South of Superior (8 page)

Randi shrugged. “We had that meat loaf and stuff Gladys sent, and it was real good, but it's gone now. I'm just kind of sick of peanut butter on bread.”

“Lily said Emil Sainio's the only one that came through today. She said he got some gas, bought a couple of things, more than an hour ago now. I wonder—”

“Emil Sainio is not going to kidnap Greyson!” Gladys snapped. “You're wasting time. You've watched too much TV. How about actually
doing
something?”

Madeline wondered how Paul kept from bristling at Gladys. He even sort of smiled at her. “I know. But we've covered everything we think could have happened. So now we've got to look at what couldn't, right?”

Gladys grudgingly nodded.

“So. What if Greyson stowed away with Emil, rode back Up the highway with him, and Emil didn't know it?”

“He's not going to do something like that,” Randi cried. “Why would he? He never wanders off from me, never. He's real good.” Tears brimmed in her eyes.

This was almost Unbearable to Madeline. Of course the boy was good, he had to be, he was busy looking after his mother, who seemed about as reliable as the weather, but let
him
do something Unpredictable for once—Madeline wanted to cram the fact that all this was her own fault down Randi's throat. Why act Upset
now
? Why not pay attention in the first place? Her stomach churned with anger.

“I'll stay here with you while Paul goes and checks, Randi,” Gladys said. “Madeline, you take Arbutus home and then come back and fetch me.”

“No,” Arbutus said. “I'll stay too. I'm fine.”

Gladys began to argue but Arbutus set her chin. “I'm staying and there's no Use in arguing about it so you might as well not even start.”

But Madeline had to escape. “I'll go with you.” Paul looked surprised but didn't object, and she followed him to his car. It was big and old, muted red with shiny chrome.

Paul opened the passenger door and Madeline was startled but oddly touched. He checked she was well settled in before closing it with a firm assurance that surprised her again. She ran a hand over the upholstery—red vinyl with white piping trim.

“Genu-ine imitation leather,” Paul said, sliding into the driver's seat.

“It's nice. What year is it?”

“It's a 1963 Ford Fairlane. Most of them rusted to pieces, I was lucky to find her.” He turned on the ignition and country music blared out the speakers. He switched the radio off. “It's the only station I can get, so I play it really loud, hoping it'll make me like it better.”

“That makes all kinds of sense.”

Paul smiled. A few miles down the road he said, “You're pretty Upset.”

She kept her expression neutral with difficulty. “It's scary, a kid getting lost.”

“I know, but I don't think he is. Lost, I mean. He's just not one to wander off.”

“Mmm,” Madeline said, thinking,
Wake up. Anything could've happened.

“I really do think he's okay.”

“I hope you're right.” She stared out the window, not trusting herself to say anything else. They rode on in silence.

 

 

Greyson Hopkins had it
pretty much figured out. He had to help his mom, who was worried about a bunch of stuff. The main thing was food—the mean people at the store said she couldn't have any more. Old Mrs. Hansen had sent that box—the cookies in it were super good, which was kind of funny because she was such a cranky lady—but that didn't last forever, so now they were going to starve. Greyson wasn't going to let that happen. He'd been thinking and thinking how to fix it and he hadn't been able to come Up with anything. He'd gotten bored playing with Andrea—she was just a baby, only two—and went outside to sit on the steps and think some more.

Then Emil pulled Up and went in the store and Greyson had a brilliant idea. He'd go home with Emil, and Emil would help him catch some food. Like rabbits, or birds. Maybe a whole deer. Emil was a hunter, he hunted all year round, everybody knew that. Emil was an old man, too—ancient, practically—so he would know everything. Plus he didn't have much of anything. He lived in a little tiny camping trailer from the olden days and drove a rusty old truck that was from the olden days too, and he was funny. Odd, kind of. Not
bad
odd, not scary, just different from most regular people. He was the kind of person who would
have
to hunt to get himself food, so he would for sure be really good at it.

