South of Superior - Ellen Airgood [59]
She stroked one of the geranium’s petals, inhaling its particular bitter fragrance, which she admired for its bold air of unapology. After a moment she sat down again. She rocked, and Walter did too. A clock ticked Up on the wall and the rocker blades grunted on the wooden floor. She didn’t want to alarm Walter (or was it herself?), and so she did not rush into questions. Plus there was something peaceful in their quiet.
She’d left when lunch was served. Walter gave her a hesitant smile and flapped one hand in a small wave, like a child. “I’ll come see you again soon,” she promised.
“Okay.” He had hurried off to his lunch.
Now this was their routine. They visited a little, and were quiet more. Then when lunch was served, Madeline drove off to see Arbutus in the hospital.
Gladys hadn’t come with her today, Madeline often traveled alone. It had been a long three weeks already, weeks in which Gladys’s small house was cavernously empty and the two of them were stiff and formal with each other, polite but constrained. It was true that Madeline’s fury at Gladys’s keeping Walter a secret from her had faded at the instant of seeing Arbutus prone on the floor, but the hurt lingered. A trust that had been building was gone. It would take some time—some doing—to heal the wound. Madeline wasn’t sure she really cared to. Gladys was very distant still. Madeline was sure she blamed her for Arbutus’s fall, and wished she would just come right out and say so. Gladys wouldn’t, though. She said very little. For now they were maintaining a civil relationship. Arbutus needed both of them, and so there was no option. Nowhere to go, nothing to change. But no future to it either, exactly.
There were only a few bright spots in her days, now: these visits with Walter, her times alone Up in the hotel (which Gladys hadn’t gotten around to selling to the Bensons yet, thank God, even though the need must be greater than ever, with Arbutus in the hospital), and the time she spent with Greyson. Randi dropped him off quite often, and with Arbutus in the hospital and Gladys in a long gray funk, it fell to Madeline to entertain him and watch over him. It turned out she didn’t mind this at all. Taking care of Greyson helped her keep her mind off herself. Plus she loved him.
He was full of energy for odd projects and enthusiasms, like building his own telescope, learning the names of all the snakes that lived in Michigan, digging a squirrel tunnel in Gladys’s back yard. He was convinced that if he dug it, they’d Use it instead of tree branches to get around, especially if it was rainy. He was great. She was ashamed she’d resented bringing him home from Garceau’s that day—a day that seemed both very long ago, and not any time at all.
Madeline pulled into the hospital parking lot and headed inside. She’d brought a map, which she Unfolded onto Butte’s bedside table after Butte’s lunch was cleared away. She pinpointed Stone Lake. “Right there,” she said, the tip of her pencil all but obscuring the spot that said “Cranberry L.”
Arbutus squinted and nodded, probably not seeing but always anxious to be agreeable. “You won’t get back in there with a car, I don’t think. It’s back off behind Crosscut Plains. Down along Wildcat Creek, beyond the old fire lookout and past Simmon’s Camp. It’s on Firelane Trail, and that’s always been rough. You’re better off to find a truck somewhere.”
Madeline forced herself not to say, Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me about Walter and this lake and a hundred other things I probably don’t know? I thought you liked me. Loved me even. She had to fight this impulse every time she was alone with Arbutus, because she couldn’t help it, she loved Arbutus and the betrayal hurt. It was as if Emmy had kept something huge from her, Unthinkable. But she had her pride. She wouldn’t ask.
“Where would I get a truck?” she asked instead. The Buick was tough, it would make it. She’d waited long enough to see this lake. Going there would be her Fourth of July