As Waters Gone By Page 14

  Bougie stirred the cider again. Her shoulders lifted, then relaxed, her beautiful mane of unruly hair following along. “I know you’ve been busy until now with the remodeling.”

  “How would you explain this to your accountant?”

  “He already knows I’m not normal.”

  Solitude was one thing. Day after endless day alone in the cottage with no project left except learning how to walk upright with a broken heart was another. Having her enormous bill wiped out by a short stint as part of The Wild Iris team? Dabbling in the food industry again without all the stressors? Where was the downside? “I’m open to the idea.”

  Bougie’s famous pirouette inaugurated Emmalyn’s kitchen as a place where joy was possible. “Great! You start right after your mom and sisters leave.”

  Joy had a challenge on its hands.

  13

  Are you still sorting mail?”

  The postmistress glanced over her shoulder from the worktable a dozen feet behind the customer window. “All done.” She stacked her project and came closer to the window. “Were you waiting for something in particular?”

  Emmalyn shook her head. “Not expecting anything.” Longing, but not expecting. And waiting? Yes. Constantly. “Thanks. Have a great day.”

  “You, too.”

  She wanted to respond, “Not likely. My mother and sisters will be here in an hour.” Ahk! She’d told herself she would presume the best, “make nice,” and not let them get to her this time. She would own her decision to move to Madeline Island and prove that the island had already been good for her. Bougie had suggested she memorize a verse from the Bible. Romans 12:18—“If possible, to the best of your ability, live at peace with all people.” Emmalyn had a feeling the “to the best of your ability” was the part that needed the most work.

  When Bougie offered empty rooms at The Wild Iris to Emmalyn’s family at half price, Emmalyn repented of her original idea of planting them in Bayfield—a moat of water away. She accepted Bougie’s irrepressible generosity and ticked off another few days she’d work as a temporary assistant manager. When her family’s ferry landed, Emmalyn would lead them to the Inn so they could check in, then show the way to the cottage for their first meal together. Shawna insisted her dog allergy wouldn’t be a problem since she wasn’t sleeping at the cottage, as long as Comfort kept her distance.

  Emmalyn strapped herself into the drivers’ seat, unable to suppress her smile. Comfort. Keeping her distance. Sure.

  If her mom and sisters had come a month earlier, they would have seen the cottage at its worst and the island at its best. Now the cottage shone and the island looked a little ragged around the edges—trees bare-branched, seasonal shops closed, summer cottages abandoned in favor of points south. Even Tom’s Burned Down Bar looked deserted—more deserted than it normally did.

  She’d planned activities for each of the three days the women visited. Big Bay State Park—a must. And the Town Park. Devil’s Cauldron. Sunset Bay. They’d drive past the Madeline Island Art Institute grounds. Emmalyn vowed to participate in one of their summer workshops someday. She’d take them to the library, an experience in itself with its wild mix of books, crazy quilt decorating sensibilities in the children’s library, sweet view of the lake from the landing on the stairs to the upper floor reading area, and the yard. How many libraries have a hammock in the lawn, a conversation pit, wildflower garden, handcrafted stepping stones?

  It could snow any day, according to the weather gossips. Was it wrong to pray for the snow to hold off long enough for her family to see why this was exactly where Emmalyn needed to be right now?

  Their opinions mattered. But not enough to throw her off track. Deep breath. The pull of the island, of the water, couldn’t be fully explained. The pull of the people—who could explain that?

  Emmalyn hadn’t come to Madeline Island to get lost, but to get found, apparently.

  And the process wasn’t yet complete. Bits of her kept floating off, drifting to a dream place where she bent over a crib and it wasn’t empty. Days ago, when she made up the single bed in the second bedroom, she’d thought of it as a repurposed nursery. If—

  When Max came home, they’d talk about adoption. Sun-bleached as it was from its original colors, the dream lingered, gasping but still alive.

  After picking up butter and ibuprofen at the convenience store near the Burned Down Bar, Emmalyn drove close to the ferry landing to wait. She got out of the car and crossed the street to stand at the water’s edge, watching and listening. Disturbingly clear water, slurping and gurgling as it had the first day she walked the shoreline in Bayfield before crossing to the island. The distinctive navy blue and white ferry crept across the expanse of water in what from her vantage point looked like a wide curve from hill-hugging Bayfield.