But what if he didn't feel like teaching Greyson hunting stuff? What if he thought he was too little to Use a gun or something?

Greyson decided the best thing to do would be to stow away in the back of Emil's truck, and then just show Up at his door. It'd be hard for Emil to say no. And then pretty soon, after they hunted something down, he'd be going home with a bunch of food and his mom wouldn't be complaining to everyone about how Unfair and terrible everything was.

 

 

That was basically
how things worked out. Emil drove home and went into his trailer and Greyson followed him Up the steps a minute later. Emil was surprised to find him there, but he didn't worry about it. He knew Greyson, knew Randi, had known Randi's mother and grandmother too. It didn't dawn on him to puzzle out how Greyson had managed to get to his place, which was a good couple of miles out of town, or to wonder what had prompted this sudden interest. The boy wanted to learn to hunt. That was just natural. Emil wasn't a great one for questioning the events that life laid out before him. He whistled Up his beagle, Sal, pulled his knitted chook down over his ears, loaded his gun, and slammed the trailer door shut behind them.

They were just coming back—empty-handed—when Paul Garceau pulled Up in his big old boat. It was quite the day for visitors.

“Hey, Emil,” Paul said, easing out of the car, careful with that bad leg of his like always. “I see Greyson's here.”

“Yup. We just been out scouting around for rabbits, but we didn't find nothing.”

“We're going tomorrow, too,” Greyson said. “I'm going to learn how to shoot a gun.”

“Well, now, slow down there, boy. I said
maybe
we'd do a little target practice.”

Greyson grimaced. “We
have
to. I have to catch some food for my mom and me.”

A woman had climbed out of the car to stand beside Paul and the two of them glanced at each other. Well, now, Emil thought to himself, squinting.
If that ain't Joe Stone's granddaughter come back to town finally, I'll eat my hat. Looks just like her great-grandma
.

Paul ran a hand through his hair and then he said, “The thing is, Greyson, your mom's pretty worried. She didn't know where you got off to.”

Emil turned to gaze at Greyson, realizing for the first time that the kid had got himself Up here without anyone's leave.

Greyson looked startled, and then worried. He bit his lip. “Oh.”

“How about we go back to the Trackside and we can get this sorted out?”

“Okay, Mr. Garceau,” Greyson said. He looked Up at Emil. “Thank you for taking me out hunting, Mr. Sainio.”

Emil was surprised to hear himself referred to as Mr. Sainio, but he nodded and said sure, they'd go again sometime, but he'd better get his ma's permission first.

 

 

Madeline and Paul
and Greyson climbed back into the car, Greyson wedged on the shifter between the seats. Madeline was so relieved she felt shaky. The boy was found, he wasn't hurt, he was going back to his mother, who—useless as she might seem—he obviously loved.

Madeline listened as Greyson explained what his plan had been. His thin face was intelligent, intense. He looked right at her as he talked, leaning forward a little and twisting his head at an awkward angle to do so, intent on his story. Madeline found herself nodding—
Yes, I see how it was.
He sighed with frustration about not getting any rabbits, and there was nothing cute about it, nothing to make her think, Isn't it sweet how children think? No, she just sympathized.

She listened and wished—what? That his life was different, that his mother was different. But then he wouldn't be himself, would he? a little voice in her head inquired. He wouldn't be just exactly this boy with the lively green eyes in the seat beside you.

O
ne sunny afternoon in May, the first day that really felt like spring, Madeline knelt on the lawn outside the open kitchen window, sprinkling fertilizer around the tulips. “Look at this!” she heard Gladys say. “The nerve! Like I'm some kind of deadbeat.”

Arbutus murmured something.

“I'm not paying it. I returned those groceries. And I'll take my own sweet time on the rest that's due, too. Let them wait, they can afford it. You see that new truck they're driving?”

Arbutus answered but Madeline couldn't make out what she said.

