Black Otter Bay (25 page)

“Yeah, well, that's not all he used to do, believe me. I don't remember why he was in Chicago, but he always seemed to have money. It was fun to go out with him.” Jackie's thoughts turned inward for a moment, or maybe it was just that the reminiscing came hard for her, but Abby noticed her mother's expression tighten up a bit. “It wasn't the best time in my life, you know. School wasn't going well, I didn't have any money, and I had no clear idea of what to do with my life.”

“So, how does all this lead to Dad?”

“Well, your Uncle Dan told me he was going home for a few days. I'd never heard of Black Otter Bay before. It sounded so exotic, like some Indian village up on the tundra.” Jackie used her knife to slice off a corner of her grilled cheese. Grinning now, she said, “So I asked to go along. Knowing your uncle, I figured it would be an interesting adventure. Besides, I needed to get away for a while to consider my options.”

“I bet it was weird coming up here. I mean, being from Chicago and all.”

“Weird doesn't begin to describe it. In my whole life, I'd never been out of the city. But it was beautiful, it was summertime, and everyone I met was so nice. I met your father, and something seemed to click.”

“You mean, like, ‘love at first sight'?”

Jackie demurred. “No, I wouldn't say that, especially for your father. I think he hardly noticed me at all. But, like I said, I had no money, and no clue about the direction my life should take. Your father worked at the plant, earned a good wage, and seemed like an honest, sincere man. He wasn't like the men I'd met before. He wasn't like my father, who I couldn't even remember, and he certainly wasn't like any of the men my mother knew. He was even night and day from his own brother.”

Abby pushed back from the table to pull off her sweatshirt. The fireplace was ablaze with pine logs popping and crackling. She looked at her mother, trying to envision her as a college student. She'd heard a lot of this before, but she was old enough now to picture the events in a totally different fashion. Reaching for the grilled cheese, she asked, “How did you get Dad to come around?”

“Well, it certainly didn't happen overnight. In fact, I wasn't even sure about it myself. I mean, I'd never had a real family life. I wasn't sure how the whole thing was supposed to work. All I knew was that when I thought about that little town so far away, so far away from my life and all my stupid problems, I got a warm spot in my heart.”

“So what you're saying is, you didn't actually love Dad.”

Jackie gave her daughter a wry smile. “To be honest, I'm not sure. But I was definitely in love with the notion of settling down in a safe place, starting a family, and working toward a normal, secure life for once.” She paused to emit a brief chuckle. “One time I drove up with some friends to visit your
father. You should have seen Black Otter Bay the night a carload of co-eds from Chicago showed up. We sure were popular, even though the only place open was the Municipal. Sometime later, after I'd been seeing your father for a while and we'd decided to get married, it was those same girlfriends who convinced me I was doing the right thing.”

Incredulous, Abby asked, “You mean you married Dad because of advice from your friends?”

Jackie took her time replying. “You know, Abby, it's hard to have this conversation when your bias is so set against me. It's like you're not even hearing me, or that what I say isn't important.”

“Okay then, Mom, tell me. I'm listening. Why did you marry Dad, and then leave us?”

Jackie sighed, her thoughts jumbled up in old memories and emotions. She reached for her sandwich, but ended up grabbing her napkin to dab at her mouth and wipe her fingers. “I suppose it's terrible to admit, and it won't help your opinion of me, but all my friends were jealous. I had this tall, handsome boyfriend and a secure future. I'd never had that before, Abby, and no one had ever been envious of me. It was a good feeling. I was actually proud of the way my friends gossiped about my good fortune.” She shrugged. “So, even though it was for all the wrong reasons, settling down with your father just seemed like the right thing to do.”

Abby frowned at her mother while taking the last bite of her sandwich. Brushing crumbs from her fingers, she said, “You know, I just don't think it's fair. You should have known that it wouldn't work before you got the rest of us involved.”

Jackie raised an eyebrow. “That's a mean thing to say, Abby. Did your father tell you that?”

“Of course not. But it's obvious.”

