by Lyn Gardner
Lines formed on Robin’s forehead as she realized her plan was flawed. Isobel had no form, no shadow or glimmering aura allowing Robin to see her target. A target not at all as Judy had described. “Wait until I see her,” Robin said under her breath. “Harmless my ass.”
Only a few minutes had passed since Robin entered the parlor, but during that time, Robin’s ability to think clearly had returned. Her hands relaxed, and her breathing returned to normal, but a few seconds later, she went rigid again. The doors hadn’t opened, and the windows were closed, but suddenly Robin could see her breath.
Robin had two choices. She could either make a mad dash for the doors or try for the windows, but just as she made her decision, she heard a noise. It was a familiar noise, and it was a noise she could not leave behind.
The intuitive phenomenon to protect those held dear is possibly the most formidable force to be reckoned with. Educated or not, rich or poor, human or animal, while a biological link for this behavior does not necessarily have to exist, some believe the most dangerous place to be is between a mother and her child.
It took Robin only a moment to spy Fred and Ginger huddled under a chair, the hair on their backs and tails puffed out like she had never seen it before. Their ears were plastered against their heads and with every swish of their tails, they were hissing in unison. As the room grew even colder and Robin’s hair began to dance in the breeze, an instinct she never knew she possessed took over her very soul.
“Enough!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. The wind began to gust, and Robin fisted her hands. “Goddamn it, I said enough!”
The wind died in an instant, and Robin waited for a moment before speaking again. “I get that you don’t like me,” she said, glancing around the room. “I get that you’re angry Adele died, and I’m here now, but you know what? Too fucking bad! I’m not leaving no matter how many doors you slam or how many times you traipse up and down hallways, because this is my house now, and you’re going to just have to get used to it!”
Robin could feel a few wisps of her hair beginning to move, and standing tall, she folded her arms. “That’s not going to work anymore. I’m not afraid of you.”
A gust of wind appeared out of nowhere, and Robin had to steady herself against the burst. “Okay, so I am afraid of you,” she yelled. “You’re a ghost, for God’s sake, and the fact that you don’t need doors to get into rooms is way more than a little freaky, let me tell you, but no matter how many you slam or how much wind you create, I’m not going anywhere. I don’t know why Adele left me this place, but she did, and I’m going to stay. So, either you and I come to some sort of agreement, or you can continue to huff and puff until the cows come home, but you are not going to drive me from this house!”
Robin barely had time to take a breath before a gale like no other swept through the room. Lamps fell from the tables and papers swirled in the current of air so powerful and icy, Robin felt as if it sliced right through her. Her fingers and lips numbed instantly, and wincing at the squall as it stabbed at her eyes, she held her hands to her head, trying to keep her hair from flying into her eyes.
She had no idea how long it took before the room quieted again, but when it did, Robin straightened her backbone and shook her head. “Nice try, but like I said, I’m not going anywhere. You’re just a disembodied soul that, for whatever reason, can’t get on with whatever dead people do when they die. Well, do us both a favor. Go toward the fucking light!”
Robin stomped to the doors, and sliding them open with a bang, she went to the kitchen and opened the bottle of wine sitting on the counter. The neck of the bottle rattled against the rim of the glass as she filled the tumbler almost to the top, and letting out the breath she’d been holding, she chugged down half of what she had poured before the temperature in the kitchen plummeted.
Robin hung her head and let out a long, dramatized sigh. “I gotta tell ya,” she said as she turned around. “This is getting—”
The drink in Robin’s hand slipped from her fingers. The glass shattered upon impact, sending the robust Cabernet all over the floor and cabinetry, but Robin didn’t hear the crash or see the mess. She was too intent on praying her bladder wasn’t going to release.
Isobel peered at the stranger. She bore no resemblance to her old friend. A friend with dark eyes and hair that had been the color of strong tea until the years had turned it to the shade of smoke, its unruly natural waves defiant even then. She missed her old friend dearly. She had been the only one who had never feared her, never scolded or shouted out harsh language to try to drive her from the house. Then again, neither did the other.
Isobel cocked her head to one side and studied the woman standing near the sink. Her face held a familiarity, a reflection of someone else, someone with the same stature, though perhaps a bit shorter, a bit rounder, a bit older. Isobel’s eyebrow raised, the one word Robin had said earlier now finally having significance, its definition simple, but its meaning considerable. This was the woman Adele had been so proud of. This was the woman who her old friends loved so much. This was the woman they had spoken of so many times. This was the niece.
