South of Superior (44 page)

“A room! You sneak! That's great.”

Gladys grinned. “Guess what else I heard today?”

“What?”

“The Bensons have put the grocery Up for sale. They're moving back down below. Mabel told me.”

“
What?
Like, ten minutes ago they were buying the hotel and tearing it down for more parking.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Gladys said. “Isn't that the way. They come with their fancy ideas, and then pretty soon, they go.”

“But why would they sell? They've only been here—what? Two years? And they've put so much into it. And you have to admit, they've done a nice job with it.”

“I imagine they figured out they're not going to make any money. No
real
money, that is.” Gladys was smiling, not bothering to hide that she took pleasure in the Bensons' demise. “That's all it really took to get rid of them. The facts of life. Life here anyway.”

“Huh,” Madeline said. She couldn't help it, part of her felt as smug as Gladys. But another part was Unexpectedly sad for the Bensons. The news that they were selling suddenly humanized them. They were just people. Sure, they were very conventional, not extra-nice people, but they'd tried to do something and found they couldn't. They'd had hopes and expectations that had been disappointed. It wasn't very hard at all to imagine herself in the same boat.

V
alentine's Day dawned sunny in McAllaster. Greyson was at his friend Ben's, a decision Madeline agonized over a little. Ben's parents were schoolteachers. Gladys had told Madeline they'd grown Up in McAllaster, been high school sweethearts, gone off to college together and got married, and returned together. It was very sweet, and Madeline found herself fascinated by such an old-fashioned love story. She was curious to meet them, and when she did, at the school Christmas pageant, she liked them. They were completely down-to-earth, vaguely hippie-ish, very friendly.

So when Greyson asked to spend the night, she knew there was no reason to say no, but she was so aware of being
responsible
for him. It was important not to be wrong. “We'll take good care of him,” Ben's mother, Allison, had assured her the afternoon before, bouncing another, smaller child in a woven sling on her hip, patting her very pregnant belly, and casting a fond glance at the boys, who were sitting in front of the woodstove playing a game.

“He just seems young for a sleepover,” Madeline said, trying not to sound fretful.

Allison smiled, shrugged one shoulder. “It's Up to you. I promise I'll try not to go into labor.”

“When are you due?”

“Two weeks. I'm set to go to the Soo two days before, but we're ready if it doesn't work out. I swear the whole ambulance corps has been boning Up on how to deliver a baby.”

“Aren't you scared? I mean—it's a long way to the Soo.”

Allison shrugged. “I made it with these two. And like I said, we're ready. We've read everything we can. I think Kurt kind of
wants
me to deliver at home.”

“Oh my God.”

Allison laughed. “Well, it would be kind of fitting.
I
was born at home. My birthday's in March. I came a little early, in the middle of a blizzard. It worked out. I'm the last baby born in town, a local celebrity, didn't you know?” She grinned widely, and made a face that said
Ta-da
. Madeline liked her even more.

Greyson looked Up then. “
Please
, Madeline. I promise I'll clean my room when I get home. But me and Ben want to do stuff in the morning. We're going to help feed the dogs, and go for a ride on the sled, and everything.”

Well. No way could she refuse him this. Allison and Kurt kept a small team of huskies trained to pull a dogsled. So, she'd spent her first night at the hotel without him and now had the first half of the day to herself. It was odd but intoxicating. She felt giddy and gleeful from the sun as much as from the Unexpected time alone. Plus she had rented four rooms—four!—over the weekend. The guests seemed happy. Charmed, even. They were a group of eight snowmobilers, four couples from Green Bay who were following the shore of Lake Superior from Big Bay to Sault Ste. Marie.

“We do it every year,” one of the women told Madeline. “We make a week of it—start out at Big Bay and end Up at Sugar Island. We always stop in McAllaster and this is perfect. We will definitely be back, your place is darling.”

Madeline glowed. Now they'd checked out and she had the rooms to clean. She also had enough cash to pay most of the month's bills without dipping into the roof fund.

When she was done with the rooms she'd spend the rest of the morning painting. She'd finished a picture of the hotel the week before, framed it, and hung it. She didn't know if it was good or not, she couldn't decide, but one of the women in the group of eight had looked at it for a long time that morning. Then she said, “Do you ever do house portraits?”

“Ah—no. But I'll bet I could.” Madeline smiled in what she hoped was a confident way.

“I'd like a picture of our cottage, it's down on Lake Michigan but I could give you photos of it. Do you work from photos?”

“I never have. But I think I could.” Madeline was scrambling inside herself. Did she mean this? Did she want to do something as confining as this? Well, yes, maybe. It'd be a job. It'd be income from painting.

“What would you charge?”

“I'd have to think about that,” Madeline admitted.

“Do that,” the woman said. “I'll leave you my phone number.”

So here was a whole new world of possibility. Ideas crowded into her head. House portraits, dog portraits, advertisements, menus, note cards—maybe there were a hundred things she could do artwork for. Maybe—maybe—this was a way to have everything: the hotel, and painting, and a living too. It was a possibility anyway.

Madeline plugged a radio into the socket in Room One and turned on a rock station out of the Soo, cranked the volume Up to match her mood. She began stripping the blankets and sheets, polishing the furniture and windows, rolling Up the rugs to take outside and shake. She finished Up that room and moved on to the next, bringing her radio and hamper and carryall of cleaning things along. She'd just gotten started when Grand Funk Railroad came on, doing “The Loco-Motion.” One of her favorite songs from childhood, a song to make you feel good. She could see Emmy and herself singing along whenever it came on, doing the Loco-Motion all over the apartment. She turned the sound Up as high as it would go—she was alone, wasn't she? Who was to see or know?—and sashayed around the room feeling ridiculously happy. She polished the night-stand and sang along with energy, did the
chug-a chug-a
motion, feeling about ten. What fun they'd had. She could not have had a better mother.

