Back to Madeline Island (17 page)

“Sounds quite nice,” Ruby says, “but I've never lain in the sun—not once. What sort of things, Howard darling?”

“There's the Apostle Island ice caves to explore,” Howard begins. “And dog sled rides and cross-country skiing and ice skating and—”

“What about the ‘sitting in front of the fire' part?” I ask. “Let's not forget that, or reading a good book under a heavy blanket—and hot tea—not to mention chocolate, lots and lots of chocolate.”

Johnny goes over to their kitchen area. “Howard dear,” he says, “would you lend me a hand with this? Turn the lights off on your way.”

He does, leaving on their magnificent tree. They return moments later, carrying a cake in the shape of a tree; all around the edge bright silver sparklers are shooting out brilliant white light.

“Merry Christmas Eve—and Ruby!” They both sing and we clap our hands and laugh and giggle.

“Merry Christmas,” I say as a happy tear slides down my cheek. I straighten and say in a stronger voice, “Now let's eat this tree before it melts all over hell!”

“Well put, darling,” Ruby adds and we dig in.

I
awake to the quiet of the cottage, I'm sure it's a bit chilly around the edges, but I'm warm and cozy under these quilt layers. Rocky stretches and yawns; he's snuggled close beside me. Looking over, out my bedroom windows, I can see a gentle snow falling; the blue undertones with sun shining through are magical. I can't get over how much it's been snowing. But what would a white Christmas Day be without the stuff?

Reluctantly, I slip out from the warmth and quickly fold myself into my thick winter robe: a fleece-lined flannel of metallic gray, with pink stripes. After slipping into my chilly bunny slippers, I trot downstairs with Rocky in search of a nice hot mugo-java. I study our Christmas tree on the way through the living room.

It's only five feet high, or so. We put it in a cat-safe corner (we hope) and covered it with every ornament we could. Its overburdened fraser fir branches are drooping under the strain, but it looks so
fabulous
, as Johnny said. I look up and smile at the empty rafters way up there—no more damn glass eyes looking back and creeping me out. The banister running along the open hallway above and sweeping down the stairs is wrapped with pine garlands, hand-made by Mr. Tree Stud his sexy-ol-self. We baked tray after tray of pinecones, just until the sap turned to clear, and now they're tucked every so often among the garlands and look tasteful as hell. Smells good, too.

I head into the kitchen. Rocky is taking a drink out of the Christmas tree's water; what is it with that cat? I give him fresh well water and he prefers
that
. I give up! Now we make sure that the Christmas tree skirt is open a bit to one side so Mister Rocky can have his pine-tree-flavored water.

Taking down the tin of coffee, I greedily inhale the earthy smell, then load up the coffeepot with heaping scoopfuls. What is it about that delicious smell that just takes you away? I click on the stove's burner, marveling at how Ruby keeps its yellow and chrome parts so shiny. Coffee—another addiction that I can't imagine doing without.

Since it always takes a bit to get perking, I empty the fish-shaped ashtray of all the different-colored butts; we certainly have a variety of lipstick colors around here. Too bad we couldn't keep away from the evil things (
dreadful
, as Ruby would say), but I swear, I was gaining too much weight. I know, I know, poor excuse. But at least we're smoking
less
.

I go back into the living room and plug the Christmas lights in. The tin foil–covered star on top is perfect. Ruby's handiwork. I reshake several of the hastily wrapped gifts to me from Ruby that are tucked underneath. Ruby just hates to take too much time wrapping. Me—I love it.

One, I know what's inside; Ruby's been giving me a blank journal for years. Ever since I read (and reread) what has become a favorite book, Elizabeth Berg's
Pull of the Moon
. The main character, Nan, writes in this beautiful journal and has all sorts of “deep and meaningful insights.” I figured it couldn't hurt, so Ruby has taken on the job of keeping me in fresh journals. Probably hoping I'll have a “breakthrough” and share the wisdom. Thank goodness she
does
give me something to write all this down in; my memory is the pits, but I'm
full
of wisdom.