  Not long ago, the hills glowed with autumn colors. Now brown and gray tucked among the evergreens mottled the scene. The ferry closed in, its familiar engine noise crescendoing. Seagulls dipped and squawked. Emmalyn drove her hands deeper into the pockets of her wool jacket. Here they came.

  The ferry docked with a surprisingly small thunk for a vessel that size. Two men secured it with wrist-thick ropes before the gangplank was let down and the first vehicles were waved off. Three familiar women caught her attention from inside a black luxury sedan, her sister Tia at the wheel. The sedan followed a VW off the ferry like a barge follows a tug. Emmalyn waved Tia to keep going and turn right at the stop sign then pull over.

  The ferry boarded again immediately. Emmalyn waited for the six Bayfield-bound vehicles to move far enough for her to cross to her family. They insisted on getting out of the car to hug her. Smothered her with hugs.

  “Well,” her mother said, stepping back a pace, “I was afraid I’d have to give you my ‘you’re getting too thin’ lecture. Not so.” She smiled.

  The gall.

  “Quit it, Mom,” Tia said. “She looks great. You look great, Emmalyn.”

  Shawna added, “It’s the coat. Bulky coats will do that.”

  Her mom put gloved hands on either side of Emmalyn’s face. “A coat doesn’t bulk up a person’s cheeks, dear.”

  She’d been called emaciated the last time they’d seen one another. Bougie helped her get unemaciated.

  “So, where’s this Wild Turnip Inn?”

  Shawna and Tia exchanged a look. It must have been a long trip.

  “Wild Iris, Mom. Unique, but I think you’ll like it.”

  “We could have stayed with you. One of the girls could have slept on the couch.”

  Tia came to the rescue. “Emmalyn bought a dog, Mom. My allergies?”

  “Actually, I didn’t buy the dog. It . . . it chose to move in with me.” That sounded odd, even to her, even though she fully embraced Comfort’s independent side. “No point in our standing around here. Let’s get you settled in your rooms and then head out to the cottage.”

  Tia held back when Mom and Shawna climbed into the sedan. She gave a side-armed hug and spoke without moving her lips. “Hang in there. We’ll be gone soon.”

  Emmalyn leaned into Tia’s shoulder. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “You, too.”

  * * *

  Emmalyn’s mom’s eyebrows stayed unnaturally high throughout the check-in process. Bougie was in exceptionally rare form, dressed in an ankle-length ballet skirt and fifties sweater set. And thick, furry boots. Their rooms were pronounced “adequate” (Mom) and “charming” (Tia and Shawna). Bougie hadn’t given them Emmalyn’s old room—Random 37. For some reason, that warmed her heart. She’d done so much soul-searching in that room, it would have seemed an invasion of privacy to have her mother or sisters pillowing their heads in there.

  Shawna volunteered to ride with Emmalyn when they left The Wild Iris. Before they’d reached the edge of town, Shawna angled herself toward Emmalyn.

  “We need to talk.”

  “We’ll have lots of time in the next two and a half days.” Was she counting do
wn already?

  “I need to tell you something.”

  “Okay.” Emmalyn kept her eyes on the road with only quick glances at her sister.

  “Tia is pregnant. She didn’t want to tell you, because . . . well, you know. But I said you’d be more hurt if she didn’t.”

  Blindsided. Again.

  “She’s not showing yet, so you’d never know. Except her eating habits are crazy. And she gets up to the bathroom a dozen times a night. That’ll be fun, rooming with her.”

  “This is a pretty stretch of woods through here, isn’t it?”

  “Did you hear what I said, Emmalyn?”

  “I heard.”

  “Are you going to be okay with it?”

  “What’s the alternative?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Falling completely apart, like you usually do.”

  I have not fallen apart often enough for you to consider it my default option. Interlopers. Her mom and sisters were interlopers on the island, trampling on the peace she’d worked hard to unearth. If possible, as much as lies within your abilities, make peace with . . . everyone. God, do you know what You’re asking?

