She heard the man’s shoes digging into the gravel as he spun around. “I’ll take care of it,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”
The man got back in his SUV, made a U-turn, and headed toward the deer.
What is he going to do? Shoot it? Oh God this is awful.
Emily covered her face. She wanted to crouch down and disappear. Death, again.
“You work in a field that deals with death. If you can’t handle it, find another occupation.”
With angry determination, Emily pushed herself to look, but the SUV blocked her view of the scene.
An old pickup truck approached slowly, crossed the lane, and stopped in front of the SUV. A few minutes later, the bearded man drove back to Emily.
Before he got out of the SUV, the man said something to the woman. She opened her door but stayed inside.
“All right,” he said. “Taken care of.”
Emily’s voice crackled a “Thank you,” which did not convey her true gratitude, only the horror.
He cleared his throat. “Do you want the deer?”
“What?!” she exclaimed.
“Harold!” the woman yelled out.
He turned back to her, and stuck out his hands, helpless. “It’s her deer by law!” Turning back to Emily, he calmly said, “That fella over there wants to take it if you don’t want it.”
She looked over there and saw an old man smoking a cigarette, standing a few feet from the lifeless deer. Emily raised her hand to her forehead. The question tipped her over the edge of any normal world. Dazed, she leaned against the car. “No, of course I don’t want it.”
Harold whipped around and waved at the man, who turned toward the deer with a hop and pattered around as if dancing a short jig.
“You made his day.”
She grimaced. “I’m glad,” she answered sarcastically.
“Are you all right, miss? You look a little pale.”
Emily gathered a deep breath and nodded. “How far is the nearest town?”
“A few miles. We’ll give you a ride to the dealership. They’ll tow your car back.”
“Oh, thank you.” She realized that she knew nothing about this man, but she felt comforted by the woman’s presence. Emily’s eye still stung, and she felt around again with her fingertips.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Maybe a shard of glass got in my eye? I’m not sure.”
“You should probably have that checked out.”
Emily nodded.
Another car approached the deer and stopped behind the old pickup.
The bearded man shook his head. “Someone must have gone to the local bar and announced the deer-car.”
“Why so much interest in one deer?”
“Lots of people in these parts live off the deer . . . and social security.”
Emily nodded. “Let me get my purse,” She considered grabbing her medical bag, too, but she left it. She locked the door and got into the back of the SUV.
Emily thanked the man and woman and told them her name. The bearded man introduced himself as Harold, and the woman, his wife, as Gail.
“Do you live around here?” Emily asked.
The man shook his head. “No, we’re from the Detroit area, but we have a cottage up here on Indian Lake.”
“Where are you from, dear?” the woman asked.
“Don’t you think it’s too early for deer jokes, Gail?”
Emily laughed politely, to show her easygoing side, but deep down she was still horrified.
“Now stop it, Harold.”
“I’m originally from Appleton. I just finished medical school in East Lansing.”
“A doctor. Wow. Good for you,” Gail said.
“So what is the nearest town?”
“Manistique,” Gail added. “It’s a big town for these parts.”
Emily repeated it, mostly to herself: “Manistique.” Sounded intriguing . . . like mystique.
Having dispatched a tow truck, the car dealership on the corner of Maple and Oak refused to rent a car to Emily, as she was only twenty-four years and three hundred fifty-eight days old. “Twenty-five is the minimum age, dear,” the service administrator repeated in an affectionately unyielding way. Emily, too enervated now to argue with a stranger, left the pleading to Harold. He first tried with a good-natured, “Barbara, that’s only seven days. I won’t tell if you won’t,” and then attempted to sway her with guilt: “I was telling Emily how kind people are here in Manistique.” But Barbara wouldn’t budge—a kind and friendly town, but one that followed the rules. Barbara did promptly offer to give her a ride to the hospital once Emily was finished reporting the accident at the state trooper’s post.
And that’s where Emily’s benefactors dropped her off before heading off. “Stop by if you get a chance,” Gail said, leaving verbal directions and an address, which Emily typed into her phone.
Emily nodded, profusely thanking the two. “I don’t know what I would have done without your help.”
“Plenty of people would have stopped and picked you up,” Harold replied modestly.
That’s exactly what Emily was afraid of.
The state trooper, “C. Bryst,” was stocky and short with receding sandy brown hair. He had the aura of a high school football coach. “A deer hit my car,” Emily said, but no words of sympathy came in return. He simply licked his index finger, reached under the counter, and pulled out a form.
“It must happen a lot around here,” she said
“We get our share. See your driver’s license please?”
Emily got her license out.
He filled in the form. “Is this your current address?”
Emily shook her head. “No, I’m in the middle of moving.”
“To Manistique?” he asked. His eyes reflected the light blue of his polyester tie.
“Of course not,” she said, before quickly adding, “Just driving through.”
He turned the page around. “Put down your new address.”
Emily wrote down her parents’ address. There was no other address yet. She answered a series of other questions related to the car. Make, model, license plate number. He turned the page toward Emily.
