“Everything okay?” he asked.
“Yeah, fine.”
“So . . ." Mark said.
“So?”
Mark cocked his head toward the street. “Who was that guy? Your uncle?”
Emily choked back a laugh. “Uncle? No.”
“Who then?”
“It’s a long story.” She turned toward Yvonne. “Hello.”
“Oh, hi there,” Yvonne replied, and waved at her.
Emily approached. “How was your trip?”
As Yvonne gave her a detailed account of their half-day trip to Lake Superior and their harrowing return, Mark noticed George, his lips no longer moving. His head sat like a deadweight on his hand. His eyes were shut.
It was just after seven o’clock. The light in the house was dimming quickly, so Mark turned on the living room light.
“Good, good,” Emily was saying to Yvonne.
“I must say, I love your dress. You look so pretty.”
“Thank you.”
Yvonne pointed. “Oh dear, looks like you got something on the bottom there.”
Emily looked down.
“Right over there, to your left, on the bottom.”
She grabbed the bottom of the dress and groaned. “Oh, no.”
Mark walked over to see. A dark semi-circle stain at the hem. He thought of pie. “Thimbleberry?”
“No,” she answered sharply. “It’s blood.”
He felt stupid.
Yvonne sat up. “Blood? Are you okay?”
“It’s from earlier, I was helping someone.”
“‘Help’ is an understatement,” Mark interjected. “She saved someone’s hand.”
“What happened?”
Emily grimaced and shook her head. “It’s not as dramatic as that.” Her eyes widened. “Oh!” She turned to Mark and grabbed his arm. “You won’t believe this! Guess who was at Jake’s just now.”
“I don’t know. Jake?”
“No, Conrad!”
“Are you kidding me?”
“No. But I’m afraid I made a bit of a scene.”
“What do you mean?”
“I yelled at him to go home, in front of his friends.”
“He deserved it, I’m sure.”
She nodded then frowned as her eyes fell on her dress again.
“Can it be washed?” he asked. “There might be a stain remover down in the laundry room.”
She nodded. “I’ll give it a try,” she said and headed up the stairs.
“Is she related to Vivian too?” Yvonne asked.
“Emily? No, she’s a guest here,” he said, and added, “And a friend.”
“Oh, she let us in earlier, so I thought . . ."
“She was doing that as a favor to me.”
“She’s very kind. So how did this person hurt his hand?”
Mark explained, partially demonstrating with a rolled-up magazine.
Yvonne cringed. “Ouch! That’s crazy.”
“Bled all over the place. Lucky for him, Emily was right there—she’s a doctor, by the way.”
“Really? Is she here on vacation?”
“No, she’s waiting for her car to get fixed. She hit a deer yesterday.”
“Poor girl,” Yvonne said, pouting in sympathy.
Remembering again the pie on top of the car, Mark excused himself. George gave a snort in his sleep. As Mark passed him by, the old man groaned for a second, then grumbled an apology to no one in particular.
Having retrieved the pies and set them in the refrigerator, Mark pushed through the swinging kitchen door and did a double take when he saw Emily at the base of the stairs. She had changed into old jeans and a gray, ribbed tank top. She carried her dress over an outstretched arm. It took Mark a second to realize that George was gone. “Do you know where George went?” he asked Yvonne, who was flipping through a magazine. Her bare feet were planted on the coffee table.
She set the magazine down. “George?” Her eyes briefly showed confusion. “Oh. No. I don’t know.” She lifted the magazine back up.
Mark and Emily locked eyes. He immediately went to the front door.
Down the steps, looking out to the street, was George.
“You going somewhere?” Mark asked.
George shook his head. “No, not yet.” Patting his stomach, he said, “I am getting a bit hungry though.”
“I’ll take you to go get something. Come inside for a second.”
Emily stared as Mark escorted George back to the dining room table. “Have a seat, and we’ll go in a few minutes. Okay?”
George nodded. “Sure. Thank you.”
Mark and Emily headed to the kitchen and then down to the basement.
