Moon over Madeline Island

by Jay Gilbertson

  “Kiss the cook,” Ruby and I say together.

  One Christmas years ago, I got five ‘kiss-the-cook’ aprons from clients. Ruby and I found them tucked away in a corner of my apartment when we were packing me up and had a good laugh.

  “We’re going to give it a shot,” I say. “The festival will be sort of a test market.”

  “I have a feeling that whatever you two put your minds to—it works,” Marsha says. “I’m going to pass on your dinner invitation. Thanks, though. You know, I never figured I’d consider leaving Rice Lake. ’Course I kept the house in case I change my mind, but I wonder what would have become of me if I’d never met you two.”

  “Who’s to say? We’re glad you’re here.” I give her shoulder a little squish. “Though I doubt there’s much social life here in the winters. Do you drink, Marsha?”

  “A little.”

  “You’ll be fine,” I say, and we wave her out the door. Ruby shakes her head.

  “There you are,” Ruby says. “That old scarf suits you. To think I used to put my hair up in rollers every day and covered them up in that.”

  “It dresses up this top I’ve had forever.” I lift a lid off one of the many pots on the stove and have a whiff. “What can I do for you, oh, mistress of the cooking cauldron?”

  “I need you to stir a few things. But first, how about getting a bottle of Toad Tea up from the basement. The boys left a few in the wine closet.”

  “Sure.” I pull open the basement door and turn on the light. “We have to remember not to go disappearing into the closet when we’re all down at the boathouse.” I head downstairs with Rocky in the lead.

  While opening the metal door to the wine closet (which also leads to the tunnel), I hear Rocky growl and hiss off in a corner. Switching on the light inside, I call him a few times: no Rocky, no sound. I find the bottles and am turning to leave when he flies right between my legs and up the stairs, in a gray flash.

  “No problem buster; I’ll get the lights.” Pushing the door shut with my rear, I head upstairs.

  Ruby yells, “Eve! Eve come quick!”

  I quickly scuttle back into the kitchen. Ruby is on top of a stool and Rocky’s looking up at her with curiosity, his tail twitching like crazy.

  “What the hell?” I ask, trying to catch my breath. “Not two seconds ago he was in the basement and…” I follow Ruby’s pointing spoon to the floor, next to the stove. Putting the bottles down, I cautiously peer around the corner of the stump table.

  “Oh my God. It’s huge. Rats? We have rats?” I ask with disgust. “My God—let’s open a zoo. This is getting old.”

  “I believe…now that I’m in a better viewing position of course, our new friend is no longer of this plane,” Ruby says quietly. She squats down to have a closer look—but not too close.

  “You mean the little fucker’s dead?”

  “Well put.”

  Using long vegetable tongs and wearing oven mitts—on both hands—I carefully approach the victim. After the bat coming back to life, I’m not taking any chances here. Ruby is two inches behind me. I nudge the creature a smidgen, to make sure it’s really dead. Nothing. I lift it very slowly, using both hands since the damn thing is heavy. Deadweight, you know.

  “A squirrel…for God’s sake. Look…a tail was tucked underneath.” I turn to Ruby, showing her the evidence, tail and all. It sways in my shaky tongs.

  “Poor darling.” Ruby takes a closer look. “You know…I could be mistaken, but I think its bloody eye moved!” She takes careful steps backward toward the sink.

  Then the damn thing starts to squirm. Here I am in the kitchen with this undulating rabid-filled furball. Suddenly it makes a horrible squawking sound! Rocky, of course, joins in, meowing like a banshee.

  I’m yelling at Ruby to open the “God-damned” back door while she’s shouting to “Stay calm!” (Right.) Finally we manage to get it out of the kitchen before it leaps off my trusty tongs, landing on all four feet, claws making a scratching sound on the porch chair cushion. I make a mental note to never sit there—gross.

  Head shaking, the creature looks around. Ruby and I, shoulder to shoulder, step backward into the kitchen. We don’t want to stick around and welcome it back to the food chain. ’Course, I have no idea what in the world would consider a squirrel a treat. I slam the door shut and lock it. We push aside the lace curtain, trying to get a look—the chair’s empty. We turn to glare at Rocky—gone.