“Okay. Mark the part of the car where you hit the deer,” he said matter-of-factly.
“You mean where the deer hit me.”
The trooper laughed. “Sure, whatever you say, miss.”
She frowned at him and then drew the X on the side of the car before pushing the paper back sharply. “See? Who hit whom?”
He smiled, looking at the page. “How am I supposed to know? The other witness is dead.”
She glowered at him.
“Did the airbag go off?”
“Airbag? No. Why?”
He marked something. “I’ll be right back.”
When he returned several minutes later, Emily said, “Is this going to take much longer? I need to go to the hospital.”
As she spoke, the radio came on, a garbled voice. The trooper put a finger up to Emily. He pressed the little walkie-talkie on his chest. “No. You can go ahead, Marv.”
He looked back at Emily. “Did you get hurt in the accident?”
It didn’t hurt much, but she leveraged the minor sting. “I think a piece of glass got into my eye.”
“Okay, I’ll note that here, and then we’ll be done.” He wrote on the page, then signed the document and handed a copy of it to her. “Your insurance will need that.”
Emily had started the trek back to the dealership, a couple of blocks away, when her phone rang. She looked to see who it was. She sighed, debating whether to answer, then pressed Answer without fully deciding.
“Emily?”
“Yeah, hi, John.”
“Why aren’t you here? What happened?” His tone was more tender than she’d expected.
“I got into an accident.”
“What?! Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine. But my car isn’t. A deer shattered th
e windshield.” This was how it would end. She’d continue on to Appleton, move to Chicago, talk to John once or twice more, and their physical separation would force their relationship to fade quickly into the past, just as Lauren had said. No animosity. No hurt feelings. An accident caused things to end. A dead deer.
“So can they replace it today?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know how long these things take. I’ll have to call you back when I know more.”
“l can come and get you. How far away are you?”
“No, no. Let me get more information first.”
“But—”
“I have to go. I’ll call you back. Bye.” She ended the call.
Arriving at the dealership, Emily scanned the parking lot for her car. She went inside the building and found Barbara. Barbara was in her late fifties, ash colored hair in a tousled bob. She had a kind face that resonated warmly with Emily, even after not being allowed to rent a car. Barbara reminded her of a friend’s mom. “I didn’t see my car out there.”
“No dear, it’s not here yet. He left about fifteen minutes ago. He should be back soon. Would you like me to drive you to the hospital?”
“How far is it?”
“Not too far. I’ll drive you. I’ll just get my purse.”
Emily waited outside, wondering how long it would take to replace a windshield. Could it be done today? Then she thought of John again. She’d have to call him back at some point. But she wasn’t sure what to tell him.
“Ready?” Barbara said when she came outside.
It took Emily a second to respond. “Yes. I’m ready.”
In the car, Emily inquired about the windshield repair.
“It should be ready tomorrow,” Barbara said.
“Tomorrow morning?”
“Maybe. It depends on when we get the windshield.”
“Okay.”
“Do you have a place to stay the night?” Barbara asked.
“No, not yet. I came straight from the police station.”
“Hmm.”
“What’s the matter?”
“You might have trouble finding a place.”
“Why?”
“Well, there’s this senior group that’s here right now. They’re pretty much taking up the entire hotel.”
“Isn’t there another hotel in town?”
“There is, but it’s not open yet. They had a fire a couple months back, and they’re still renovating.”
“Are you sure the hotel is full?”
Barbara nodded, “Yes. My cousin, Marilou, works there.”
“There has to be something else?”
“There are some motels further east on 2.”
“How far?”
“Well, far if you’re walking—oh, there’s a bed and breakfast on Lake Street. You can try that. It’s actually pretty close to the hospital.”
“Bed and breakfast?” Emily laughed uneasily. “Okay.” Bed and breakfast conjured up a romantic getaway.
“It’s nice, only been open a year or two.”
Barbara made small talk about the town and the sights to see. The boardwalk. The lighthouse. Indian Lake. The Big Spring. “Too bad you’re not with your boyfriend . . . do you have a boyfriend?”
Emily took an unusual amount of time to answer that question. She finally shook her head. “No, not at the moment.” It was true.
They arrived at Schoolcraft Memorial Hospital. “This is it,” Barbara said.
“So how do I get to that bed and breakfast?”
“It’s very close. Just a couple blocks. You go down this street here, make a left at Church Street, and then make a right on Lake. It’s on the corner of Lake and Cherry. I can’t remember the number, but you can’t miss it.”
“Lake and Cherry. Okay. Thank you very much. I’ll stop there first and then come by to get my stuff from my car.”
“Oh yes. Your car should be at the lot by then.”
Emily thanked Barbara and headed inside the hospital. Her phone rang as she entered. John again. She pressed Ignore.
A wind had picked up from the north and though the sun still shone brightly, the wind made the late-May day almost chilly. A patch covered Emily’s left eye—a scratch on her sclera. The examination revealed no residual debris. The patch was unnecessary, palliative perhaps for someone who didn’t know any better. She hadn’t let on to the ER doctor that she, too, was a physician.
