Stuck in Manistique

by Dennis Cuesta

  “Trudy is Laura’s mother.”

  It took Mark a second to digest this. “George’s sister?”

  “Yes,” Laura said. “Who did you think she was?”

  Mark and Emily locked eyes. He answered diffidently, “His wife.”

  “His wife? Where did you get that idea?”

  Again, Emily and Mark stared at each other. “It’s sort of a long story,” Mark said. “I’ll tell you over dinner.” He looked at Emily. “Do you want to join us? We’re going to Diner 37.”

  She shook her head unhesitatingly. “No, but you can bring me back a piece of pie.”

  Laura smiled. “Do they have good pies there?”

  Emily nodded. “Excellent. But don’t have the fish,” she said.

  “The fish? Why not?”

  Mark narrowed his eyes at her and shook his head. “Never mind her. I’ll be right back.” He ran down to the basement to get his wallet. When he returned, Laura was laughing at something Emily had said.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” Emily said.

  He frowned at Emily. Then he said to Laura, “If you’re ready, I’ll drive.”

  Laura got up and they headed out the front door. “What kind of pie do you want, Em?”

  She thought for a second. “You pick.”

  “You trust me?”

  She nodded. “Totally.”

  As Mark started to close the door, Emily called his name.

  He stopped and stuck his head back inside. “Yeah?”

  A little smile played at the corners of her mouth. She whispered hard, “Is she single?”

  He waved her off, then smiled and nodded. “I think so.” He walked outside, grinning.

  Emily was surprised how at ease she and Mark were with each other now. There were no romantic notions between them. They had passed that awkward stage and survived. And she felt good about it, though she did feel a pang of jealousy. But even that passed quickly.

  She went upstairs and lay comfortably on her bed. Soon her thoughts drifted to Dr. Currant. She liked him. And maybe he liked her. She invented a wild tale in her mind about staying in Manistique, staying in this house, and doing her residency at the hospital . . . and possibilities with Dr. James Currant.

  Suddenly hungry, she went downstairs and found enough ingredients to make a decent sandwich. She ate it standing up at the kitchen counter. When she finished she poured herself a glass of wine and sat lazily on the couch anticipating the arrival of her pie, except now she had a specific kind of pie in mind. She thought of calling Mark but decided not to disturb him on his date.

  As she sat there, slowly twirling her hair, that daydream returned. But this time she went beyond speculation and considered the idea of as a real possibility. Why not? She needed to find a new residency. Several reasons why not popped in her head immediately, mostly around the vastness of the UP, the smallness of the town and lack of exposure to diverse patients and medical conditions. But after another glass of wine, she felt more confident and determined to do something about it. Without ruminating any longer, she started the jaunt toward the hospital, hoping to catch Dr. Currant on duty.

  When Emily returned to the house, the car out front was gone. On the dining room table, she found a to-go box with a fork lying on top. More sober now, and unable to see Dr. Currant at the hospital, she felt unsettled. She walked over to the box, picked up the fork, and slowly lifted the lid. It was exactly what she’d wanted.

  Heavy thuds sounded up the basement stairs, and soon Mark appeared. “How did I do?” he asked.

  “I almost called you.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “Apparently, I didn’t need to. So how did it go?”

  “Good. Really good.” He pulled up a chair and sat down.

  “She seems really nice. Did you find out if she’s single?”

  Mark nodded. “Divorced, no kids.”

  “So where is Laura staying tonight?”

  “The Cozy Inn. By the way, how did you get here? I told you to call me.”

  “Marilou had a break, so she brought me. Why didn’t you ask Laura to stay here? You know, this is a bed and breakfast. She’s going to think you don’t like her.”

  He grimaced. “That would have been too forward, no?”

  She shrugged. “Maybe. So you’re not going to believe this,” she said. She hesitated, then said, “I’m not leaving for Appleton tomorrow.”

  “I thought you’d be more upset.”

  “Upset about what?”

