Voices Carry (7 page)

“Who’s Nancy?” Genna returned Patsy’s squeeze before letting go and leaning into the car to pop the trunk latch.

“Mrs. Palmer’s summer renter, next door. I told you about her.” Patsy reached through the open passenger side window and lifted out Genna’s purse. “You weren’t going to leave this in there, were you?” Patsy frowned. “Things aren’t the way they used to be around here, you know.”

“Or anyplace else, I venture,” Genna said, adding, “I’d have come back for it.”

Genna sat her suitcase on the grass, Patsy eyeing it as if she thought she could judge how long Genna
would be staying by the size of her suitcase. However long it might be, it was never long enough.

“I stopped at Frick’s on the way by,” Genna told Patsy as she retrieved a cantaloupe from the backseat and held it aloft for Patsy’s inspection.

Patsy nodded her approval and grabbed for Genna’s suitcase.

“I’ll take that,” Genna told her.

“I have it.”

“You take these.” Genna passed her the basket from Frick’s. “And don’t forget your flowers.”

“You think I can’t handle that?” Patsy gestured to the suitcase with a bob of her head, then turned to pick up the Queen Anne’s lace. “Ha! I’m as healthy as a horse. I’m going to be around to take your babies on their first spin across the lake in the kayak.”

“I don’t know that I’d want to be holding my breath, waiting for babies,” Genna smiled, “but I’m hoping to get a few spins around the lake myself while I’m here.”

“Tomorrow, maybe,” Patsy told her as they walked up the front step of the cottage. “Tonight you relax. I can tell by your eyes that you haven’t been getting enough sleep lately. You work too hard, Genna.”

“Probably,” Genna agreed, stepping inside and unconsciously breathing in just a little more deeply, inhaling the welcoming scent of the place. She never entered through that door without experiencing a sense of welcome, of relief. That feeling that she’d reached her sanctuary.

“You bought new carpets and didn’t tell me?” Genna asked, standing in the center of the living room and taking it all in.

“They were installed last week. I thought the new decor would be a nice surprise for you. I thought it was time.” Patsy nodded. “The last time I bought carpets, you were fifteen, remember?”

“I do. You let me help pick out the color.”

“Which explained the red, white, and blue tweed carpet in the bathroom all these years.”

“I thought it was patriotic.” Genna grinned.

“It was. Though I always had to fight the urge to salute before using the facilities.”

Genna laughed, then admired the new carpet, telling Patsy, “This beigy color is very nice.”

“Taupe,” Patsy said as she disappeared into the kitchen. “The salesman called it taupe.”

“Whatever. It’s great with the sofa.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“I do.”

“Honey, why don’t you take your things into your room and get settled?” Patsy reappeared with a green vase into which she had loosely arranged the Queen Anne’s lace and placed it in the center of the table.

“I was just going to do that.”

Genna hoisted her suitcase and followed the short hallway past the living room to the first door on the left. Patsy had earlier opened the curtains to let in light and whatever breeze might blow in off the lake, and Genna stood, just for a moment, in the doorway to take it all in.

The old maple double bed was draped with the same old blue and white quilt that it had worn the first time Genna had slept in this room. Something about that quilt had given her great comfort that night, and she had never been able to give it up, no
matter how worn from use and from washings it had become. The antique oak dresser still stood at an angle in one corner, its tall, attached mirror tilted to get the best light. The walls were still palest yellow—painted several times since Genna had come, but always in the same shade—and the same framed print—daisies in a mason jar, set upon a small square table—hung over the bed. Many a night Genna had fallen asleep on a pillow propped at the bottom of the bed so that she could count the number of petals on the flowers.

They love me. They love me not. . .

And last was the small chair covered in flowered chintz that had once graced the bedroom of Patsy’s younger sister back in Tanner. Nothing had changed much over the years, save for the new carpet, the same as that which now covered the floor in the living room and most likely, Genna surmised, Patsy’s room as well.

Here, in this room, more than anyplace in the world, Genna felt at home.

“I thought we’d have dinner around six,” Patsy announced from the living room, as if they ever had dinner at any other time. You could set your watch by Patsy’s sitting down for her evening meal every night at six
P.M.

Genna glanced at the small clock on the dresser.

