They turned off the main road and headed over to the city park beach on Lake Michigan, along the pier. When George had parked the car, he asked, “You sure you can walk out there?”
“Let’s give it a try.”
Slowly, the two friends walked across the sand toward the pier. Jonathan could smell the big lake and feel the breeze coming in on his face and he welcomed the familiar memory of it. The sun was falling low over the far horizon and turning a pale red among scattered clouds of gray and purple. George helped him up onto the pier and they began walking out toward the lighthouse at the far end. A couple of old men were sitting on stools, holding fishing rods set against the rail.
When they got to the end, Jonathan stopped and rested with his arms on the railing, looking over the water to the sharp edge of the horizon and the sun just now touching it. Wisconsin was out there, too far to see, and in closer, Beaver Island, although not visible on this night through the low haze.
“George, there were nights out on our ship I would look out over the ocean and imagine I was really back here, looking at the lake and I was home and safe.”
“I had those same moments,” his friend answered.
“Do you ever think about why we made it back and so many others… well, so many others didn’t?” Jonathan asked.
“I just counted my blessings, Jonathan. We could very easily be at the bottom of one of those big cold oceans with fish nipping at what would be left of us.”
“So, God decided to keep us around a bit longer. What the hell do we do about it?” Jonathan said, as much to himself as to his friend.
“We better damn well make the most of it.”
Later, they parked downtown and walked into the bar to see if Luke was waiting for them. It had grown dark and Bud had closed the door as the evening’s chill had set in. Jonathan and George walked into the dimly lit bar and saw Luke still sitting where they had seen him earlier.
Jonathan walked up next to his brother and pulled a stool back to sit down. Luke’s eyes were closed and he didn’t move. George sat down on the other side and nudged Luke. He lifted his head in surprise and turned to see first George on one side, and then his brother on the other. He reached out and examined what was left of his drink and then swallowed it. His head swayed slightly as he tried to gain focus.
When he spoke, the words were more than slurred, they were almost unintelligible. “So, we got ourselves both a you damn war heroes, huh?”
Jonathan thought for a moment about staying to help his brother get home, but then he thought to himself, to hell with him. “George, let’s get out of here.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” They left without saying anything to Luke and he didn’t look up to notice they were leaving.
They walked out onto the sidewalk. Jonathan looked up the familiar street of his youth and looked back at the door to the bar. “God, he’s a mess.”
“I tried to tell you it’s been bad.”
“And Catherine’s been putting up with that?”
“She’s been as bad at times.”
“George, how could that have happened?”
“My folks are just sick about it, but after we left she just kept slowly going downhill and before they knew it, she was too far down the wrong path.”
Jonathan stood silent for a bit. He turned to George. “Let’s get some cold beers and a boat and go down to the old bay.”
“Horton?”
“Yeah, come on. Let’s go.”
“It ain’t fishing season yet.”
“I know. I just want to go and sit and look at the stars, and drink some beers with my best friend.”
“Your dad got any boats in the water yet?”
“If he doesn’t, we’ll get one in. Come on.”
An hour later, they had an old cooler filled with ice and a case of long neck beers stowed in the back of one of his father’s old runabouts and they were cruising out through the channel into Lake Charlevoix. The sun had been down for a while, but a full moon was coming up over the hills across the lake and the reflection cast its way back toward them on the smooth surface.
Being in the boat, smelling the gas and feeling the chill of the night coming off the lake, Jonathan felt like he was really home. The beer was cold in his hand and he held the wheel in his other, as they made their way slowly through the channel past all the boathouses and the big houses up on the hill, then the Coast Guard station on their left. When they cleared the pilings from the railroad bridge, Jonathan pressed the throttle down and the old boat surged up with a throaty roar. They were soon planed out and sliding smoothly across the surface of the still lake. The sky was clear and the moon was so close you could see the sharp shadows across it and every minute more stars burst out and sparkled in the growing darkness.
They sat up on the back of the seats with their feet on the cushions down below. Their heads were up above the windshield and Jonathan savored the feel of the wind in his face and through his hair.
“Goddamn, this is nice!” George yelled over the roar of the engine.
After a while, they could make out the point coming out from Horton Bay. Jonathan made a wide circle and then slowed the boat and turned off the engine to let it slide into the bay silently. There were a few lights on in the cabins up in the woods around the bay, but it was dead quiet. The boat kept gliding across the calm surface.
George reached in the back and grabbed two more beers. Small chunks of ice clung to them and they were almost too cold to hold on to. He found the opener in his pocket and popped the two tops, handing one bottle to Jonathan. Without speaking, they touched the necks of the two bottles together and then both took a long slow drink.
“Welcome home, Hansen.”
“Welcome home, McKendry.”
“Do you think the fish are still here?” Jonathan asked.
“No one’s been around to fish ‘em now for years. There should be some monsters in there by now,” he said, motioning with a nod of his head up towards the creek in the middle of the bay.
“What, two weeks till opener?” Jonathan asked.
“Yeah, two Saturdays from now.”