  “About Conrad. What are you talking about?”

  “What happened to Conrad? Is he okay?”

  “Didn’t they explain it to you? He’s the second installer.”

  Emily grinned and wagged her finger at him. “You had me there for a second.”

  “What?” He was completely straight-faced.

  “Conrad is the other installer! Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

  “Because when I got back this afternoon, you were gone.”

  She stood up. “But Barbara said—”

  “She must not have known about his accident.”

  She stomped her foot. “I should have let that kid bleed to death.”

  Mark blew out a laugh. “But you just said you weren’t leaving. What were you talking about?”

  “I meant I was going to drive downstate.”

  “Downstate? Why?”

  Emily looked away. “To make amends.”

  “With Butcher?”

  She turned back to him. “No, of course not. I mean with Greg Olsen.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Dr. Olsen, the resident on the floor when Nicholas died.”

  “Oh, right.” Mark scratched his chin. “Why are going to see him?”

  “I feel like I owe him some kind of explanation. He quit his residency because of it.”

  He nodded. “So when’s your birthday?”

  “Thursday. You buying me a present?”

  Mark laughed. “Maybe. You still can’t rent a car.”

  “No, not until Thursday, but I hope to have my car back before then. But who knows, right?”

  Mark pulled out his phone. “Where does he live?”

  She didn’t say immediately. “Gaylord. Why?”

  His thumb glided swiftly over the phone. He mumbled, “Two and a half hours,” then something incomprehensible.

  “What?”

  “I’ll take you.”

  “What? No. I can’t let you do that. You have a flight to catch.”

  “I already postponed it until Wednesday.”

  “You did?”

  “Yeah, when I found out you were going to be here another day.”

  “You sure you want to do this?”

  He nodded. “I just need to back before six. So if we leave at nine or so, we can easily be back in time.”

  Emily sat down again, feeling warm inside. She grabbed Mark’s hand and held it tightly for a second. “Thank you. Honestly, it’d be good to have someone with me. I’m not entirely sure I can do this alone.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Mark lay on his makeshift bed, the basement couch, hoping to fall asleep and forget what he had done. But his heart thumped defiantly, and it only got worse the harder he tried not to think about it. In the moment, he had felt invincible. His fear of the bridge had vanished behind his zeal to be there for Emily. But now, thinking it through, he hated himself for his recklessness, certain he couldn’t master the Mighty Mac. He toyed with a familiar way out: fake a minor illness or claim exhaustion when they got close. Emily could drive across the bridge even though she wasn’t supposed to drive the rental car. He didn’t see any other way. He wasn’t going to drive over.

  When he finally reconciled himself to this idea, his thoughts drifted to Laura. New Laura. There was something there, an easiness between them. And they both lived in the Chicago area. Fate, Emily might say. They had agreed to meet for dinner again the next day, and he felt excited
about it. What he knew of her so far he really liked. His mind dabbled with possibilities.

  What about Em? There was something there, too, but it was completely different. A slight physical attraction—he couldn’t deny it. But it was much broader than a romantic feeling. Maybe it was that unlikely relationship that some said was impossible between a man and a woman who weren’t related. . . . Or maybe they were related somehow. Cousins. Yes, cousins. After all, Aunt Vivian had been her temporary guardian.

  As he drifted to sleep, he jolted suddenly when he heard a creaking noise on the main floor. He lifted his head. Now that he was familiar with the house’s reverberations, he knew someone was walking around. Emily? He identified a slight squeak as the sound of the front door opening, and then a couple seconds later, he heard it close. He got up, wondering if Em had gone outside.

  At the foot of the stairs, he stopped. He heard voices. He tiptoed his way up, keeping to the far edge of each step to avoid making a sound. He slunk through the kitchen, which was dark save a dim light that spilled from somewhere in the front room. He listened intently.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” a man said in a hard whisper, “I’m very glad you’re considering it.” It was silent for a second, then, “But what happened to your residency in Chicago? It’s one of the best hospitals in the country.”