  She glanced in the rearview mirror. The black pseudo-limo trailed a few car lengths behind. At the wheel was a woman only two years younger, living Emmalyn’s dream.

  “Em, you would have wanted to know, wouldn’t you?”

  “Of course.” She forced the pitch of her voice higher than she felt. “What a beautiful thing. I thought they’d decided three kids were enough for them.”

  “Total surprise. I mean, royally.”

  “That’s how it happens sometimes.”

  The road wound through woods and emerged to follow the shoreline before disappearing back into the woods again.

  “How far is this place?”

  A small sob caught in Emmalyn’s throat. She coughed to cover. “Not far. The island’s only fourteen miles long, tip to tip. From the air, it looks like it’s shaped like a skinny duck taking flight. We’re headed for the soft spot under its chin.”

  “I’d go stir-crazy. I’d be hopping that ferry to civilization every day.”

  “I do have running water, Shawna. And indoor plumbing, too.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “And I’m working on building a little addition called Contentment.”

  Emmalyn didn’t dare glance Shawna’s way. This courage stuff took concentration and focus.

  A deer tiptoed onto the asphalt ahead a few hundred feet. Emmalyn slowed, watching both sides of the road for companions.

  “Do you have to put up with that all the time?” Shawna said.

  “All the time.” Emmalyn kept a straight face, but spun a Bougie pirouette inside.

  * * *

  Once they got past the awkwardness of letting Tia know that Emmalyn knew what Tia didn’t want her to know, plus the subsequent sibling chiding of the blabbermouth Shawna, the evening meal went fairly well. They’d swooned over the cottage and Emmalyn’s before-and-after pictures. Despite her mom’s comment—This doesn’t look like you—and Emmalyn’s response—It’s more me than I ever knew—true appreciation colored their tour of the cottage. Comfort seemed standoffish to everyone but Emmalyn. It was hard not to love that dog.

  Tia had second helpings of the split pea soup, thirds of the homemade bread and black raspberry jam. Toasted coconut cake—her mom’s favorite—waited on the kitchen counter.

  “Let’s have dessert in the living room,” Emmalyn said. “Coffee?”

  Tia blurted, “Not for me!” and put a hand to her stomach. The apology on her face made Emmalyn’s breath catch. Tia shouldn’t have to temper her excitement about this pregnancy because of Emmalyn’s history.

  “I have some herbal tea,” Emmalyn offered.

  “Perfect. Thank you.”

  “Mom? Shawna? Coffee?”

  The last of the clouds parted and afforded the women a spectacular view of the lake, its waters night-calm and dazzling. They all wanted to sit where they could see the lake, which made it clumsy for conversing.

  “So, Claire’s back in the picture, huh?” Her mother cut into her slice of coconut cake with her fork but held it while she waited for a response.

  Of all the names in all the world, that one had to slither its way into their evening? “Back in the picture?” Emmalyn congratulated herself for asking without an edge to her voice.

  “With Max.”

  Tia slid to the front of her chair. “Not ‘with’ Max, Mom. They’re just talking.”

  Max. Talking to the mother of his pre-Emmalyn love child. “They’re writing each other?”

  “I’m sure he mentioned it to you. Didn’t he?” Her mother snagged another forkful of cake. “I think it’s admirable she’s keeping him informed about their daughter again.”

  Emmalyn supposed years of child support warranted an occasional update. What had Claire done after the support stopped when Max entered the prison system?

  Who wouldn’t sympathize with a child in need? But the monthly child support deduction from Max and Emmalyn’s income had been a land mine they’d skirted from before their wedding. Their dream honeymoon shrank to a nice honeymoon because of child support. Even after their jobs netted them healthier paychecks, fertility treatments reached a limit too soon—in Emmalyn’s eyes—because of child support.

  Max’s integrity kept him faithful to the payments even after Claire moved to Montana, taking Hope Elizabeth far enough away to make visitation too costly and cumbersome to be practical. Two weeks in the summer—most of Max’s vacation time. A few days every Christmas break, every other Thanksgiving. Hard on all of them when Hope was two, three, four. Emmalyn wondered if the little girl found it a relief when her dad was taken away when she was seven.

