The man nodded. “Yes. I do her lawn and small jobs around the house. Stuff like that. Clear the snow in the winter. Watch the house when she’s not here. She’s also a friend.” His dark eyebrows came together. “Where is she?”
Mark looked down and then back up. “She passed away a couple days ago,” he said softly.
“No!” He covered his face with his hands. “Not Vivian.”
A compelling sadness that had been absent when he was first told of his aunt’s death now tore at Mark.
Tears fell down the man’s cheeks. Mark placed his hand on the man’s shoulder and pulled him further into the house. “It’s okay, it’s okay.” He wasn’t sure how to console him except to pat him on the back. Mark grabbed a couple of tissues and handed them to the man.
“I can’t believe it,” the man said. “Vivian was a thundering spirit. There’s no one else like her. She encouraged me—What happened to her?”
“She had cancer. She was down in Petoskey and fell ill,” Mark answered.
The man gasped. “I remember now.”
“Remember what?”
“Vivian. I heard her calling my name two days ago.”
“Huh? She died two days ago in Petoskey.”
“But when the spirit leaves the body, it wanders for a short time.”
Mark stifled a laugh, cleared his throat, and nodded agreeably. “I see. Do you know—”
“I should have known,” the man blurted. “But I thought maybe it was because I was so sick.”
“What do you mean?”
He snapped his finger. “She also came to me in a dream, but what did she say to me?” His voice trailed off and he mumbled something.
“Do you know how long Vivian’s been running this bed and breakfast?”
The man sniffed and shrugged. “A couple years now.” He wiped his eyes. “Didn’t you know?”
Mark shook his head. “No, we weren’t very close.”
The man eyes narrowed on him, almost a glower. “That’s too bad.”
“Do you think we can talk later? I could use your help.”
The man took in a deep breath, then nodded slowly. “Yes.”
“Good. If you can, can you come back tomorrow, say noon?”
“Okay.”
“I’m Mark, by the way. What’s your name?”
“Bear Foot Hemenway.”
“Barefoot?”
“No,” he said. “Bear”—he lifted his arms over his head and growled—”and Foot,” he said, pointing to his leather workboots
“Oh, I see . . . .Hemingway, like the writer?”
He shook his head. “Hem-en-way.”
“Got it. All right then, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
They started for the door. “Did Vivian get that electrical problem fixed?” Bear Foot asked.
Mark shrugged and shook his head. “What problem?”
“I don’t know. I barely talked to her the other day. And then I was so sick—don’t order the fish at Diner 37.”
“Okay.”
“But they make the best pies. Definitely have that.”
“Sure, thanks for the tip . . . if I see something with the electricity . . ."
“I can check around if you’d like.”
“How about tomorrow when you come back?”
“Okay.”
Mark accompanied him to the door.
“The grass—she wanted it cut before this weekend, and she wanted the posts painted,” Bear Foot said, a bit exasperated.
“It’s okay, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it right now.”
“I didn’t know she was—” He started to get teary-eyed again.
“We can talk some more tomorrow.”
Bear Foot nodded somberly. “Okay. Tomorrow.” He left.
Mark locked the front door behind him. “You ready?” he asked Emily from the top of the stairs. She was turned toward Bear Foot, who was getting into his truck.
She nodded. “So what’s the matter with him?”
“Who? Bear Foot?”
“What? He wasn’t barefoot, was he?” She turned back.
Mark laughed. “No, that’s his name, Bear, like the animal, and Foot.” He pointed at his feet.
“Oh. Well what’s wrong with him?”
“What do you mean?”
“He looked distressed, like he was about to cry.”
He shook his head. “Just pollen in the air or something. Let’s go. The car is parked in front of the garage, at the side there,” he said pointing.
They got into the car, and when it was started, the contralto voice of Doris came through the staticky radio.
“How did the radio turn on?” Mark said reaching to shut it off.
“Wait! It’s Doris and Evelyn.”
“You know them?”
Emily nodded. “I was listening to them when the deer ran into me. I can’t believe they’re still on.”
“Thanks for tuning in today,” Doris said.
“We’ll quote-unquote see you again tomorrow,” said Evelyn.
He reached and turned off the radio. “I could swear it was one-something when I started listening to them. That’s four hours. At least.”
“Maybe they replay the show.”
“Maybe. Where did you say your car was?”
“It’s supposed to be at the dealership. Buick or GM, just off the highway.”
“Yeah . . .okay.” Mark remembered seeing it earlier when he entered the town. They drove off. “Did you hear the part where they were arguing over using Pine-Sol?”
“No, I missed that.”
“They sure are entertaining, like watching two old ladies play tug-of-war.”
Emily laughed. “I wonder if it’s all an act.”
“I don’t think so. But if it is, they’re really good at it.”
It was quiet for a few seconds and then she asked, “So your B&B opens next week?”
“Actually, Saturday.”
“I thought you said next week.”
“What I really meant was that we weren’t open this week, meaning through Friday.”
“So I’m really not so early.”
Mark shook his head. “No, not really. So where are you from?”