  “It’s a long story. Suffice it to say I’ve changed my mind,” Emily whispered.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right. I think the board would be very interested in you. It’s hard to get young doctors up here. And with the new hospital opening up . . ."

  “When can I interview?”

  “Let me talk to the director tomorrow, but we should be able to set something up soon.”

  “Okay, thank you. Thank you.”

  “I just hope you’ve thought it all the way through—believe me, no one wants you to stay more than me. I just want you to be sure.”

  There was silence for a moment. “I have thought it through, Jim, and I’m sure.” Her voice had taken on a more tender tone. Mark stepped slowly back down to the basement and sat on the couch. He wondered why Em hadn’t told him about staying in Manistique. He was struck with grief that she wouldn’t be in Chicago. He was a little envious of Dr. Jimbo, too. He wanted to be the one to be there for Emily.

  At six thirty in the morning, Mark got up, the taint of a repetitive dream lingering. Emily had fallen into a large crater, and Mark kept chasing her to the edge over and over. Each time he arrived, running through molasses, it seemed, he saw nothing. Pitch blackness. Silence. There was nothing he could except jump in, and he couldn’t force himself to do it. Then he’d stir, flop around, and have the same nebulous dream all over again.

  He dressed for a jog. The dream receded, and sadness crept in. For a moment, everything had seemed perfect: Em would have been near him in Chicago. But no more. Did she really like Dr. Jimbo that much, that she’d commit to staying?

  “Fate,” he scoffed in a scratchy voice. What was the point of all this?

  When he stepped out of the kitchen, Emily startled him. She was standing next to the stairs, stretching in the low light of the morning. “It’s about time you got up.” She smirked. “I’m very limber now.”

  “It’s a little too early for that, isn’t it?”

  “Stop it.” She held her arms out to her sides. “Aren’t you impressed?” Her hair was pulled back, and she was dressed in shorts, a tight tank top, and running shoes. “I’m going running with you, if it’s all right.”

  “Yeah? Okay.”

  “Do you mind keeping a slightly slower pace? By which I mean, a lot slower?”

  “Yeah, sure. But I thought you hated to run.”

  “I do.” She rested her hand on her stomach. “But I swear I’ve gained five pounds since I got here.” She pointed at him. “And it’s your fault.”

  Mark blew out a laugh. “Me?”

  “Yeah, all the food and pies.”

  He shrugged. “Let’s go.”

  The morning air was cool but still. The two started a quick-paced walk south down the dim street, toward the lake. As they approached the end of the block, Mark poked: “That doctor really likes you.”

  “What doctor?”

  “Jimbo. Doc Currant.”

  “Come on. No,” she protested weakly. “I don’t know.”

  He turned to Emily for a second and said, “It’s totally obvious.”

  She didn’t say anything, but her mouth quivered like she was suppressing a smile. Mark bolted, making a left on Porter Street.

  “Well, Laura likes you,” she shot out awkwardly. “Hey, wait up. You said!”

  He slowed, waiting for her to catch up. “Laura and I just met.”

  “Same with me and Dr. Currant,” she heaved. “We just met.”

  “It’s not the same. You’ve spent quality time together with your patients.”

  “We haven’t been on a date like you.”

  “That wasn’t a date. That was a courtesy dinner.”

  “Whatever.”

  After a few seconds, he added, “Though tonight might be considered a date.”

  “You’re going out again?” she said. “Oh, that’s why you changed your flight.”

  Mark turned his head toward her. “No, I changed that for you, before I met Laura. Before I even knew for sure that you’d come back.” He eyed her briefly, her arms pumping violently and her legs bouncing awkwardly. Definitely not a runner, he thought.

  “How did you know I’d come back?”

  “You can’t fight fate, right?”

  She made an ambiguous grunt.

  They stayed quiet, making a turn on a street where the sidewalk and driveways ended and the houses became more dispersed. The street eventually ran into the highway.