I crawl under the tree (something I love to do) next to a now snoozing Rocky and look up through all the ornaments and twinkling lights. I sure can understand the attraction of why he likes it under here; it's really magical—just don't get caught by another human. I reach up and plink a glass star; it jiggles a bit too much. I slow its swaying, but my hair is stuck in something, and when I lift my head, it pulls like
hell
! So I try and inch my way out and then I realize I must have hooked a wad of curls around the screws that hold the tree up and—

“Holy shit!” The entire tree—in slow motion—falls on top of me! Rocky takes off; I can hear him dashing down the hallway toward the library. Big help
he
is.

“What in the
world
are you doing, darling?” Ruby yells down from up above.

“I'm checking the lights—what the
hell
does it look like? Get down here and help me out of this
mess
!”

It takes some doing, or undoing rather, but eventually Ruby and I untangle me from the fallen disaster. Once I'm able to sit up again, she reaches into my hair and lifts out an ornament that was hanging in there and carefully puts it back on the newly righted tree. Then we burst out laughing. Thank God it fell slowly. Not an ornament was broken, and it really only took a bit of fussing to rehang the things that
did
slide off. Do you think Rocky helped us? Not on your life, I think he's hiding for the rest of the day. But I did wrap up a new toy stuffed with catnip. Maybe that will coax him back out here.

“Now that you've redone the tree”—Ruby blows on her steamy mug—“perhaps we can open our gifts—or did you already, while you were under there?”

“Smart ass.” I blow a smoke ring and it sails up into the rafters. “That was so much fun last night over at the boys'. I thought
we
had decorated a lot.”

“Perhaps the boys are making up for all the years of being down in Key West for Christmas. That enormous village of light-up houses all over their dining room table does seem a bit much, though—really.”

“Why not go a little crazy,” I say, looking around at all our fancy work. “If it makes them happy.”

“I suppose you're right, darling.” Ruby pulls her afghan tighter. “I can't seem to warm up this morning; have you ranked up the heater yet?”

“You know, I haven't.” I head over to the thermostat and turn it up to a toasty seventy degrees. The furnace in the basement rumbles to life and soon the radiators that are in every room and hall start to clang and hiss with pricey heat.

“Thank you, dear—should be warmer in, say, an hour or so.”

“I closed the flue in the fireplace.” I plop back down into the cushy sofa and pull a blanket around my shoulders. “The boys explained how really inefficient they are as far as heating a room goes. The living room is warm when there's a fire in there; it pulls the warmth from every corner in the house. But there's just nothing like a crackling fire.” So I reopen the flue and light the readied logs. It snaps to life.

“Much better—now how about being Santa and delivering all those tastefully wrapped gifts to their rightful owner—and the other ones, too—you really should get some gift wrapping lessons.”

“You're jealous because of all the compliments
my
gift wrapping got from Howard.” I bring over several gifts I wrapped for her and marvel at my handiwork. Several I wrapped ribbon around and around, then wove a single pine bough into it—perfect. For a couple others I handmade huge bows out of bright red ribbon with black pieces here and there. One tiny box has a single loop of silver ribbon—classy. Ruby's gifts are “okay” in the wrapping department, but one is done up in cowboy paper, I mean, c'mon already.

I grin at our little collection of wrapped goodies. “How fun—you first.”

“Oh, it's too lovely…what the hell.” She rips and tears all my hard work, then fusses with the taped box, finally opening it and undoing the tissue. She holds up the colorful scarf and then wraps it around her neck with flair. “It's marvelous, thank you, darling.”

The phone rings just as I'm about to attack a gift wrapped in paper covered with little wedding cakes. I head over to the phone in the kitchen.

“Merry Christmas,” I chirp into the mouthpiece.

“Merry Merry Christmas, Eve—it's
Helen
.” I can hear Ryan say “Merry Christmas” in the background.

“What a great surprise—what're you two up to today?”

“We're about to head down to the Twin Cities to visit my mom and then over to Ryan's folks and I—we—wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas before we left. So what are you and that Ruby up to on this beautiful day?”

I consider lighting up a cigarette, but decide against it. “We were just exchanging a few gifts and then I think we're going to do some outdoorsy thing—Johnny was telling us about the ice caves around here that might need some peeking into, or maybe a bit of old fashioned ice-skating.”

“Sounds fun. I've never heard of an ice cave.” Helen chuckles a bit. “Somehow I can't imagine you on skates, though.”

“Hey! I used to be pretty damn good—of course that was in the days of roller skates, but I hear tell it's similar. But I probably will take a fall or two—good thing I've got some extra padding.”