  “Knock knock,” Howard announces as he and Johnny come into the kitchen. “You must have unknowingly let a squirrel into the porch, but he’s free now. Hey, what smells so good?”

  They’re dressed in baggy jeans and flannel shirts. A lock of Howard’s silver hair falls into his eyes; Johnny reaches up to move it aside.

  “You’re smelling the beautiful loaf of basil bread Ruby’s baking in the oven,” I say, rinsing a blue porcelain colander overflowing with steamy pasta. “Have a seat. We’ll tell you about our little visitor. The latest, I should say.”

  “I am quite sure, not the last,” Ruby adds,

  “I’ve come to the conclusion that Rocky only stuns his furry playmates, leaving the actual killing decisions to us,” I say after filling in the boys on the details of our latest animal adventure.

  “He does bring us mice that are no longer alive,” Ruby comments. “At least I think they’re dead. I should hope they’re dead.”

  “Many critters freeze when in danger,” Johnny says. “Maybe the same goes for mice.”

  “Well that means I’ve drowned quite a few in the toilet. I really don’t feel any regret at all.” I hand Howard cat-faced placemats and paper napkins with cheery pumpkins and point to the stump table. Ruby has a drawer filled with packages of paper napkins printed with every holiday design and color combination. When we’ve used them all up, we’re switching to cloth napkins. Save the trees!

  “It’s part of living up here.” Johnny gives Rocky’s belly a good rub. “You should be forewarned that when winter sets in…more little heart attacks might be assisted by our bud here, Rocky the Man.”

  “Hard to imagine such a ‘nice little guy’ is also a cold-hearted killer.” I glare at Rocky.

  “Oh, it’s not like he’s walking around thinking murderous thoughts,” Ruby says protectively. I smile. “It’s instinctual—he’s no idea what to do once he’s got them though.”

  “We could stockpile a bunch, make mice potpie,” I suggest to a group response of “gross,” “disgusting” and “you are so sick.” Which is true.

  “Well…shall we eat?” Ruby asks. We look at each other. “In a minute then.”

  “I know,” I say. “Since I just crushed our appetites, how about if we give the tea a taste?”

  “Lovely idea, darling.” Ruby puts the platter of spinach pasta into the oven to keep warm. “Howard love, would you get down some glasses?”

  “My pleasure,” he replies.

  “Now…we have no idea if this is drinkable.” I attempt to open one of the bottles, then hand it to Johnny. “Make yourself useful—pull!”

  Johnny tugs a bit and the cork breaks off. “Damn—sorry.” He hands the bottle and broken-off bit back to me.

  “I’m far more experienced with twist-offs.” I set to work trying to hook the broken-off piece and get to the bootleg. “Got it!” I show the half-cork on the end of the opener.

  Ruby smells it, scrunching her nose. “My word—strong.”

  “Pour!” I pass the bottle to Howard, who hands out amber-filled highballs all around.

  We look at one another for sipping cues. I pour big glasses of water since I’m sure we’re going to need a chaser.

  “I say”—Ruby raises her highball—“to Toad Tea!”

  We clink our glasses and take cautious sips. Everyone reaches for water. Johnny gasps. Ruby’s face turns scarlet. Howard tips his glass and finishes every drop. Me, I follow Howard’s lead and empty my glass. The fire starts in my belly and travels everywhere real quick.
There must be smoke shooting from my ears.

  “Mmmmm,” I say with tears running down my cheeks.

  “You drank the whole lot?” Ruby asks, her voice rising in disbelief.

  “Yup.” Howard decants more into his glass.

  “Jesus.” Johnny gasps, chokes, then gulps down his glass of water followed by Howard’s.

  “Well,” Ruby says. “Perhaps now we can have dinner, but let’s have some of Ed’s wine. I think that this”—she points—“should be mixed with a great deal of—”

  “Mix,” we all reply.

  While Howard and Ruby are washing the dishes after our feast, Johnny and I take a stroll down the hall, finally cozying up in the library. A cool breeze is slipping in the open windows and moonlight illuminates the toad-window, filling the hall with a silvery green.

  “This is a great room to sneak off to and do some serious thinking,” Johnny says. “I know that Ed used to practically live in here.”