“Let’s camp out down here like we used to and get at ‘em before sun-up,” Jonathan said, taking another long pull from his beer. "The Hendersons over there’ll let us use their beach again, don’t you think?”
“Sure, I’ll call ‘em about it.”
Jonathan looked up. “George, these are the same damned stars we were looking at out there in the middle of the oceans, but they sure as hell look a lot friendlier back here in the bay, don’t you think?”
“They look swell to me.”
They both sat in silence awhile.
“George, we gotta do something to help Luke, and I guess Catherine, too, huh?”
“They may be past anybody’s help.”
“Yeah… I guess. I talked to my dad today. He wants me to stick around and help out with the boatworks. Did you know about his health?”
“Yeah, I just heard from your mom a couple of weeks ago.”
“Shit, I don’t know what to do about school now, George.”
George put his beer down on the deck of the boat and looked over at his friend. “Well, the way I see it, after what we’ve been through we damned well deserve to make our own way. I know your dad probably needs help, but there’s got to be another way.”
“There must be something.” Jonathan tipped the beer bottle to the sky and felt the cold beer flow down into his gut and a numbness starting to build in his cheeks. When he finished, he threw the bottle in the back of the boat and reached for another. “You ready?” he asked.
The two men sat back looking up at the stars and the moon that was now almost straight overhead. A few bats were out and darting around the boat trying to catch up with an early hatch of bugs that had come out. Tree frogs up in the hills sounded like a chorus of banshees and broke the stillness of the night.
“I told you about Emily Compton?” J
onathan asked.
“Yeah, we talked about her when I was down in Ann Arbor.”
“She said she won’t be comin’ up this summer,” Jonathan said and then paused, taking another drink. “Probably just as well, huh?”
“Probably just as well,” his friend answered.
Chapter Seventeen
It was just past ten o’clock in the evening and the crowds along Bridge Street were beginning to thin out. Those few who remained in town had made their way into the bars and restaurants, and the sidewalks were nearly barren. As Alex Clark walked alone down past the closed shops and darkened windows, he was oblivious to the sounds of laughter and loud voices coming from the night establishments. His mind was wrapped around the earlier events of the evening and the two women who had shared his dinner table.
The stoic Gwen, leaving early, then parting with an admonition. I only want her to be happy. Her words continued to repeat in his mind. He tried to decipher whether this had been a gentle warning to stay away from the vulnerable Sally Thomason, or an invitation.
The face of the beautiful and tormented Sally remained clear in his mind. Her tears still burned on his cheeks from the moments he had held her, and then the kiss.
As he walked, he tried hard to sort through his feelings for the woman. These few days in this small town, and the events that had transpired had been so unexpected. He had to admit he had felt a strong attraction and connection to Sally from the first moment they had met. What he had been unable to sort out was why. Certainly, she was an attractive and talented woman. She had a wonderful way with Megan, but he wasn’t looking for another mother for his daughter and he honestly hadn’t given any serious thought to a new relationship either. The pain of their loss was still too near, and yet he felt drawn to Sally in a way that was coming to overwhelm him.
When they had parted earlier tonight, she left without an explanation or a promise of any further discussion. She had just walked away up the hill into town.
The lights were out throughout the house. Sally sat out on the sun porch, looking into the darkness. The glass of wine in her hand remained full and it almost spilled in her lap before she placed it on the table beside her. She had been home for over an hour now trying to make sense of what had just happened with Gwen and then Alex. The house had been empty when she returned and she had no idea where Gwen had gone. She needed to talk to her and get this all out. The thought of losing her was like a sharp stake through her heart.
What in the world was happening? Everything suddenly seemed to be moving so fast. All she could think of were the few moments she and Alex had held each other and the feel of his body tight against hers and the taste and lingering feel of the kiss.
She got up and walked back into the house. There was enough light coming in from street lamps that she could make her way. She got to the kitchen and picked up the phone. She dialed the gallery and listened as it continued to ring with no answer. She clicked the phone dead. She dialed again, this time the bar downtown where she and Gwen often stopped for a drink in the evening. Their friend Max answered. He hadn’t seen Gwen all night. She hung up again. She dialed her cell phone, still no answer.
Back on the porch, she picked up the glass of wine and took it with her out the back door and across the lawn. In the darkness, she made her way down the path to the lake. The lights from the end of the pier cast their glow across the water and the bright beacon from the lighthouse continued to sweep the water and up over the land.
Sally made it down onto the cool sand of the beach and continued on down to the sound of small waves rolling along the shore. The rain had passed and a few stars were showing through the breaks in the clouds. The sand was still wet and dappled from the falling rain drops. She stopped when she reached the water and let the waves wash over her bare feet. She held the wine glass to her cheek and felt the cool moisture soak into her. Drinking it slowly now, she welcomed the warmth within her as it went down.
In her mind, she heard Megan’s laugh and she thought of the young girl and her wonderful spirit and energy. Then, she could see her own daughter running along this same beach, splashing into the water, building sand castles where she now stood.
She shook the images from her mind and walked along the shore toward the pier. A large sailboat was coming out through the channel and she could see the lights from the boat moving slowly out toward Lake Michigan. People onboard were laughing and music was playing loudly.