“Think we have time for a sail?”

“Time, perhaps, though there’s not enough of a breeze. But if you’re up to paddling, we can take the canoe out. Or the kayaks.”

“The canoe would be fine. Give me two minutes to change.”

“I’ll meet you down at the lake.”

Two minutes had been two minutes too few, but soon enough, Genna had traded her trim denim skirt and neat cotton shirt for an old pair of khaki shorts and an oversized tee, her leather sandals for bare feet. The fragrance from the lilies she and Patsy had planted years ago along the side of the house greeted her as she stepped onto the deck, and along the way to the lake she passed the ancient hydrangeas that Patsy claimed her parents had planted the year they built the place. It was all so achingly familiar, so wonderfully precious to Genna that she all but hugged herself with the pleasure of seeing it all again.

Patsy turned and waved from the edge of the water where the canoe was tied from one of the pilings on the dock, and Genna joined her.

“You ready?” Patsy asked.

“Definitely.”

“Go on and get in, then, while I untie ’er.”

Genna walked through the warm, shallow water to the canoe and stepped in, pushed off a bit with her paddle into deeper waters. Patsy joined her and together, they paddled along, falling into their old, practiced rhythm, traveling the lake’s perimeter. Occasionally Patsy would stop the action momentarily to point out “the MacDonalds’ new deck” or “the Clausens’ new catamaran. They bought it from the Taylors over on the other side of the lake, so it’s not exactly new. . .”

And so on, until they’d come full circle and returned to their own dock.

“It’s time to start dinner,” Patsy announced as they lifted the canoe from the water.

“I’ll help.”

“Sit down on the dock and just relax, honey. I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

“Tomorrow I’ll sit on the dock and watch the dragonflies and listen for the fish to jump.” Genna draped an arm around Patsy’s shoulders and fell in step. “Tonight I want to help get dinner ready.”

And sit at the counter, there in that tiny kitchen, and get in your way from time to time. I want to listen to the sound of your voice and even the occasional silence. I want to set the table with the dishes I bought for your birthday that year I had my first job, and I want for just a little while to bask in your warmth. That same warmth that saved me so many years ago still soothes me. And Lord knows I could use a little of that warmth now. . .

Genna was relieved when she awoke the next morning and realized that she had not had the nightmare. She always feared that her proximity to the camp would bring it all back in shrieking detail, and there were times, over the years, when she’d lain awake for hours, here in her small room that faced the back of the cottage, afraid to fall asleep. Afraid that the night demons could find her so much more easily here than anywhere else. But last night she’d slept like the proverbial log, and awakened refreshed.

She padded on bare feet into the living area and found Patsy gazing out the back window.

“Morning, Pats.”

“Morning, Gen.” Patsy turned from the window, grinning, and added, “I do believe you just set a new record.”

“For. . . ?”

“Most hours slept under this roof.”

“What time is it?” Genna frowned.

“Almost nine.”

“Nine o’clock? I slept until nine o’clock?”

“Imagine that! Why, what is this world coming to?” Patsy laughed, and patted Genna on the back. “You must have needed the sleep, honey.”

“I can’t remember the last time I slept until nine.” Genna scratched at a mosquito bite on her upper arm. “And I was dead to the world, too. The last thing I remember is listening to the crickets and every once in a while, a splash from the lake.”

Genna stretched her arms over her head and yawned.

“You go on and get your shower,” Patsy told her, “and I’ll fix you something good for breakfast.”

“Oh, yum,” Genna grinned. “Surprise me?”

“Sure thing.” Patsy folded her arms over her chest and watched Genna amble off to the bathroom at the end of the hall.

“She’s too thin,” Patsy mumbled as she went into the kitchen and took out the last of the eggs and a carton of milk. “She’s not eating right, I just know it. No time to cook, no time to eat, no time to sleep.”

Patsy searched a cupboard for a frying pan.

“Well, not while she’s under my roof,” Patsy continued her dialogue. “When my girl is home, she’ll be well fed and well rested. Sunshine and good food and sleep. We’ll fix her right up, won’t we, Kermit?”

Patsy addressed the cat that had appeared at the back door and announced himself with a practiced yowl.