  “I wish I could have known him better.” I sit down in one of the wingback chairs facing the potbellied stove.

  “He was very…intellectual,” Johnny says. “But in a subtle way. He just knew things, but didn’t make you feel bad if you didn’t. Ruby and Ed mostly kept to themselves.”

  “I know he was crazy about his Ruby.” I get up and light the gas fire with a long wooden match, then close the door. “She misses him.”

  “He looked at her with such…love,” Johnny says real dreamy-like. “They were always hand in hand or arm in arm.”

  “How sweet. It sucks though, him dying and all.”

  “How about you, Eve? Anyone ever hold your hand?”

  “Oh, I really…no, I mean…Growing up, I was short, overweight. A redheaded only child with parents who were much older than anyone else’s. I guess you could say I had…issues.”

  “Thank God you still have the red hair and I’m afraid you are short, but I’ll tell you what, you’re very beautiful. And I think it’s just a matter of time—okay, maybe a long time—before we, as a culture, realize that beauty isn’t just about high cheekbones and perky breasts.” He reaches over and we clink glasses.

  “Thank you. You’re good for a girl’s ego, but what the hell’s wrong with my cheekbones?”

  “Oh…I didn’t mean…”

  “I’m kidding.” I’ve never liked talking too much about myself, so humor usually takes the spotlight off me. Usually.

  “What else Eve?” Johnny prods gently. “That Toad Tea has made me brave…. You seem to have a something in your eyes, I’m not sure what. Something. I don’t mean to pry, but…I was a hairstylist too, you know.” We laugh. A good hairstylist works on what’s inside the head as well as what’s on top of it.

  “I made some hormonally driven, stupid choices and ended up pregnant,” I say quickly. I can’t believe I’m sharing this. But along with all the other changes in my life, it’s high time to open up a little. I need to, and you know what? It doesn’t hurt a bit.

  There are some things that I’ve never shared with anyone, and I sometimes wonder if that makes those experiences less or more real. Like how you feel when nature hands you a beautiful deer to admire or what a certain smell reminds you of. It’s sometimes just you and that thought, and off you go in your head to that place that’s only yours. Does everyone dash around through thoughts in the middle of a meaningful conversation?

  “Abortion?”

  “Adoption.” Do I dare look for her again?

  “How long ago? If you don’t mind me…”

  “I was seventeen….” I take a sip for strength. “My parents drove me to a convent and picked me up six months later when it was…after she was born.” A single tear sneaks down my cheek, but Johnny doesn’t see.

  “Damn,” he says, and we’re quiet for a moment and that calms the air. “You try and find her or…?”

  “A while ago I did, but never heard a word back.” I want to not talk about it anymore.

  “We could help. If you ever decide to…you know…look for her again.”

  “Thanks.” I really want to change the subject to, say, fly fishing or flatulence issues. How about menopause? I suppose that’s on the way. One more thing I’ll never be able to ask my mother about.

  “Thank you,” Johnny says before I say something really ridiculous. “Takes guts to share something so personal like that…. I’m flattered.”

  “I never thought of it that way,” I say. “How about you, Johnny? What is it that’s behind your eyes? There’s something sad there.”

  “Oh…well…that’s pretty easy. AIDS. It cleared out—gutted—wiped out—my entire circle of friends. Every last one of them. I’m forty-eight and there was a time when Howard and I were going to more funerals than dinner parties. It’s this haunting guilt.”

  “I’m so sorry.” I look over at him. “Guilt?”

  “Because they got it and we didn’t and they’re dead and gone. I know guilt. I’m Catholic.” He tries to laugh, but it doesn’t come out right.

  “I don’t know what to…”

  “Knock knock.” Howard peeks into the library. I look over to Johnny; he smiles and gives me a knowing nod.

  “Come in; join the circle,” I offer. Howard drags a chair over. “What did you do with Ruby?”

  “She’s fiddling in the kitchen still.” Howard sits down next to Johnny. “Hard to keep up with that woman. And bossy?”

  “Here you all are.” Ruby enters the library, carrying Rocky and a half-filled wineglass. “This is so cozy and if you’re talking about Eve…she is bossy.”