When she reached the pier, she climbed up on the steel and cement structure and began walking out toward the end. The large green navigation light blazed ahead of her on the end of the pier and every few seconds the light house beacon would blind her as it passed. Sounds and faces continued to flash through her mind and she tried not to think, but just take in the night around her.
She slowed as she approached the rail. The sailboat was now rolling gently out over the swells as it penetrated the dark waters ahead beyond the pier. She put the wine glass to her lips and finished it in one long drink; the numbness that bore through her was a welcome relief. She placed the glass by her feet and held the rail and looked out over the blackness of the lake and the sky.
It was midday before she was able to get herself down to the gallery. Her assistant had opened the shop and welcomed her as she walked in. Sally scanned the store for Gwen, but didn’t see her.
“Have you seen Gwen this morning?” Sally asked.
“No, I had to open when I got here.”
Sally nodded and walked back into the studio. She saw the note folded in a tent on her desk as soon as she walked into the room. She stood staring at it for a few moments, unable to convince her body to move forward and pick it up. “Oh no,” was all she could manage.
Finally, she walked over and sat at the desk and picked up the note. She unfolded it and turned on a small lamp so she could see. It was written in Gwen’s hand.
Sal,
It’s better if I go away for a bit and let all of this sort itself out. I’m leaving for New York to spend a couple of weeks with my sister. I just want you to know I love you and I care for you, and most of all, I want you to be truly happy.
Whatever happens, I will always love you.
G.
Sally read the note again and let it fall on the desk. She wasn’t surprised. In her heart, she had known Gwen was gone. She had left this all for her to figure out, when what they needed most was to talk and help each other through these feelings and emotions. The emptiness grew within her and she felt the clouds of doubt and confusion continue to build.
She looked down at the pictures of the EmmaLee she had taken, spread haphazardly across her desk. She reached for one she had taken when the ship first came into the channel last week. Alex and Megan were up at the front rail, waving to the crowds along the pier. The magnificent ship sprawled back behind them and shined in the midday sun, its crew spread along the deck.
She took the photo and put it in her pocket. She walked back out to the front of the gallery and through the front door without speaking. She turned to her right and bumped into a couple coming down the sidewalk from the other direction. They both apologized to her as she continued on without acknowledging them. She needed to walk and think. A few friends recognized her as she walked down the crowded sidewalk. She just nodded as she passed.
She walked without direction, or a conscious sense of where she was going. She tried to bring her mind into focus on the changes that were suddenly presenting themselves in her life and she thought of Alex and Megan and where they might be this morning.
After walking for a while, she looked up and realized she was in front of her grandparent’s old house. She stopped and looked up at the old Victorian. The front door was closed and there was no one around. Compelled to go up the walk and onto the porch, she heard the old wood steps creak beneath as she walked up, then over to a grouping of wicker chairs on the porch. She sat down without thinking about who might be home, or how they might feel about her being
there.
Looking across the street, she could see the row of familiar houses shaded by tall oaks in the summer sun and then down the street across the vast expanse of blue lake. She closed her eyes and felt the presence of her mother and her grandmother all around her. She could almost hear their voices.
Chapter Eighteen
It was the Friday before Memorial Day weekend, 1945. Jonathan and I had managed to settle into the flow of home and community since we had both been back. I was working with my father on a house he was building over on Walloon Lake. Jonathan had taken up at the boatworks, helping his father get ready for the summer season.
This weekend would begin the first flow of summer people back into Charlevoix. Boats would start showing up in the slips along the shores of Round Lake. Traffic would become troublesome again and the shops and stores would begin hearing the bells on their doors ringing more frequently.
Each year there was a new sense of excitement with the coming season. There was a feeling of rebirth after the long slow crawl of winter, a feeling of promise for the lives and businesses of the locals.
Jonathan and I had got all our fishing in. We knew it would be a busy summer and neither of us was sure where we would be next fall.
He and I were able to make it down to Horton Creek for the trout opener back in April. We camped down on the shore the night before, just like we planned. It had been a wonderful night of retelling old fishing stories and times away during the War. We had slept out in the open with the stars all around us up above. When we woke in the morning, the dew lay heavy on our faces and in our hair. Jonathan got up first to get the fire going again and to make coffee. I lay there a bit longer under my blanket trying to get warm and thinking about other mornings in April when we had been out like this as kids growing up. I thought of the fish we caught and the laughter. It felt so good to be home again and back among the trees and the lakes.
After coffee and a quick breakfast of donuts, we grabbed our gear and walked along the shore to the creek mouth. Jonathan was moving pretty well on his legs without a cane by then. The light was just coming up noticeably behind the hills to the east. The bay was calm and smooth except for the trail left by a mother duck with eight small ones behind her. Another pair of ducks swung in low from around the point. We watched them come toward us and then flare out their wings and slow gently to the surface of the bay. Their webbed feet splayed out and touched the water and they glided smoothly to rest, leaving small wakes behind them.
The Seasons of the EmmaLee Page 18