“Appleton.”
Mark made a turn toward downtown and spotted the dealership.
“Do you live nearby?” she asked.
Mark laughed. “No, no. I live in Oak Park, outside of Chicago.”
“Really?” she said excitedly. “I’m moving to Chicago at the end of June.”
“Oh yeah?” He pulled into a parking spot.
“Yeah. I’m doing my residency at Lincoln Presbyterian.”
“That’s a great hospital.”
Her lips trembled slightly, trying, it seemed, to tame a prying smile. “Maybe you can help me figure out which area to live in. I don’t have a place yet.”
He nodded. “Sure, I can give you some ideas.”
“Great.”
They got out of the car, and Mark followed Emily into the lobby where she asked a man for Barbara.
“She went home,” the man said. “She wasn’t feeling well.”
“Did she have the fish at Diner 37?” Mark threw out.
“What? Diner 37? No, not that I know about. Why?”
Emily looked at Mark askance.
“A joke. Never mind,” he answered.
“Great pies dere,” the man said excitedly.
Mark nodded.
“My car was being towed here,” she said a bit abruptly.
“Deer-car?”
“Yes.”
“Yah, over here.”
Mark couldn’t help smiling as he followed Emily, who followed the man out to the lot. The man’s strong Yooper accent, a mix of linguistic influences, particularly Finnish, had been missing from the people he had spoken to until now. Mark had expected everyone in the UP to speak in yahs, das, and ehs. The few people he’d encountered so far sounded more like other Midwesterners, if with s
light Canadian-like accents.
“You sure were lucky, eh?” the man said. “Way you hit dat deer.”
“The deer ran into me!”
The man turned to Emily with a confused look. He glanced at Mark, who simply shrugged.
“Whadya do wi’ da deer?”
“What do you mean?” Mark asked with a chuckle. “Was she supposed to tie it onto the hood?”
“Apparently you hit it, you get to keep it,” she explained.
“And you didn’t keep it?” Mark asked, amused.
“Not funny,” she replied. “Some man took it.”
“Ah, okay.” The man pointed to a Saab parked against a chain-link fence. “Dere’s your car over dere.” The side mirror dangled loosely like a broken limb.
“Wow,” Mark said as they reached the car. He inspected the little pieces of glass. “I never thought a windshield could break into little pieces like that.”
“Neither did I,” she said, pointing to her eye.
“Got a piece of glass in your eye, eh?” asked the man.
“Yes, but it’s fine. So when can you fix the windshield?”
The man shrugged. “On dis car, not so sure. We need ta find a whole new windshield.”
“You sure you can’t repair this one?” Mark interjected.
The man laughed. “No, no. You see da problem here is da car.”
“What’s wrong with the car?” Emily fired, tense lines appearing on her brow.
“No, no, nothin’ like dat. You see, dis ain’t no regular car. Dis here’s a different breed.”
“A different breed?”
“Yah.”
“It’s a Saab,” she cried.
The man raised his hands defensively. “Yah, dat’s just it, not popular in these parts. But don’t worry, we’ll find it. Barbara’s already made some calls. Come back tomorrow morning, and we should have it. An hour or two to install it and, snap, you’re on your way!”
Emily opened the car door.
Mark looked through the hatchback window. “What are all of these boxes?”
She heaved her suitcase out from the backseat and sighed. “Huh? Oh, that’s all my stuff. I told you, I’m in the middle of moving.”
“Were you planning to stop somewhere besides here?”
“What?” She reached back into the car and grabbed her smooth brown leather doctor’s bag, which was about the size of a large purse.
Mark pointed. “You packed a suitcase.”
She didn’t answer immediately. She moved the suitcase out of the way and then gently shut the door. “Well I needed to bring it home, right? It’s just packed with clothes.”
He nodded. “That makes sense.”
She looked through the back and loudly exhaled. “I don’t know if I should leave all this stuff here.”
“Anything valuable?” Mark asked.
“No, not really. I guess it’s all right. It’s mostly medical books and clothes.”
“At least they won’t have to smash through another window to break in,” Mark joked.
The man laughed.
“You’re not funny.”
“Don’t worry miss, dere’s always somebody around, all hours.”
Mark bent down to grab the suitcase.
“I got it,” Emily told him, reaching for it herself.
Gone was the upbeat girl ready to start residency at Lincoln Presbyterian.
Heading back to the car, Mark spotted a car rental sign. “Look, they have car rentals here.”
Emily frowned. “I know. But they won’t let me rent one.”
“Why not? They’re afraid another deer will jump out at you?”
“Ha, ha. No, it’s because I’m not twenty-five—which I’ll be in a few days.”
“Seriously?”
“Can you believe it?”
“You’re only twenty-four?”
She rolled her eye—the one he could see. She left the suitcase next to the trunk and headed to the passenger door with her leather bag.
Mark opened the trunk and set the suitcase inside.
Once they were in the car, Mark said, “Why not test-drive a car . . . and don’t bring it back for a few days?”