  “Come have a seat and put your feet up,” I say. She thumps into a chair with a big sigh. “I can’t budge.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  I wake up to the magical sound of rain pitter-pattering gently on the roof. My cat-clock, rhinestone-swinging tail, eyes that move, says “six” on the nose—literally. Rocky is sprawled on my chest, between my girls. It gets chilly during the night, so I don’t mind.

  “Hey, lazybones…time to rise and shine…buster.”

  I give him a little kiss, never on the mouse-tainted lips. Off he dashes out the door, down the stairs. I pull on my robe and slippers to follow.

  Mornings here are something. Not a sound. Oh, the old fridge in the kitchen whines and groans a bit, but no planes overhead, no cars rumbling past, shaking the whole place all to hell. I wonder how many humans in the world have ever heard all there is to hear in silence?

  In the kitchen I put two rocks from Eau Claire on the windowsill and they look just right. Then I root around for some instant coffee. A few scoops, hot water and violà. I have a slurp; it hits my stomach and I feel the oomph start to work its way around. Instant’s not my favorite, but sometimes I just need to get a move on! I feed Rocky, then head back up to change.

  The rain has let up a bit. Now it’s turned misty, like a huge walk-in facial. Pulling the back door closed behind me, I head around the cottage toward the boathouse. Taking two steps at a time, I scuttle up the wooden stairs and pull open the screen door. As I cross over the threshold, I glance toward the lake and see the sun starting to shine on the water, bringing warmth along with some brilliant yellows and oranges. Taking a deep breath of deliciously damp air, I listen to the sounds of the lake lapping the dock and birds announcing a fresh day. Damn—this is living.

  Putting “Vivaldi: The Four Seasons” on the tape player, I fill up the electric percolating coffeepot for any joiners that may wander in. Looking around, imagining what lies ahead, I sigh and feel my stomach knot. What if this crazy apron thing falls flat and all is for nothing? It won’t.

  The deer-phone rings, bringing me out of my thoughts.

  “Ruby’s Aprons…Eve speaking,” I say.

  “Yes hello there, this is Cook, Mrs. Prévost, speaking clearly into her mouthpiece. I was wondering what Eve Moss would like on her toast?” Ruby says in a nasally Brit tone that makes me smile.

  “Peanut butter…with butter, please.”


  “I should think…that’s exactly what I have here, but you best get your rear in gear as I may be tempted to have a bite or two.”

  “Okay, okay, don’t do anything drastic. You know…there’s really not much to be done here. It looks…fantastic,” I say, thinking of Howard and Johnny.

  “I think we all need a break,” Ruby says, and I can hear Rocky meowing in the background. “Not a bat in sight, nor squirrel or mouse, or—”

  “I’m on my way,” I say, chuckling.

  I let the phone slip up into the deer mouth. I light up a cigarette and step onto the balcony, facing the lake. Whatever happens happens. I snub out my stupid smoke, take in a gulp of fresh air and head up the path, humming all the way.

  “If I could only eat smells,” I say, coming into the kitchen. “I wouldn’t ever worry about fat grams or calorie counting or points!”

  “Yes you would, darling.” Ruby slides eggs onto plates and we sit down at the stump table.

  “True.” I take a sip of orange juice. “This basil bread is even better toasted, but I don’t think it would work with peanut butter.”

  “Oh, I…No, it wouldn’t, darling,” Ruby agrees.

  “I had the nicest chat with Johnny last night. He’s so…deep and has more intuition than most women I know.”

  “That’s lovely. He and Howard share such a bond and have been together for—I don’t know how long, to be honest. At least since they moved next door and that’s a long time now.”

  “I like how they treat each other.” I dab at my mouth with a Christmas-tree napkin. “Such good friends—and they laugh.”

  “They do, don’t they.” Ruby pours coffee. “You know, I simply have taken it for a given—they’ve always been a part of our summers up here. Howard and Johnny, the two of them constantly coming and going. In a way, it’s as if I’d not been away.”

  “Was Ed uncomfortable with them? You know…them being gay?”

  “Good heavens, darling.” Ruby’s brows rise. “He could have cared less, and to be honest, I rather think he enjoyed them admiring his bum.”