  “There’s the Cozy Inn and Big Joe’s,” Mark said as they passed a dense row of evergreens.

  “Doesn’t seem so far,” she replied, panting.

  They crossed the quiet highway, then followed the pathway that led to the start of the lakeshore trail. Soon the trail transitioned from blacktop to boardwalk, their footsteps thudding pleasantly. With their backs to the sunrise, they watched gray gulls resting on the calm purple water and ripples drifting to and from the sandy shore. Between the boardwalk and the beach, tall grasses stood perfectly still. Yet the beach was scattered with reposing driftwood, a reminder of the lake’s latent fierceness.

  “How did you sleep last night?” he asked.

  “Not well . . . nervous about today.”

  “Running helps.”

  She nodded, letting out a long exhale.

  “We’ll go to the lighthouse and take a break there.” The red lighthouse stood about a quarter mile from shore, at the tip of the east-side breakwater.

  They soon deviated from the boardwalk and onto the sand, running by the boulders on the beach that formed part of the breakwater. They approached two signs, one red and one yellow.

  Danger: Waves Flood Surface, Keep Off During Storms.

  Warning: Structure Is Not Designed for Public Access. Proceed at Your Own Risk.

  Mark glanced over at Emily to see if the sign had gotten her attention, but her shoulders were slumped and her eyes were down. He ran ahead slightly, leaping onto a boulder and stepping up to the flat pathway on top of the concrete barrier that separated Lake Michigan from the harbor.

  He stopped and turned his head, expecting Emily to climb timidly. But she scaled the barrier effortlessly and landed next to him in a second.

  The lighthouse stood at the end of the breakwater. The uneven concrete pathway to the lighthouse stretched ten feet wide. As they ran farther down, the path smoothed and widened to nearly twice the size, protected on both sides by large boulders. About two hundred yards from the lighthouse, the breakwater veered sharply right. When they got within a hundred feet of the lighthouse, Mark took off, racing up the six concrete steps, tagging the red cast iron tower as if he were
racing against a childhood friend.

  Emily did not follow. She bent down, planting her hands above her knees. “Whew!”

  He pointed toward the large harbor. “That’s where the Manistique River dumps into the lake.”

  She barely looked up and nodded, gasping.

  He patted the lighthouse again. “Bear Foot’s lighthouse,” he announced.

  After a few more seconds of catching her breath, she craned her neck to look up at Mark. “What do you mean by that?”

  “I thought I told you.”

  “Told me what?”

  “Ellen gave Bear Foot the lighthouse.”

  She straightened. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah, that’s why Vivian told him to go to the lighthouse, in that vision.” He winked at her.

  She managed to barely shake her head. She glanced across the harbor and seemed to be thinking.

  “Ready to head back?”

  She straightened. “Do we have to run?” she asked.

  Mark smiled. “I’ll tell you what. Let’s walk back to the boardwalk and then we’ll start running from there.”

  Emily trotted up the lighthouse stairs, placing her hand firmly on the lighthouse, and said softly, “Bear Foot’s lighthouse.” She looked over at Mark. “Can we climb up to the top?”

  Mark rubbed his cheek. “No, I don’t think so. We can ask Bear Foot for a tour once he gets official possession.”

  Emily jogged back down the cement stairs, and they started their walk back to the hotel.

  “Exactly what day does your residency start?” Mark asked, prodding her to confess what he already knew—that she was not doing her residency in Chicago. That she was planning to stay in Manistique. He turned his head to look at her but she kept her eyes in front and slightly down.

  “It’s complicated.”

  “What do you mean? The hospital hasn’t given you a start date yet?”

  “Umm . . ." She paused. “It’s hard for me to say it.”

  “It’s hard for you to say what?” He was gentle, like the finishing motions when sawing through a board.

  “I’m not doing my residency in Chicago anymore.”

  “What do you mean?” he said, feigning surprise. “Why not?”

  “Because . . ." She cleared her throat. “John interfered with the process.”