“You come on in, now.” Patsy opened the door and the large orange cat sauntered in. “I suppose you’re hungry, too.”

Patsy leaned down and rubbed the cat under the chin,
and he thanked her by batting at her hand with a large, flat paw. She batted back at him playfully with a spatula, and he reached for it with both of his front paws.

“Ah, no time to play right now,” Patsy told him. “You go see what I left in your bowl. I have breakfast to make for Genna.”

Kermit sniffed at his bowl, then walked imperiously into the living room.

“Might I suppose you already ate?” Patsy called after him. “I hope it wasn’t one of the birds, though. I hate it when you do that. And besides, if you don’t eat your kitty food, how am I to know if you’ve eaten at all? I can’t give you your insulin unless you have something in that old stomach of yours. . .”

“Who are you talking to?” Genna, wrapped in a large white towel, stepped out of the bathroom and into the short hallway that led into the kitchen.

“That diabetic old tom of yours,” Patsy waved the spatula. “He’s been out catting around and I don’t know if he’s found something to snack on or not. He hasn’t had his insulin since last night, and you know what happens when he doesn’t get his shots on a regular basis.”

Patsy shivered, recalling the last time that Kermie had had a seizure. They’d almost lost him that time.

Genna walked into the living room and spied the cat who’d found a spot of sunlight and was now curled in its warmth.

“There you are.” Genna knelt down next to the cat she had named after the famous frog, because even as a kitten, Kermit’s back feet had been enormous. “Thought you’d sneak in and try to make me think you’d been here all night, did you?”

Genna heard the sound of a camera’s shutter behind her.

“Patsy, would you put that damned thing away?”

“No.” Patsy replied. “It’s a nice shot, you there on the floor with Kermie.”

“Wearing nothing but a towel and some extraneous body hair that I was planning on shaving off,” Genna stretched one leg out in front of her and inspected it.

“Not to worry, I didn’t have it on zoom.”

Genna laughed.

“Now, get dressed and come sit down and eat some of this delicious French toast I’m about to make.”

“I’ll gain ten pounds here,” Genna pretended to complain. “I always do.”

“You could stand to gain a little.” Patsy told her as she returned to the kitchen. “And you haven’t stayed here long enough to gain ten pounds since you were in high school.”

“Touché.” Genna stood up. “Give me five minutes. I’ll take a cup of coffee now, though.”

“No, you won’t. It’ll slow you down. You can have your coffee with your breakfast.”

“Tyrant,” Genna muttered just loud enough for Patsy to hear, smiling as she did so, and went to her room to dress.

“Think we can get in a sail today?” Genna asked when she arrived in the kitchen and sat down at the small counter where plates had been set for two.

“Maybe. The clouds look a little iffy, but they could pass over.” Patsy handed her a plate upon which she’d piled fat slices of French toast, golden from the frying pan and wearing a sprinkling of white powdered sugar.

“Heaven. Sheer heaven.” Genna smiled. “And worth every blessed calorie, and every bit of cholesterol, fat. . .”

Patsy smiled and poured orange juice and coffee for them both, then sat down next to Genna.

“I used the last of the eggs for the French toast,” she commented. “I don’t usually go through a dozen so quickly, but between the cake I made for last night and the toast this morning, I went through that carton in less than a week.”

“If I’d known, I could have picked some up yesterday.”

“No matter. I can make a quick run this morning.” Patsy shrugged. “I was thinking about making a lemon soufflé for dessert, so I will need the extra eggs.”

“How is Mrs. Frick doing?”

“Well, she’s old as the hills, as you know. Must be in her nineties. Spry little devil, though. Still raises her hens and sells her eggs and works on those quilts of hers, though she doesn’t make as many as she used to, and they seem to take her longer these days.”

“Maybe I’ll go with you,” Genna said, pleased that she wouldn’t have to wait too long for an opportunity to visit the farm. “It’s been years since I’ve seen her.”

“Oh, most days I don’t go up to the house anymore.” Patsy sipped at her juice. “I just buy from the stand. Unless I’m having something made—a baby quilt or something—that I have to talk to her about.”

“Actually, I was thinking about just that. A baby quilt, that is.” Genna hadn’t been, but she was now that the opportunity presented itself.