“Don’t tempt me.”
He started the car. “Are you hungry?”
“Wait!”
Emily unbuckled her seatbelt and jumped out of the car. Mark looked over his right shoulder and watched her walk briskly toward her car.
She came back a minute later. “I almost forgot this.” A brown paper bag.
“What is it?”
“A pasty.”
“Where did you get it?”
“Some place back near the bridge.”
He nodded. “I know it’s a little early, but I was thinking of going to Jake’s just down the street here for a bite. Would you like to go or would you like me to drop you off at the house with your pasty?”
She thought for a moment. “Do they serve wine?”
“It’s a bar—though I can’t vouch for how good their wine is.”
“Sure, count me in.”
Chapter Eight
Mark parked across the street from Jake’s. Only a few other cars lined the main street, now desolate, void of the casino tourists who’d been roaming downtown an hour earlier. “Here we are,” Mark said.
“I hope you don’t expect good company right now. I’m not in a particularly good mood.”
“That’s fine. I’m just hungry.”
As they got out, a faint ring sounded. Emily dug into her jeans and pulled out her phone. “Hello.” She turned and faced the opposite direction.
Mark crossed the street toward the front of Jake’s. He barely made out, “I told you, the deer ran into me! No, it’ll be too late by the time you get out here.” By her curt tone, he figured she was talking to a man, her boyfriend.
Standing there, he contemplated the economics of the town. The slow-paced downtown, barely quaint with its flat-roofed brick buildings and scripted signage from generations ago. Could this whole town—the knickknack store, the antiques shop, the electronics repair store, the bars and restaurants, the small department store—could it really all be sustained if the paper mill did close?
Emily was still on the phone, mostly out of earshot now. Mark shook off his worry for the town and went inside.
“Hey, you’re back,” Mikey said.
“Yeah, and I’m bringing some business your way.”
“Great, we could use it. The bus rolled through and rounded up the seniors.”
“Yeah, I noticed the street’s pretty quiet.”
“The casino has free appetizers at five.”
“Pick up your cane and run!” Mark gestured with his arm.
“Sounds about right.”
Mark approached the bar. “By the way, I spoke to your cousin. I’m meeting up with him tomorrow.”
“Good. Ron will take care of you.”
“Thanks.” Mark smiled and then landed a fist lightly on the bar. “So it turns out that my aunt was running a bed and breakfast.”
“Where’s the house?”
“On Lake and Cherry.”
“Lake and Cherry,” he repeated to himself. “Hmm.”
“Hey, do me a favor, though, and don’t mention anything about my aunt to this girl who’s about to come inside. She’s staying at the house as a guest and doesn’t know my aunt passed away.”
Mike nodded and winked, and as he did, Emily pulled open the door and walked into the vestibule.
“No, no, it’s nothing like that,” he rushed to say.
Emily came inside. “Sorry about that.”
“No problem. Everything all right?”
She shook her head. “No, not really, but—where are we sitting?”
“Wherever you want. Booth or bar?”
“How about the booth?” she said and headed for the nearest one.
The waitress came out a moment later. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“W
hat kind of white wines do you have?”
She enumerated the list of two, and Emily chose the chardonnay.
Mark asked for a beer.
“So you’re a doctor,” Mark said, looking to start a conversation.
“Yes.” She ran her fingers through her hair, in long, slow strokes, all the way down to her shoulders.
“My mother was a doctor, too.”
“Oh yeah?” she said with a raised eyebrow.
“A psychiatrist.”
“Did she have her own practice or . . .”
Mark shook his head. “No, she worked at the county hospital, and she had patients at a mental facility in the city.”
“I did a psych rotation. I hated it. I’m not equipped to deal with people’s hang-ups.”
“Me neither. I heard plenty of horror stories from my mom to ever want to be a psychiatrist.”
“Does she still practice?”
He shook his head. “She died a few years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“She was very good at it.” Staring off into the bar, he sighed. “Too good really.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“You know, give the power of subtle persuasion and manipulation to a mother . . ."
Mark had received the usual parental advice, but his mother had doled it out in unusually effective ways. When Mark’s teenage interests shifted to motorcycles, his mother warned, “Don’t get a motorcycle until you learn to write with your toes.” To impress her point, she guided him through a ward full of accident victims at the county hospital. It was many years later when it dawned on him that the amputees and wrapped heads and ghastly moans that had haunted him since that day had nothing to do with riding motorcycles. But by that time, its profound effect was complete.
“I can imagine.”
“She used to say that a magician didn’t change the world, only how you looked at it, and that her job was the same.”
“So what do you do back in Chicago?”
“I’m a certified financial planner. I’m independent. It’s nothing too exciting.”
The waitress came out with the drinks and asked if they wanted to order food.
“I’m not eating, just him.” Emily pointed at Mark.
Mark scurried to open the menu. “I heard about the boiled hamburger . . ."
“Boiled?” Emily said.
The waitress nodded unenthusiastically. “It’s juicy. We put extra seasoning in it. They’re small, so I usually recommend you get two.”
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