We laugh. “Have you heard back from your father?”

My stomach knots. “Well, actually—”

“Is he…okay?” Helen asks with caution in her voice.

“Oh sure, it's just that—well—he wrote me this note and—you're not going to believe this.” I take in a deep breath. “He's not
really
my dad after all.”

“I knew it!” Helen states with oomph. I instantly feel better. “I felt
something
and the way you told me how growing up he was so distant
and
that you two just never seemed to get along. Well, there you have it—but geez, who
is
your dad? For that matter, I've been meaning to ask you—who's mine?”

I reach for a cigarette and light up. “Pull up a chair, Helen. This may take a while.”

 

“My
goodness.
” Ruby comes into the kitchen just as I hang up the phone. “You two carry on like old friends—quite divine. Not meaning to eavesdrop, of course, but I think you handled the entire—what did you refer to it as—oh yes, ‘So who
is
yo daddy?' very well. Nice touch.”

“She's extremely logical about all this.” I hold out my mug for a refill. “Thank you. Helen figures that since she's only just met the guy, it's no big deal to
her
, she's more concerned for me and maybe something
will
turn up. Maybe in some of the old papers and letters in my mom's hope chest, I might come across something, especially now that I know there's something to be looking for—
talk
about taking secrets to the grave.”

“What if you never
do
know, darling?” Ruby's look of concern is so touching.

“You know, it's knowing that Larry
isn't
my dad—that's come as such, well, it's a relief in a way. I mean the guy was so
not there
for me.”

“Perhaps it was simply the only thing he
could be
—for you, for your mum as well.”

“I'm beginning to see that…and let go of it, too.” I sip and think. “Hey—we need to finish our Christmas—c'mon.”

We slump back down into the cozy sofa and (you guessed it) the phone rings.

“The boys,” we say together.

“Shall we let the machine pick it up?” Ruby asks and I nod.

My voice clicks on: “Hello there, this is
your
lucky day—you've reached Eve and Ruby's fancy answering service. Leave us something constructive and [dramatic pause] maybe we'll call you back.” Then you can hear Rocky meow and Ruby's giggle, followed by a desperate sounding beep.

“I know you're listening,” Johnny's voice crackles through the speaker along with loud Christmas music in the background. “I bet you both are sitting on the couch in the living room, still in your robes and most likely smoking!” Howard hacks and hacks and then they both laugh. “We're looking into renting some cross-country skis for this afternoon over in Bayfield. So get back to us when you're not busy
sitting there smoking
and let's get off this berg! Merry Christmas, you two, and thank you for the pajamas and robes you gave us!” Howard yells his thanks and then they click off.

“My goodness,” Ruby sighs. “What have we gotten ourselves into?”

“It'll be fun—now open up another one.”

Rocky pounces onto the coffee table, grabs one of the tastefully wrapped gifts in his mouth and zooms upstairs. We hear him dash up to the tower room.

“Well—then.” Ruby gives her hair a pat. “My heavens—he certainly has it bad for that catnip stuff. Pity it doesn't affect us in the same way.”

I tear open the one I get every year. (Lucky for you; otherwise you'd never know how things turn out.) “A fresh journal—thank you.”

“That Rocky.” Ruby slips on her bifocals and reads the card attached to a small gift. “‘Hope this fits. Love Rocky.' How jolly lovely of him, now let's see what—” She tears off the paper in record time and then snaps the miniature jewelry box open. “Oh, Eve—it's simply divine. A miniature apron with
RUBY'S APRONS
on it—what a marvelous brooch. I love it. It must have cost a
fortune;
are those
real
rubies?”

“Of course not! And yes—it
did
cost a fortune, though. If I ever see that baby on eBay, you're in
big
trouble.”

 

Howard and Johnny clamber up the ladder and sit behind us in the duck. I back it out of the barn and head on down the driveway. I use a nearby wooden ramp that's not so steep as our yard, and what with all this snow, I've gotten stuck down by the boathouse twice, so I figure why go for three? What will we do when the lake freezes over—drive on top of it, I suppose. Hmmm.

“We all look like the Michelin men!” I say as we creep down the driveway and across the bridge. Everyone's wrapped up in coats, scarves and gloves; the icy winter air is something. “Look over there.” I point to the left. “One of them has a rack, just like one of the heads we took down.” I wonder if that's my friend?