With the connection now made, Isobel’s apprehension waned. She had never given Adele a reason to be wary of her for her old friend had unknowingly bestowed upon Isobel something she had been searching for all these many years. Something this stranger, this niece...could provide as well.
Robin could not tear her eyes away from the image floating in the doorway. The details were blurred as if it was behind a film, hazy and rippled, and even though she tried to discern the features of the face framed by long, dark hair, all Robin could make out was the color of the woman’s clothes. Her dress was white, and a shawl, a few shades darker than the dress, draped her shoulders, but all else was obscured by the aura surrounding Isobel. It was shimmering around the edges of her body as if behind her was a thousand-watt spotlight, and then Robin’s breath caught in her throat. The two dark specks on the woman’s face were aimed directly toward her, and there was no doubt in Robin’s mind, Isobel was staring at her.
“I-I gotta tell ya, it’s...um...it’s good to s-see you’re a woman,” Robin said with the weakest of grins. “I-I was kind of worried about that. I kept thinking you were some pervy old guy.” Robin frowned. “Oh, do you know what...do you know what pervy means? I-I’m not sure how long you’ve...um...been around, but pervy means...it means vulgar or...or like a voyeur.”
Robin waited, and when Isobel’s image began to flutter, Robin braced herself, preparing for another ghostly show of anger, but then she heard a meow and looked down to see Fred standing at her feet. Again, instinct reigned supreme, and squaring her shoulders, she glared back at Isobel.
“Look,” Robin said, holding up her hands. “I’m sorry I yelled, and I’m sorry you’re not happy, but you and I, we...we have to find a way to meet in the middle here. I mean you no harm and...and I’ll give you whatever space I can, but I need space, too. I-I need to be able to sleep at night knowing you’re a friend, not a foe. I need to be able to trust that you won’t do harm to my cats or...or to me. I swear to God, I’m not your enemy. I’m just a woman who’s trying to start over. Okay?”
A few seconds later, the spectral particles embodying all that was Isobel...fizzled into nothingness.
Chapter Eighteen
Robin’s face fell as she approached the door. The silhouette she could see through the stained glass was much too tall to belong to Judy. Shaking off her disappointment, Robin opened the front door and grinned at the big-boned woman standing on her front porch. “Can I help you?”
“That depends,” the woman said, displaying an infectious smile. “Are you Robin Novak?”
“That’s me,” Robin said, her eyes darting back and forth between the towering stranger and the bags she was carrying.
The woman juggled the packages in her arms and held out her hand. “Rita Hutchinson. Judy’s best friend and the unofficial Welcome Wagon for Mackinac Is
land.”
Robin’s eyes flew open wide. “Oh, hi!” she said, shaking Rita’s hand. “Judy’s mentioned you more than once. I’m so glad to finally meet you.”
“The feeling’s mutual,” Rita said, rearranging the bags again. “And these are for you.”
Robin stared at the two handled shopping bags Rita was now holding in front of her. “What?”
“This one is from the ladies at the church,” Rita said, handing Robin the first. “Tillie made you a batch of oatmeal cookies. Delores contributed two loaves of freshly baked bread. Vivian tossed in a few bottles of her homemade relish, and Madge, God bless her heart, baked you a cherry pie.”
“Oh, my God,” Robin said as she peeking inside the bag. “That was so nice of them.”
“And this one is from me,” Rita said, holding up the other bag. “I hope you like lasagna.”
Robin’s eyes opened to their extreme. “I love lasagna!” she said, taking the bag. “Are you kidding me? It’s like my favorite meal.”
“Well, you should have enough in there to last you at least the week,” Rita said with a laugh.
“I don’t know what to say,” Robin said, looking back and forth between the bags and Rita. “This is totally unexpected.”
A glint of humor came into Rita’s eyes as she gazed at Robin. “Most good things are.”
For a second, they stood smiling at each other until Robin came to her senses. “Please...please come in,” she said, stepping aside.
“I’d love to,” Rita said, and striding into the house, she waited for Robin to catch up.
After closing the door, Robin gestured toward the dining room. “I’m just going to put this stuff in the kitchen. Would you like a cup of coffee or...or I can make tea?"
“Coffee is my middle name.”
“Coffee it is then,” Robin chirped. “Follow me.”
A few minutes later, Rita watched as Robin put away the last of her gifts, the tray of lasagna taking up more than its fair share of space in the refrigerator. When Robin turned around, Rita grinned. “It’s uncanny how much you look like your mother.”
Robin beamed. “It constantly surprises me that so many people here remember her.”
“Why?”
“Because she only visited a few times a year.”