“I won't!” Gladys declared.

“We'll have to pay somehow, else there'll be trouble.”

“Let them sue. Look at this—” Gladys's voice became mincing. “ ‘
Please pay
.' ”

“What do you want it to say?”

“Nothing! It'd be better if they'd just sent the bill and said nothing, no snotty comment needed, thank you very much.”

“There's no sense getting all worked Up.”

“I was
born
here. Who are they?”

“They're the folks who own the store you took the groceries from,” Arbutus said in a dry tone that surprised Madeline a little. “Why are you so angry? They don't owe Us anything.”

“Well. Be that as it may. I know what you're thinking and we're not selling, that's final.”

“It would make everything easier.”

“No, it's not necessary. We'll get by.”

“How?”

There was a pensive silence. Madeline dug in the dirt again, Unhappy to be eavesdropping but Unable to stop.

“Maybe we ought to count ourselves lucky there's someone who wants to buy. Nathan would like me to sell, you know,” Arbutus ventured.

Madeline hoped they didn't mean Gladys's house or Butte's either, which was just a few blocks away.

“Nathan.” Gladys's voice dripped acid. “I'll just bet he would. Like to get his hands on the money, that's what, so he could fritter it away on investing. You know what I think? I think he's desperate. You see it on the television all the time, people who've got in too deep, made bad investments, lost everything.”

There was a brief silence. Then Arbutus said, in a voice that was firm and also a little angry, “Maybe so. And maybe I'd like to help him if that's the case.”

“Help him! When has he helped you?”

“That's not fair. He moved Us into his place when I got so bad, then brought Us back when we asked.”

“I had to hound him, Butte. I practically had to threaten him.”

“That's not true! He didn't think it was a good idea, Us coming back Up here, even with help. And he still did it in the end, didn't he?”

Gladys made a strangled noise. “You spoiled that boy, Arbutus. I hate to criticize, but it's a fact. It's the only thing you ever did wrong in your life, I think.”

“Except for marry his father.” The annoyance had left Arbutus's voice. She sounded rueful but not overly concerned about such a grave error.

“Well,” Gladys said. “That's hardly the point. The point is, we're not selling.”

“What do you think of putting my house on the market, then? You know, Matilda's son got close to a hundred thousand for her place, and it's not that much bigger than mine.”

“It was the
view
, Butte, the location. The water, the water, that's all anyone can think about. You don't have that. Besides, you need your house, you love it. You'll get back there someday. This summer even. You're doing better.”

“I need to pay my way is what I need.”

“We'll get by,” Gladys said again.

Arbutus didn't answer and they both must have left the room because Madeline didn't hear any more conversation. She emptied the box of bone meal and went inside to see if Gladys had any more tucked away.

The house was quiet, the kitchen deserted. A stack of mail sat on the table. All bills. The groceries Gladys returned had come to $75.13, but Madeline was shocked to see that she owed the Bensons over five hundred. She slowly fingered through the rest. There were past due notices for everything. Fuel oil, electricity, the phone. In each envelope a pink slip was enclosed, threatening a shutoff. Even the gas station wanted fifty dollars, but the really impressive things were the bills from the hospital and rehab center where Arbutus had gone after her last fall, before Nathan took them to Chicago.

She owed over sixty thousand dollars. Medicare must not have paid for everything, and Madeline wondered why she wasn't covered by Medicaid. Maybe because of whatever they'd referred to selling. Madeline saw that Gladys had been paying everyone a little—ten dollars here, twenty there. She looked again at the grocery bill. How it had gotten so high without them cutting Gladys off like they had Mary and Emil and Randi?

“What are you doing?” Gladys demanded, appearing from the parlor.

“I'm—nothing.” Gladys snatched the bills from Madeline's hand and Madeline met her gaze Uneasily. “The bone meal's gone. There wasn't enough to finish.”

“Well, go get more, it doesn't take a rocket scientist.”