“I’m worried about George,” Emily said once they reached the bottom.
“Me too. But I’m more worried about Yvonne.”
“Yvonne? Why?”
They turned into the laundry room, and Mark spoke softly, not certain how far voices carried in the house. “She keeps flirting with me.”
Emily burst out laughing.
“I’m serious. Peter isn’t around, he’s napping. I just don’t know what to do.” He opened the cabinet above the washing machine.
“Maybe she’s just friendly. She seems very friendly.”
“It’s more than that.”
Emily shrugged. “Why don’t you just shock the heck out of her and give her a big smooch?”
“Huh?”
“She’ll stop flirting—or want more, who knows?”
“That’s great advice, doc,” he answered with a glower.
Emily laughed.
“Here. Spot cleaner. Might this do the trick?”
“Maybe.”
“Mark?” Yvonne called.
“Oh no. See?”
“I can take care of this. Good luck,” Emily said, pushing him on the shoulder.
“I need you to come up soon,” he said.
“Mark?” Yvonne called out again.
Emily smiled. “Sure, I’ll be right up.” She winked at him.
“No, seriously. Don’t leave me alone with her for too long.”
Mark found Yvonne peering into the kitchen, as if the kitchen were a restricted area. Trespassers will be violated!
“Yes?” he said as pleasantly as possible, entering the dining room.
“Can you unlock the door to my room?”
“Didn’t I give you the key?”
“You did, but Peter has it, and he accidentally locked the door.”
Mark headed to the parlor. He had seen a set of keys in the drawer and assumed one would open the door.
“I love this house,” Yvonne said as they headed up the stairs.
Mark turned back, giving her a perfunctory “Thanks,” and jogged the last few steps to pull away. He stopped in front of the Lake Michigan room and inserted one of the keys. But it only went in part-way. He twisted the knob anyway, and it opened.
He didn’t say anything about its being unlocked already. He simply opened the door slightly and stepped out of the way.
“Thank you so much.” She brushed her hand across his lower back as she went past him.
Back down the stairs, Mark found George standing near the door. “What would you like to eat?” he asked him as he returned the keys to the drawer.
George shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“How about pizza?”
“Yes, that would be fine. Yes, pizza sounds good, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“Not at all. I’ll be right back.”
Mark walked into the kitchen as Emily emerged from the basement.
“Where’s your girlfriend?” Emily asked.
“Funny. She’s upstairs in her room. You doubt me, but . . ."
She laughed. “There is something odd about those two.”
“Yes, especially her.” He picked up his car keys from the counter. “I’m taking George to get pizza. Do you want anything? Or do you want to come?”
She
shook her head. “No, thanks. I’ll just hang out here.”
“I hope the stain comes off.”
She nodded. “Me too.”
Figuring the dress had another twenty minutes or so in the wash, Emily went to her room, grabbed Doctors on the Borderline from her nightstand, and returned downstairs. For all the grief she’d given Mark, Emily didn’t want to chance a chatty encounter with Yvonne. So she continued to the basement, and sat on the couch, thinking that Mark wouldn’t mind if she waited there for the washing machine.
She scooted some mail out of the way in order to put her feet up on the coffee table. And then she saw it. “Can’t be,” she said aloud, looking at the mail. She turned to the beginning of Doctors on the Borderline, and confirmed it on the table of contents page. Vivian Peregrine. “No way!” She leaped off the couch, ready to pounce on Mark for not telling her. But she knew he was gone. So she sat down, a bit heady at this revelation, and read on with new fervor . . .“The Orphanage.”
Phil approached me one day about accompanying him to an orphanage. He was writing a regular piece about a nine-year-old girl named Sonja, an orphan there. But she was only one of dozens under the direction of the two women who ran the place. The facility had no medical care, and he thought some of the children might not be getting the medical attention they needed. I agreed, and we, along with an interpreter, left for this orphanage on the outskirts of town. It was safe out there, Phil reassured me, as the Serbs did not bomb such desolate places . . .
