyson sighed and wrapped his legs around her waist, rested his head on her shoulder. She patted his back as she walked down the hall. Eventually—right?—he'd get Used to her, and to the situation. As Used to it as he could.

Madeline walked with
Greyson to the little café she'd seen a few blocks away instead of driving to the McDonald's at the edge of the city. She needed somewhere quiet, serene. At the counter she ordered a double espresso for herself and a cocoa for Greyson, and got them each a tuna fish sandwich.

“I hate tuna fish,” Greyson said, poking at it tearfully.

“It's good for you. Try and eat it.” She closed her eyes as she sipped her coffee. It tasted good. It was wonderful to feel the thick, stubby little espresso cup with its diminutive saucer Under her fingertips. Frivolous, maybe, but true. This must be where the real pleasures in life lay, in these tiny, momentary pleasures. When she opened her eyes, Greyson was sitting slumped over his sandwich, his hands limp between his legs, tears trickling down his cheeks.

“Hey, what's the matter? You're tired out, aren't you?” Of course he was, what a stupid question. Tired, desolate, terrified. And faced with tuna. His face had a pallor she should have paid attention to sooner. She hoped he wasn't getting sick in addition to everything else. “Listen, forget the tuna. How about a grilled cheese? Or some soup?”

“I'm not hungry,” he whispered. She sighed, let her shoulders slump to match his. Oh, whatever were the two of them going to do? Greyson just sat, the tears trickling down, his thin shoulders shaking a little.

“Hey now,” Madeline said, reaching over and pulling him off his chair and into her lap. “It's been a rotten couple of days, no doubt about that. But this silent crying thing, it really gets to me, you have to cut that out. You could yell a little maybe, huh? A little primal scream? What do you say? A little rage therapy? I don't know, I've never tried it myself, I've always been like you, pretty much, so well behaved. Too well behaved, that's what we are. But I'm thinking it's time for Us to break out. It warrants a shot. Because life beats a person Up sometimes, and maybe all you can do is shout back. I don't know, what do you think?”

Greyson relaxed into her like ice melting, and did not answer. She had not expected him to, had only wanted to distract him a little from his anguish. She swayed side to side, talking and talking, any nonsense she could think of, sipping the espresso, nibbling at the tuna in tiny bites.

After a time he seemed to doze off—or surrender to a sort of comatose fugue, Madeline wasn't sure which—and she fell silent. She ate both sandwiches, slowly, and had his cocoa for dessert. Read the little paper menu the café left folded on every table. Looked out the plate-glass window across the street at the Locks. A freighter was passing through—had been passing in its stately, inimitable way ever since they'd sat down. She stared at it awhile, and at the wall of the building next door, built of blocks that might have been limestone or sandstone—something native, and very old.

The menu said that Sault Ste. Marie was one of the oldest cities in the United States. It was founded by the French in 1668 and named for the rapids of the St. Mary's river, or
le Sault
, in French. So this was why everyone said “the Soo.” These facts lent a dignity to the tired old city that Madeline hadn't accorded it before. She noticed two tattoo parlors, a windowless bar, and a check-cashing place on the walk to the café. But now the fact of the town's age, the way the afternoon sun shone on the old cut stones of the next building, the lingering, descriptive Utility of its old name, made it seem beautiful.

She sat for a long time. Ever since she came here nothing had gone the way she'd planned or imagined or expected. It had all been a washout more or less, involving varying degrees of disaster. And yet still she did not want to leave. And now there was Greyson.

He had settled in with her at Butte's, and no one wanted to disturb that, even though other people had stepped forward to help. Roscoe and Annie wanted him to come stay with them in Halfway, but Greyson had clung to Madeline—well, to Marley—when that was suggested the first night. “I'm Used to it here right now,” he had said plaintively, hugging Marley close with both arms. “It's close to our house, here.” Reluctantly, Roscoe and Annie had let the situation stand.

Madeline knew it bothered Paul that Grey wasn't staying with him, but it was Unrealistic. Paul worked ninety hours a week and spent at least another five commuting, and he couldn't just quit, that wouldn't do anyone any good. He'd come over after he closed last night to tuck Greyson in, and they talked a little before he left. She could tell he felt guilty and frustrated, and sad, too, that he couldn't keep Greyson with him. She thought the guilt was misplaced, the frustration Understandable, and the sadness endearing, but she didn't know how to say any of that. Instead she said, “I can't tell you how glad I am you're so close with him. I don't know what I'm doing, not really. And he loves you. We'll be bugging you constantly. I don't think I could do this alone.” Paul had nodded and seemed marginally less anguished.

Madeline was glad Greyson was with her, and she was scared. But if the Soo could survive and have this subtle, hidden beauty, maybe so could she. She and Greyson would survive together, for whatever time he needed her.

After a time she woke Greyson enough to set him on his feet, took his hand, and walked back to where she'd left the car parked. Time to go home. Time to get on with life as it was now.

M
adeline and Gladys packed Up Randi's house. There wasn't much in it. Greyson had a lot of toys and Randi had a lot of clothes. Aside from that, her possessions were minimal: two beds, a couch, a table with two chairs, some pots and pans, a handful of silverware, a few chipped dishes. Madeline handled everything carefully, trying to be neat without looking too hard. It was such an invasion of privacy. Randi's clothes were eerie without her in them. It felt too much like packing Up after a funeral.

They were quiet, methodical, glad when the job was finished. John and Paul loaded the boxes into Paul's truck and took them to John's garage. Madeline took Greyson's things to Mill Street, where they were staying Until she could get the hotel ready to live in.

Someone in town (Madeline never knew who) organized a collection to help with Greyson's Upkeep. It was a bundle of cash given anonymously, and Madeline was nonplussed at the trust this showed, and the easy acceptance of her as his substitute parent. Gladys brushed this off. “People're just doing what they would for anyone. You've said you'll look after him and you will. Take the money. You'll need it.”

There was another collection to help with Randi's medical bills, and Madeline heard that even the Bensons sent something.

“
That's
amazing,” Madeline told Gladys, but Gladys shrugged this off too. Despite everything, Gladys had accepted them at some level, that was suddenly clear to Madeline. Personal feelings didn't enter into it, not in a crisis.

And that—the bipartisan way people turned out to help—did amaze Madeline. More accurately, it took hold of her and rattled something in her. There was something to Understand, here: McAllaster was a kind of tribe. This wasn't cozy, or
nice.
She sensed that it was an equation, that membership would exact a price: the loss of privacy, anonymity, certain freedoms she'd taken for granted in Chicago, maybe the loss of the right to selfishness. Everybody in this tribe didn't love each other. They disagreed and gossiped and argued; they laid traps for each other and rejoiced when the trap was sprung; they relished placing blame wherever it would stick and took pleasure in one another's mistakes. But when there was trouble, there was help.