Back to Madeline Island (14 page)

Huge flakes are fluttering down; with noses pressed to all the front windows, we ooh and ahh.

“Lilly,” Sam says. “We best be headed home; the last ferry is most likely on its way over right now.”

Everyone packs up their stuff. Ruby wraps up leftovers in wax paper and then a good helping of foil. It's hugs and good-byes galore. Sam and Lilly dash into the night first and then Charlie, Bonnie and Marsha leave as well. Charlie gives Ruby a sweet peck on the cheek and Ruby pokes him and then they're gone.

“Since we refuse to put in a dishwasher…” I say, hands on hips.

“Howard would be more than happy,” Johnny offers and gets a nudge from him, “to lend a hand—I'll supervise.”

Rocky leaps up onto the middle of the stump table, landing square in the middle of two slices of pumpkin pie. He lifts a paw, takes a lick and then meows approval and keeps on licking.

“Well then,” Ruby says, surveying the mass of plates and platters and bowls scattered across the countertops. “We jolly well should get started then. Eve—freshen up my wine; Howard, darling, wash or dry?”

“O
ne thing I can't get over,” I say, zooming my electric shears along fabric, “is how us residents and local workers like you two”—meaning Sam and Lilly, of course—“get absolutely no discount for using that overpriced ferry. It's such a fricking rip-off!”

Sam offers, looking up from her machine, “I never thought much about it until we started coming over every day and it's…well, Lilly here splits it, a' course, but it do still cost an arm and a foot.”

“Leg, darling,” Ruby counters from the kitchen area. “I've spoken to those ferry people.” Johnny tsk-tsks when Ruby says the ferry part. “They simply won't budge on providing us with a discount for you ladies—so, we've made a decision, as it's hardly fair for you and not your fault to be victim to such greed—really.”

“You go, girl!” Sam chuckles. “I sure like a woman with spirit, mmm-hmm.”

“She certainly has that,” I add, handing Lilly terry-cloth parts for an apron order from Florida.

“Howard has arranged,” Ruby adds, coming over to help Johnny sew buttons on, “for the purchase of some jolly expensive coupon books. Tell the man, or woman, who you are when you dock in Bayfield and they'll give them to you. Let us know when you've run out. Simple as that.”

“You all sure take good care of us,” Sam says, “and speaking of good—I don't recall a Thanksgiving that was such a feast! Lord, I am
still
full.”

“Hope you're not serious,” Lilly says in between the rev of her machine. “I've brought a delicious turkey salad surprise. It's from a recipe I clipped out of
Ladies' Home Journal
.”

“Well…” Johnny adds, pulling a thread up. “Howard and I brought turkey and stuffing sandwiches, tucked into that bread Marsha made.”

“Oh Lord,” Ruby sighs with a chuckle. “I've created turkey stew from all the lovely carvings left. We seem to have a definite theme here now, don't we?”

“Turkey for the turkeys,” Sam says and then off she sews.

The day passes quickly. After our turkey with turkey with more turkey lunch, we sew through the afternoon and decide to head over to the loft for yoga-belly early. We vow not to bring another turkey item for at least a month; that's what freezers are for.

After a good hour of shaking our chains and dancing to some great music, we wave good-bye to Sam and Lilly, then head into the cottage. Since no one on the island gets mail delivered, Sam is nice enough to stop in LaPointe at the post office and get the boys' as well as ours. Though it's then a day late, who cares?

I sort through the pile she left on the stump table while Ruby heads upstairs to change into cozies. I come across a handwritten envelope and immediately recognize the tight handwriting, or printing rather—my dad's. Pouring a huge glass of water, I slink Rocky over my arm and we trot off to the library.

We get comfy in the window seat; I take a big breath and then slide my manicured nail along the envelope's edge. The card inside has a huge picture of white daisies on the front; he knows they're my favorite. I tentatively open it and unfold the many-paged letter. I read the note aloud to Rocky,

I'll always be, your dad.”

I let the pages slip to my lap and lean back against the cool wood. I hadn't realized that I'd been crying. The silent tears just keep coming and coming. Part of me is relieved, in a way. You know, I've always known there was
something
. Something different about him and me, yet I just thought he was such an intellect that I was the big disappointment. The failure child. The
love
child?

Yet why didn't my mom tell me? Why, in all those years of her and me being together, she never so much as dropped a hint. I feel so, so
cheated
. So lied to, just who was my mom
anyway
? All the things I've held near and dear, what do I do with all that? I would really like to wring her neck. She had an
affair
? God, of course she did, I mean, my dad—what do I call him now? He
was
handsome—I actually thought he was the best-looking dad there was—and he wasn't even my dad! No
wonder
Helen made that weird comment; she must have felt something, or noticed something between us. Talk about having the floor ripped out beneath you.

All these years I thought it was so cool how Ruby's husband was a professor and so was my dad. Now it feels like a big ol' pack of lies and here I am, the love child. Funny, I don't feel like a
love
child. Love seems to equal secrets in
my
family and I certainly had mine—Helen. Why did my mom have to die—I'd like to kill her!

“Here you are.” Ruby crosses into the library and comes over to me. “What is it? What's wrong? You look like you've just seen a ghost. You're all pale. What is it, darling?” Ruby takes me into her tiny arms and hugs me. “Tell me, dear.”

“This,” I croak out, after sobbing into her shoulder. “This note…from Dad…or whoever…he's not my…” I can't breathe.