Emily went in the direction that Barbara had told her and entered a residential neighborhood of cracked sidewalks and simple homes. Nearing the end of the street, she walked by an Episcopal church badly needing a new coat of white paint. As directed, she turned right onto Lake Street and scanned the street for a bed and breakfast. Her hope that she’d find fancier homes was dashed. Lake Street was another residential street—nothing awful, just nothing charming—and she didn’t want to stay at some random split-level home. She had an idea of what a bed and breakfast should look like, and none of these fit the bill. Then a little farther away, she spotted it, a two-story house behind manicured bushes and large trees. Getting closer, she confirmed that it was “on the corner,” along a perpendicular road that terminated on Lake Street. That’s got to be it, she thought.
She felt some relief. She’d treated multiple patients for bedbug bites, so staying at any hotel disquieted Emily a little bit. This house, a Victorian, was painted a pleasant cornflower blue. It appeared well kept from the outside, and she expected that would extend to the interior, too.
She crossed the street and crossed her fingers, hoping for one vacant room. Please, please, please. Just one! But no sign hung between the double posts on the parkstrip, and suddenly she worried that perhaps it was no longer in business. It was, after all, an unusual location for an inn.
Emily rang the doorbell. It echoed inside, and she stepped back, straightening her hair a bit with her hand as she waited for someone to answer.
No one did, so she knocked on the glass. She turned an ear toward the house and listened. Nothing stirred. Desperate and frustrated, she pounded hard on the wood, but then reality abruptly set in, and she started for the steps. The best alternative, she decided, was to return to the car dealership and seek Barbara’s help. Beg one more time for a car. Perhaps the patch and the fact she had no place to stay would yield some sympathy.
The door opened, and Emily nearly tripped on the last step.
“Hello.” A man’s voice.
She regained her footing and twisted around, immediately taken aback by the proprietor. She had expected a woman wearing an apron or an older man, a grandfather figure, retired and running a bed and breakfast with his wife. But this man was fit and tall, not unattractive, and not that old.
“I almost gave up on you,” she said.
Chapter Seven
When he went inside to retrieve the house key, Mark’s stomach churned. He’d agreed to let a strange girl stay with him under false pretenses. He wondered what had possessed him. Compassion? Embarrassment? An unknown force? To make a decision with such ease and careless consideration was completely contrary to his usual cautious ways. But it was only for one night.
Since he hadn’t seen any of the rooms, he ran up the stairs to check on their condition. The first room was mostly taken up by a queen-size bed and antique dresser. There was an adjoining bathroom, and seeing that everything was in perfect order, he ran back down.
Grabbing the house key from the mantel, he paused. With the knowledge that Vivian ran an inn, he suddenly had a new perspective about the house. The console table in the front room now became the check-in desk, the TV-less living room transformed into a sitting area where guests could enjoy a glass of wine in front of a warm late-afternoon fire, the intimate dining table was the place morning risers gathered for an elaborate breakfast after spending the night upstairs, and the library was a quiet hideout to read a book or newspaper.
The mystery surrounding Vivian grew. The “Why Manistique?” question became secondary. Why a be
d and breakfast? Why would Vivian, adventurous and gritty as she was, open her house to complete strangers and keep the rigid schedule of an innkeeper? Perhaps someone told her she couldn’t do it, was his trite answer. He knew barely anything about her. His image of her was entirely shaped by postcards and his mother. His mother’s descriptions. Her stories. Her opinions. His mother, the older, wiser, steadier sister who finished medical school before her adopted sister graduated from high school.
As Mark headed for the door, he noticed the left drawer of the console table was slightly ajar. He pulled it open and found some stationery with a Manistique Victorian letterhead and a set of keys. He opened the right drawer and found a calendar. He quickly flipped to May.
It struck Mark when he saw the writing on the calendar. Vivian’s handwriting. The familiar hand from the letters he had received each year.
May 23—Peter Hinton
May 24 & 25 & 26—Ellen Terrence
May 30—Mathieu
It was May 22, and his head instantly filled with minor apologies. He anxiously picked up the phone and dialed the number next to Peter Hinton’s name. He needed to get hold of him right away.
There was a knock on the open door. “Mark?”
He hung up the phone. “Yes?”
“There’s someone out here for you,” Emily said.
Feeling a bit heady now, Mark rushed to the front door. At the bottom of the porch stairs, an imposing man with black hair, tired dark eyes, and a faint frown stood with his arms crossed.
Mark smiled. “Hello, can I help you?”
“Where’s Vivian?” the man asked coldly in his deep voice.
“Oh, Vivian, well, um—she’s not here. I’m her nephew. Can I help you with something?”
The man’s eyes remained cool and fixed on Mark, and he stayed silent for a long second. “She called me the other day about some work she needed done. When will she be back?”
Mark gestured to the man. “Come inside.” He lifted his finger to Emily. “Can you give me one minute?”
“Sure,” she replied.
The man came inside, and Mark gently pushed the door so that it remained only slightly ajar. “Did you know my aunt Vivian well?” he asked quietly.
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