Chapter Twenty-One
Mark trailed behind George as he climbed the porch steps carrying a small flat box from Ace’s. Entering the house, Mark half-expected coquettish Yvonne to be waiting in the entry with puckered lips. She wasn’t in the room at all.
Peter was pacing near the dining table with a wayward expression. “Finally, you’re back,” he said, approaching Mark with long strides. “Where’s Yvonne?”
“I have no idea,” Mark replied, irked by the implication that he had gone off with her. “She was here when we left.”
“She took my car!”
“Well she couldn’t have gone too far, right?” Despite the growl this elicited from the man, Mark didn’t cut short his jovial smile.
“I’m going to call the police!” His nose quavered.
Mark erupted with an anxious laugh. “You’re joking, right?”
“This is embarrassing,” he muttered. He turned and stomped up the stairs.
George set his pizza on the table. “Can I bother you for a plate?”
“Certainly. Any idea what’s going on?”
George shook his head. “No, sir. I’m only a guest here.”
Mark chuckled. “Maybe Emily knows.” He left for the kitchen and grabbed a plate for George. As he returned to the dining room, the front door opened.
It was Yvonne, carrying a brown paper sack.
“I’m glad you’re back,” Mark called across the room.
“You’re so sweet.” She smiled genuinely.
Mark approached. “No, no. Your husband is desperately looking for you. He’s about to call the police. At least that’s what he said.”
“Who?”
“Peter. He was upset about you taking the car. He wasn’t serious about calling the police, was he?”
“He’s not my husband,” she said.
“Oh—sorry.” He hadn’t bothered checking her ring finger. “Your boyfriend.”
She shook her head. “I better go fix this.” She rushed up the stairs with the bag.
“This can’t be good.” Mark walked back toward George.
“What’s the matter?”
“Yvonne and Peter, some kind of argument about the car. Did you know that they aren’t married?”
“I figured as much.”
A commotion erupted upstairs. “Uh-oh,” Mark said. After a couple frustrated outbursts, he heard steps coming back down.
It was Yvonne, shiny lines down her face. She went straight for the front door. When she opened it, she turned at a slight angle and left the house.
Stepping over to close the door, Mark saw that Bear Foot was in the doorway. He was staring in the direction of Yvonne’s wake.
“Hey, thanks so much for fixing the outlet this afternoon. Come on in,” Mark said with a long-armed wave.
Bear Foot had a puzzled frown when he came into the house. “Was she crying?”
Mark shrugged. “I don’t know. Allergies, maybe—the urn!”
Bear Foot lifted and held out the blue urn. “Yeah, you left this in the truck this morning.”
“Totally forgot. Thanks.” But when Mark took it, he nearly dropped it. It was quite a bit heavier than it should have been. “Is there something in here?”
“Water from Indian Lake. Vivian’s part of the lake now.”
Mark nodded. “Of course.”
There was a screech from the basement. Then a loud thud and “Oh my God!” repeated several times.
Bear Foot looked at Mark questioningly. Mark shrugged in return. “I have no idea—oh, I saw you earlier walking toward Diner 37, with a guitar.”
“Me? No.”
“I would have sworn it was you.”
“Nope. I don’t play the guitar.”
“Well your doppelganger does.”
“My what?”
“There’s guy out there who looks like you.”
“I’ve been told that before, but I’ve never seen him.”
“I thought for sure it was you going for some pie.”
“I wish,” Bear Foot said.
“In that case, there’s some in the fridge.”
There were running steps up the stairs from the basement.
“Least I could do for helping me out today—” Mark said as Emily spewed out of the kitchen.
“You’re back!” she cried, grabbing hold of George’s shoulder and shaking him before rushing toward Mark. “You’re not going to believe this!”
“You got the stain out?” Mark asked with perfect equanimity.
“Forget the dress,” she said breathlessly. “Your aunt. Vivian Peregrine, right? She’s a doctor, right? Right?”
Mark nodded. “Yes. Why?”