Ruby gently rocks me back and forth. I slowly quiet and am able to not cry—for a minute. She takes the note and sits across from me.

“Oh my
heavens.
” Ruby smacks her leg.

Rocky leaps off the window seat and jumps up onto a nearby bookcase. I sigh and look out toward the lake. I feel like I don't know who I am; the bastard love child, now that's
something
.

“I simply can't—oh, for heaven's sake,” Ruby says and I wonder who's more surprised here.

I smile, in spite of everything. I think this must be what it feels like when you're told you're adopted. Well—
half
adopted. I'm half a bastard. I say this out loud and Ruby shushes me so she can finish reading. Maybe she's memorizing the damn thing.

“Hang on.” Ruby heads out of the room and then is back a moment later carrying a tray, a bottle and two glasses. “Good thing we stocked that bar in the living room—I don't know about you, darling, but I need a pinch.”

“Wouldn't a
straw
be easier?” I ask and she hands me a glass of sherry. “I have no idea what to clink to.”

She sits back down opposite me, stretching out her legs next to mine.

Thinking this over for a moment, our glasses held out to clink, she says, “To the bloody truth, I should think.”

We clink and sip; I sip again and feel a tad calmer. “This is—so much. I don't know where to start, like rethinking my past. Do I go back there and erase things? Do I haul out all the photo albums and cut him out of the pictures? No, that's stupid. Well, maybe I could Magic Marker his face. That might at least
feel
good. How about my mom?”

“Oh, Eve, darling,” Ruby sighs, “you've every right to be pissed as hell! I'd be fit to be tied, I would.”

“It's my mom. Who
was
she? I honestly feel like I only knew the outside her. You know? I mean, she must have had this whole entire secret side to her. I thought I knew her. I thought I knew—her.”

She refills our glasses. “You
did
know her. But you can't ever know everything there is to know about a person, not
all
things. Why—imagine how
dull
that would be.”

I give her a “give me a break” look. “Ruby, all I'm saying is, why didn't my mom ever say some little thing to me about this? Like…why didn't she at least mention that I was, that I have another dad? That my real dad…oh hell. I feel like shit.”

Ruby ponders a second. “If we have more to drink, we could be shit-faced, I should think.”

“Why do you think my dad, or Larry, rather—why do you think he waited so long?”

“Perhaps it was your visit. Yours and Helen's. Maybe that simply got him thinking. I should think that would have some bearing on his decision to tell you—and also his health.”

I consider this. “Up until he announced he'd met Kate, I thought of my family as picture-perfect. But now that I'm seeing things, looking for things, I guess I really was fooling myself. I mean, they had separate bedrooms, for God's sake!”

“Oh, Eve, why do this?”

“Do what?”

“Go back, into your past, and reshuffle things a bit. What will it change? You're still you—you're still this lovely woman, and I
hate
to see you like this, I do. This all happened so long ago.”

“I know,” I sigh. “I only wish…I only wish I'd never seen
The Donna Reed Show
.”

“Come again?”

“This TV show. It was popular when I was little and the family was perfect and they, the parents, had these cute little twin beds and—”

“That sounds
dreadfully
boring, really.” Ruby finishes her glass. “Now—shall I tell you I know your Aunt Vivian? I know…why don't I write it all up in a note, seal it with special wax and leave it somewhere secret, like in a bottom drawer somewhere. Hmmm?”

“If you don't start talking”—I slant my eyes and hold my glass out for a refill—“I may have to kill you.”

 

I have John Klemmer's LP
Touch
playing downstairs on the hi-fi in the living room. His soft jazz is wafting up the stairs and all the way into my bathroom. I'm underneath a steaming hot shower, with my hair all coated with creme rinse, just finishing shaving my left leg. Shaving my legs has always soothed me, even though I like to complain about it. Maybe the sherry has helped, too. Duh.

Ruby's fussing in the kitchen, creating supper for us, and I best get a move-on, as I'm the trusty assistant. Turns out she does
indeed
know my aunt and it also turns out that she's still alive, thank God. I've never been close to her at all—she's actually my
great
-aunt—and to be honest, I always thought of her as a nasty gossip. She also has a mustache and who wants to kiss that? Yuk.

Anyway, so Ruby's busy trying to track her down and see if she can get anything out of her. It's worth a try. God,
do
I want to know who my real dad is? This must be how Helen
half
felt. No, she said her mom told her when she was a young girl. Ha! That way, she'd have all those years to hate me. Not that she did, mind you, but the opportunity was there and that kind of tells me what Helen's made of as well as what a great job her folks did raising her.

Me, I would have—what? Stomped my little feet had my mom told
me
I was adopted? Hard to say, really, and I've never been too keen on “what ifs.” But talk about hypocrites; I mean, here they sent
me
off to a convent and it was my mom—I have to stop this or I think I'm going to explode.

Maybe rinsing my hair, I can just rinse this all away. I never thought my life would be so—dramatic. This is
way
better than fiction. This would make one hell of a movie. I can see the title,
Bastard out of Eau Claire
. No, too tame. Maybe,
Eve's Family Tree Has Roots of a Different Color
? Nah.

I change into a soft pink sweatshirt, jeans and my bunny slippers. Need warm and cozy right about now. Then I wake up the snoring cat and we head downstairs.

Since the kitchen is open to the living room, I can spy Ruby in there. She's changed into yet another one of her fancy walking outfits; this one has blue swirls embroidered into the fabric. Humming with the song on the hi-fi, she's busy putting things into an old knapsack. That woman is always up to something.