“I tried to make it work. Honest. I wanted to raise my family in a safe community, with no gangs or violence. I wanted to have enough money to give my children a good start
in life. I'd never had any of that, so it was very important to me. Your father had a good job with a steady income, and he had some notions about raising a family, too. I wanted to teach you about the finer things in life, the arts and theater.” Jackie paused to look down at her plate, reached for the wine goblet, but set it down again when she realized it was empty. When she again looked at her daughter, all the sadness of her failed marriage shown in her face. “But there are no arts or theaters in Black Otter Bay. There isn't even a library.”

Abby had no intention of letting her mother off the hook. Her feelings of betrayal had been festering for over a year now. She said, “All that theater and arts stuff is what you wanted. All we wanted was a mom.”

Jackie shook her head as if unable to believe what she was hearing. “But you've got me, Abby. Don't you see that? I'm right here. I just can't live in that town any longer.”

“Why? Why can't you, Mom? Your family is there. It's not right.”

Tears rolled silently down Jackie's cheeks. She tried to speak but couldn't find her voice. Then she blurted, “I was suffocating.”

“But Ben needs you. We all need you.”

Jackie shook her head again, and then held her napkin against the tears sliding down her face. She said, “It was like living in a fishbowl. Everyone knows your business. Whenever I'd leave the house, people wondered, ‘where is she going?' They'd even watch to see if I turned onto the highway toward Duluth.” She paused for a few moments, sniffling, slowly regaining some measure of control. Then a flame seemed to ignite in her eyes, and she drew herself up straight to look at her daughter. She held a hand up as if to stop the conversation, and said, “I can't believe this. I simply can't believe I'm trying to justify my life to you. You want to talk about unfair . . .”

Abby had been saving up for this fight for a long time, and she was glad for having finally said what was on her mind.
She'd stood up for Ben and herself, and her mother's tears seemed to prove that her points were valid. But it had never been her intention to make her mother cry, so instead of pushing her advantage, she sat back and returned Jackie's glare from across the table. The one thing she knew for certain, however, was that her father's heart had been broken when Ben left, and if she moved to Duluth now, it would probably kill him. She said, “You want me to spend the summer in Duluth. Do you think that would be fair to Dad?”

“It's just the summer, Abby. I want to share some of my life, some of my interests, with you.” Jackie leaned forward with newfound enthusiasm. “Do you know that just this morning I sold an oil painting for one thousand dollars?” She rapped her knuckles on the table. “Just like that, Abby, one thousand dollars.” Her rapid chatter signaled the recovery of her composure. “In all honesty, sweetheart, your father is a sincere and good man. I knew that from the beginning. But he deserves someone who appreciates living in a small town. That's what's right for him. I just can't do it.”

Abby nodded. “That's pretty much what Dad said, that you shouldn't have to live somewhere that makes you sad.”

“Well, not sad, really. It's just that I'm used to more. I love the city, the energy, and all the opportunities and things to do.” She sat back, took a deep breath, and brushed a length of hair back from her face. Looking at Abby again, a bashful smile rose on her face, and she asked, “Want to hear a poem I wrote a few years ago?”

Abby doubted it, but in the spirit of rebuilding their relationship, she dipped her head in a half-hearted nod.

Jackie sat up straighter and cleared her throat. “Okay, good. Here goes.

“When did I realize you didn't like poetry,

And that art wasn't important to you?

Why couldn't you see the grace in a skyscraper,

Or know that city lights don't always block out the stars?

Why were you always the leader,

And when did I stop following?”

Abby flashed a tentative smile. “That's pretty good, Mom.”

“I wrote it in the car on our way home from one of those horrible camping trips.”

Abby laughed. “Did you ever share it with Dad?”

Now it was Jackie's turn to wear a shy smile. “No. I think writing it was therapy enough. I guess I've always been more of a silent rebel.”

For a few quiet minutes they mulled their separate thoughts. Abby finished her grilled cheese and pushed the plate away. Looking at her mother, she said, “I like that, Mom. The ‘silent rebel.'”