“The book, her story about her time in Sarajevo.”
“What book?”
“The book I was telling you about earlier, about Doctors Without Borders.”
“Yeah, she was in Sarajevo a long time ago.”
Emily’s phone rang.
“This is so incredible,” she cried out. She reached into her pocket for her phone and answered immediately, bursting into jubilant exclamations.
Mark shook his head. “I don’t know what this is all about,” he said to Bear Foot. “Go help yourself to the pie.”
Bear Foot made straight for the kitchen.
“Did you say pie?” George said.
“Yes. There’s a whole apple pie. Go in the kitchen and ask Bear Foot.”
“That’s a nice vase,” George remarked.
Emily’s voice had simmered down, and she now spoke rapidly, explaining how she ended up in Manistique.
Mark set the urn on the mantel and started for the kitchen but only got a few steps before he was tugged from behind. He turned around and was about to say “What?” but Emily kept chatting. “Yes, pretty sure,” she said. “Yes, yeah, yeah. Okay. Gotta go.” She hung up.
“What’s all the commotion about?”
Emily took a deep breath. “I can’t believe this. You won’t believe this. Why didn’t you tell me Vivian was a doctor?”
“What?”
“When will Vivian be back? I have to see her.”
“Vivian’s back?” George asked.
Mark turned around and shook his head at George, who was standing in front of the kitchen door holding the apple pie and a pie server. “No.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to eat all of this,” George explained. “We’re doing an experiment.”
“I have something important to tell her,”
Emily said excitedly.
Mark turned back to her. “You don’t even know her,” he replied evenly.
“But I do. I do. We have a connection,” Emily said.
“You’re both doctors, I know.”
“No, it’s more than that. Much more. It’s fate, Mark. I was meant to get stuck in this town. I was meant to stay here and to meet Vivian. It’s fate.”
Mark shook his head. “No it’s not.”
“It is,” she said adamantly. “And when you hear—”
“Then fate is cruel to deer.”
“What?” She frowned. “That’s not funny. I’m being serious.”
He shrugged. “Me too.”
“You’ll flip out when I tell you. When will she be back?”
Mark had reached his breaking point. He walked over to the fireplace and grabbed the urn. He walked back to Emily and shoved the urn into her bosom. “There you are.”
“What’s this?” She took hold of it apprehensively. “Why are you giving this to me?”
“That’s Vivian.”
“Huh? What are you talking about?”
“Bear Foot can explain.”
“Have you lost your flippin’ mind?” she asked, her eyes wide.
“No, that would be this one”—he pointed to an oblivious George—“who somehow remembers that there’s someone named Vivian who owns this place, but can’t remember that she’s dead. Or Bear Foot, who thinks her spirit, or essence, or whatever it is, is in the water. I’ll be back in an hour, or maybe not at all. Just tell the last person to lock up—or not. It doesn’t matter here.”
“What are you ranting about? Is this some kind of joke? Is this another of your impersonations?”
“Nope, no joke. Vivian is dead.”
“What do you mean she’s dead?”
“I mean she died. Passed away. Demised. Deceased. Kaput. Ashes frolicking in the Great Lakes—well, maybe not all them, but at least Lake Michigan.”
“What? Is this for real?”
“Yes! I’m telling you she’s dead.”
“When did she die?”
“Three days ago. I’m sorry.”
Bear Foot came out of the kitchen. “Laundry’s ready. It’s beeping.”
Mark headed for the front door.
“Wait! You owe me an explanation.”
Mark pulled open the door, and without turning, he announced, “You’re in charge now.”
Emily stood between the stairs and the front door, perplexed, holding firmly to the vase that Mark had handed her. She gaped at the closed door, frozen. Waiting, hoping that the door would burst open, and Mark would reveal this as one of his antics. But the door didn’t open, and after waiting several seconds, she listlessly stepped to the fireplace and set the vase on the mantel. She stared at it for a second before plunging onto the sofa.
Stuck in Manistique Page 18