  “Emmalyn?” Shawna’s question cut into the dangerous territory her thoughts wandered.

  Smile. Breathe. Ignore the elephant. What’s bigger than an elephant? Ignore the blue whale. “Can I warm up anyone’s coffee?”

  The coconut cake cut more smoothly than efforts to slice the tension in the room. Cleaner edges too.

  “She’s turned into a darling pre-teen,” Mom said, insistent as a gnat. “Have you seen the pictures?”

  Tia stood. “We should get back to The Wild Onion. Driving unfamiliar roads in the dark won’t be fun. We have all day tomorrow together to catch up some more.”

  Shawna hesitated, then followed suit. “I wouldn’t mind getting to bed early tonight. What time will we see you in the morning, Emmalyn?”

  If I spend an hour speed-reading the Bible and another hour in intense “God help me!” prayer . . . “How about ten? We can have brunch in the café, then explore the island. I’ll have a late lunch for us here. Weather permitting, we can walk the beach.”

  Comfort scurried to her, signaling she wanted to be picked up. Emmalyn complied. The dog nuzzled her neck as if to say, “You’re doing fine, M. Keep it up.”

  T minus ten minutes to collapse.

  “Need directions back to The Wild Iris?” Emmalyn retrieved their coats from the iron hooks near the back door.

  Tia said, “I programmed it into the car’s navigation system. We’re good.”

  “Call if you have trouble. It’s hard to get lost with so few roads, though.”

  Shawna said, “Keep heading for the duck’s tail, right?” and offered an arm to their mother, who rose stiffly from the couch.

  “You’re not going to have us hiking steep trails or anything tomorrow, are you?” the elder asked.

  “Easy trails. A great boardwalk along the water. But dress warmly.”

  “You couldn’t have run away to Arizona. Or Cancun. No, it had to be where winter looks just like it does at home.” Mom chuckled. Did she think that was funny?

  “Let’s go, Mom,” Tia said, rolling her eyes when their mother looked away to slide her arms into her coat sleeves.

  “We should stay and help with dishes.”

  Emmalyn collected dessert pla
tes. “Don’t worry about the dishes. They won’t take long.”

  They each hugged her before heading out, her mom’s hug punctuated with a warm kiss on Emmalyn’s cheek. She leaned into it, into memories of a time when their relationship wasn’t defined by angst. Long, long ago. She still craved her mother’s love and acceptance. It had probably affected the disappointments of the recent past more than she realized.

  The cottage quieted to its former serenity. Even the clink and clank of dishes in soapy water soothed.

  Her cell phone buzzed a half hour later. A text from Tia. “Sorry. Will make her behave tomorrow.”

  Emmalyn sighed. You can try.

  14

  This island isn’t big enough for the four of us.

  Three minutes into breakfast and Emmalyn had sighed twice already. If asked if she loved her sisters and mother, she’d answer with an emphatic yes. How could love get so twisted? Was it her? Was it them? Was it the combo platter?

  A year ago, she might have insisted it was all their fault. They seemed totally inept at dealing with the brokenhearted, kept trying to tell her life wasn’t that bad.

  Maybe it wasn’t all them. Life could be enormously disappointing and still be good.

  Did that thought live in her own head?

  The look on her mother’s face when Pirate Joe refilled her coffee and stopped at the cookie jar on his way back to the kitchen was worth a little relational discomfort. Emmalyn stole glances at Tia and Shawna and found similar expressions.

  “Such a great guy,” Emmalyn said. “It will be fun working with him.”

  “Working with him?” The trio of voices sounded rehearsed. They were that in sync.

  “I start here on Friday.” She broke off a bite of lemon curd scone.

  Her mother leaned across the table. With a sympathetic hand on Emmalyn’s forearm, she surveyed the smattering of customers in the restaurant and whispered, “Oh, honey. Are things that bad financially?”

  Pretty close.

  “Why didn’t you say something? We’ll help you out until you find something more . . . suitable.”

  Shawna spoke up. “Don’t lump me in with your charity plan, Mom. I have needs of my own. The twins are attending private school next year.”