Madeline sang and danced, Using the dust rag as a microphone, safe in the knowledge that she was alone. No one was going to stop by looking for a room on a February Sunday at midmorning (and if they did, they weren't likely to come Upstairs). Gladys and Arbutus were at church, Greyson was at Ben's, Pete was probably tinkering away at some project at Mill Street. She belted out the lyrics, pulling the sheets off the bed and bundling them into a wad. She turned to throw them into the hamper that was sitting just inside the door to find a man leaning against the doorframe. She shrieked. “Paul. My God. You scared me.”

A slow smile spread over his face. His dear, dear face. Oh, Paul. He was really there. Madeline stared at him, still clutching the sheets.

“I gotta tell you, I would love to do the Loco-Motion with you,” he said, his brown eyes squinted a little, gleaming with something between merriment and lecherousness.

“Paul.” She felt struck dumb, Unable to come Up with anything beyond this.

“You looked so happy, I didn't want to stop you. Don't think I ever saw somebody look so happy over changing sheets.”

“I rented out four rooms this weekend.
Four
.”

“That's great.”

“What are you doing here? I can't believe you
are
here. How are you, is everything all right?”

“I'm okay. How's Greyson?”

“He's okay. He misses you.”

“He always sounds good on the phone. You're good for him.”

Then they were silent, studying each other.

“I liked that little dance move you were doing, that little thing with your hands,” Paul said after a moment.

Madeline felt foolish and embarrassed.

“Hey,” he said, seeming to see her discomfort. “I really did like it. You looked so happy. Like everything in the world was going your way.”

She gave him a tentative smile. “It's a sunny day. I've got enough money to pay the bills this month, as long as nothing breaks down. And I love that song.”

“Me too. Always did. It's a feel-good song.” He pushed himself off the doorframe and shoved his hands in his pockets. He looked around the room, and Madeline felt awkwardness growing Up between them like a tangle of brush.

“So what are you doing here?” she asked again, softly.

He looked down at his battered leather work boots. They were so familiar—she'd never thought of knowing his shoes when she worked with him, but she did. The Loco-Motion had ended and an advertisement came on the radio. Roof rakes were on sale at the Soo Lock Hardware, thirty-four ninety-nine, get yours today, pull that snow off before it builds Up and caves your roof in. Madeline crossed the room and switched the power off. She and Paul stared at each other in the sudden quiet.

To Madeline he looked wonderful. He looked dear. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and hold him tight. She wanted to dispense with this absurd awkward pretense of talking and just absorb him through her skin. She could admit this now, at least to herself.

“Did you get the card I sent?” he asked.

“I did. Thank you.”

Silence fell again. Paul was looking at her so oddly. Intense, hopeful, sad—she wasn't sure what the expression on his face meant.

“Why are you here?” she asked again, just as Paul said, “Listen—”

They both stopped talking, began again. “I'm just so surprised to see you,” she said, as he said, “I didn't know how else to do this—”

“Do what?” she asked while he said, “Except to just show Up.”

She took a quick breath, let it out again. “Do what?”

Paul nodded once, as if deciding finally on some course of action. “I'm back to open Up again. I got a little money from the insurance. Not enough, but we'll figure it out. Being down there, working for Jim—getting laid
off
by Jim about ten minutes after I started and him thinking he was doing me some favor—it all made me realize, this is where I want to be. This is what I want to be doing. Sure, it's never perfect, but it's mine, you know?
My
life,
my
business. And my nephew Tom's coming with me. He's going to help me put it all back together and then run the place with me. At least for a while. He was over in Iraq and he's kind of at loose ends now. Turns out he was an army cook. Can you believe I didn't even know?”

“It's easy to lose track of people.” This was probably the longest speech she'd ever heard Paul make, and Madeline was startled by it. She didn't Understand all of it, but that didn't matter. She was startled, and incredibly happy that he'd said,
I'm back
.

“I had some time to think. And to grow Up a little, I guess—”

“You're grown Up,” Madeline protested, but Paul rolled on as if he didn't hear.

“The thing is—the thing is, that I—oh, hell.” He crossed the few steps between them and suddenly was very near. He smelled good, of some kind of spice, or soap. His eyes were so brown, big and serious. He took her shoulders, drew her closer. He kissed her. Madeline didn't think her response through; she put her arms around him.

“I missed you,” he said when they broke apart.

“I missed you too.”

“All the way Up, I was thinking maybe could we try—”

“Try what?” she said softly. He was only a little taller than her; their eyes were almost level.

A looked flashed across his face, a look that had hope and daring in it, but shyness too. “Being together.”

“Oh.” She had a sudden vision of them together in this hotel years from now. How far off that seemed, and how Unlikely. But she loved his eyes, his merry smile, his way of standing. It felt that simple. Maybe it really was that simple. A smile spread across her face. “Okay.”

Paul drew her close and she buried her face in his neck. “Don't go away again,” he whispered.

“I didn't go, you did,” she whispered back.

“But still, just don't.”

Just then footsteps came pounding Up the stairs and Greyson burst into the room, saying, “Madeline, guess what, me and Ben—
Paul
. Mr. Garceau! It isn't even spring yet. Cool. What time did you get here, can you eat supper with Us?”

 

 

After Greyson was in bed,
Paul and Madeline sat as close together as possible on the couch in her attic sitting room while he told her about his plans. He was looking forward to having Tom around; he'd be coming north in a few days. “It'll be good to have the help, good to have family here. I like him; we get along. And he needs this, I think. Needs something to do, a purpose.”

“That's good.”

“It is, I think. For both of Us.”

“You won't go back to the prison?”

“I won't live like that anymore.”