Jackie broke into a broad grin. “Well, there you have it, then. We finally hit on the one thing my daughter appreciates about me.”

Abby laughed. “It's a start, Mom. Now, if we could just get you to take up fishing.”

Marcy Soderstrom

D
espite its location on the main drag in downtown Duluth, just blocks from the trendy, upscale Canal Park, the two-story Native American–owned casino seemed straight out of a 1940s B movie. Flashing neon lights, even in the light of day, harkened a garish come-on, like a cheap whore under the corner lamppost. Transients and panhandlers squatted against the outside walls in full knowledge that anyone going in probably carried spare change. Security personnel at the narrow front entrance maintained an obvious, rigorous appearance, even on this weekday early in the evening.

For the first several minutes after her arrival, Marcy Soderstrom was pleasantly surprised by the admiring glances and double takes she received. But then she realized she was probably the youngest female in the building, surrounded by a cadre of senior citizens and ne'er-do-wells. Among the three or four dozen sedentary video slot machine players, her spirited presence seemed to invoke the question, “What are you doing here?” So as she strolled through the aisles, she held her head high and added a slight swagger to her step, as if to reply, “I'm here because I choose to be.”

Everyone smoked, to the extent that the rank smell of cigarettes permeated everything—not only the carpets and furniture, but in short order Marcy's clothes and hair as well. She was struck by how the unhealthy pallor of the patrons seemed to reflect the flashing lights from the machines in front of them. The incessant clanging of bells in the background sent a ringing vibration through her ears, causing her to come to the
quick conclusion that this place and these people weren't exactly her style.

She kept moving. The reason for her being here was suddenly lost in the cacophony of bells and whistles. Stopping in front of one of the video slots, as if deciding whether or not to play, she stared at it while getting her bearings and collecting her thoughts. Abby was convinced that Randall was involved in Ben's disappearance, and many of his business associates had ties to the shadier side of the gambling community. Therefore, Marcy had volunteered to visit the casino to look for any of those connections to Randall or Ben. But what exactly was she supposed to be looking for?

“Buy you a drink?” Marcy jumped at the voice, which was too close beside her. She turned to face a backwoods-looking character grinning at her through yellowed teeth. He held out a tall plastic cup of beer.

“I don't drink,” she said too quickly, obviously lying.

The man's grin became even larger. “That's okay,” he said, as if accustomed to rejection. “I have two hands.” Then he held up a second glass of beer, pointed it at the machine in front of them, and asked, “Are you looking to play this thing?”

“No. No, I'm not. Actually, I'm meeting someone here soon.” Marcy looked at the vacant spot on her wrist, as if checking the time.

“That's okay,” he said again, ignoring her blunder. “These machines are a waste of good money, anyway. The house stacks the odds against you. Even a big winner on a nickel slot won't pay you much. The only real chance you have is at the card table, and then you'd better be either really good or really lucky.”

Marcy thought of Jackie and her rumored problem with gambling on cards. She glanced around quickly, and then asked, “Where are those tables, anyway?”

“Upstairs. I'll show you, if you want.”

She took a closer look at the man, at his Duluth Outfitter's T-shirt and camouflaged cap. His thick arms were covered in
tufts of hair, and the twin cups of beer were grasped firmly in wide, battered, calloused fingers. His smile was simple and friendly, not unlike most of the young men who frequented the Black Otter Bay Café, so when he stretched an arm out to point their direction down the aisle, she gave in and set out beside him. At the end of the aisle, the man turned to lead her to the stairway in the rear corner of the building. As he did so, she reached for one of the beers he carried, and with a laugh he held it out for her.

Marcy had never been to a casino before. Her only concept of them came from stories her parents told from their winter excursions out West, or from Hollywood movies with scenes of Las Vegas. She had a notion of glamour and fun among well-dressed, wealthy patrons. What she'd found so far was just the opposite. There was a sense of desperation about the place, a clanging, flashing persistence that seemed intent on bashing its way to fulfillment and happiness. She sensed sadness in the room, as if all the bright lights and noise were no more than an empty gesture, or a cheap sleight of hand.