“True, but haven’t you heard it’s the quality, not the quantity that matters?”
“What do you mean?”
“Robin, as you’ll soon learn, we get thousands of tourists every year. They pile off the ferries and schlepp around the island, and don’t get me wrong, most of them are really nice, but your mother...your mother was different. She was Grace Kelly different.” Rita paused to set her coffee on the counter before continuing. “Constance was elegant and sophisticated, a true lady in a world of wannabe ladies. I can’t ever remember her not having a clutch bag tucked under her arm, and her hair was always done up in a perfect chignon without a strand out of place.”
Robin chuckled. “I can’t tell you how many times I tried to get her to change that hairstyle, but she never would. Never.”
“That’s because it was part of who she was, what she was, and it’s one of the reasons why we all remember her,” Rita said with a soft smile. “Your mother was a lady, through and through. She had an air about her that others couldn’t buy with all the money in the world, and she didn’t even have to work at it. She stood tall, always wearing those flowing dresses, yet she didn’t possess one goddamn ounce of snobbery. She was literally a breath of fresh air each and every time she stepped off the ferry.”
In an instant, Robin shifted her focus to the floor, her face falling as her brow creased.
“I’m sorry,” Rita said, noticing Robin’s hardened expression. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No. I was just trying to remember the last time I told my mother she was beautiful,” Robin said, her features softening as she raised her eyes. “She was, wasn’t she?”
“You’ll get no argument from me,” Rita said as she picked up her water. “That’s why we were all shocked when she and Ted didn’t work out. They were quite a stunning couple.”
Robin’s forehead wrinkled again. “Um…don't take this the wrong way, Rita, but you must be talking about someone else. My mother didn’t date.”
Rita tilted back her head, and then a sly smile spread across her face. For a town known for its grapevine, she suddenly realized that there was more than one secret yet to be discovered by the inhabitants of Mackinac Island. Never being one to pull punches, Rita took a sip of coffee before speaking.
“Yes, she did, and she and Ted were an item for years,” Rita said, resting against the counter. “Every time she visited, I’d see them out and about, having dinner at one of the restaurants or walking arm-in-arm around the island, whispering like two little lovebirds.”
“No,” Robin said, shaking her head. “I’m telling you, she didn’t date.”
“Maybe she didn’t tell you she was dating, but visiting her sister wasn’t the only reason she came up here, Robin. Ask anyone, and they’ll say the same thing. Ted Owens and your mother were hot and heavy. We all figured they would eventually get married, but about fifteen years ago, Ted up and sold his jewelry store and left the island. Everyone assumed he had finally popped the question and...and she popped his bubble.”
“That can’t be,” Robin said under her breath.
“It is, honey, and I’m sorry if it upsets you?”
Robin struggled to find the right words. Her feelings were balanced on a razor blade. Lean one way and there was happiness. Her mother hadn’t spent the last forty-plus years alone. She had enjoyed the company of men. She had dated, maybe kissed, maybe more, and isn’t that what Robin had always wanted for her? Yet, lean the other, and there was annoyance. Agitation caused by a secret that shouldn’t have been, it gnawed at Robin, causing her body to stiffen and her expression to darken.
“I’m just confused as to why she didn’t tell me,” Robin said, trying to ease the anxiety showing on her face as her eyes met Rita’s. “I mean, she never dated when I was growing up. Not once. Call it the romantic in me, but I always thought it was because she loved my father so much, that he was her one and only.”
“Well, now you’re describing your aunt, not your mother.”
“I am?”
Rita nodded. “Adele was the sister who only had one love in her life. She adored Stanley, and when he died, she was a basket case for years. I still remember walking into my parent’s candy store and finding this young woman in the back room, bawling her eyes out. I was only thirteen or fourteen at the time, and I had no idea what was going on, so I asked my mom. She told me that the lady had lost her husband a few months earlier and was still having a hard time.”
“Oh, God, it must have been awful for her.”
“Yes, it was,” Rita said softly. “But you know I never really understood just how much she loved him until years later.”
“What happened?”
“Well, like I said, I was only a teenager when I first met her, so she and I didn’t exactly travel in the same circles, but when I got back from college, our paths began to cross. By that time, she had bought Safe Harbor and was well on her way to being a successful businesswoman. One of her tricks was to always buy some fresh fudge for her guests. Just a small assortment, nothing extravagant, but every afternoon like clockwork, she’d show up at the shop to buy whichever flavor we had just finished making. I had four years of college business skills under my belt, and I was eager to put them to use, so I suggested instead of buying our fudge, Schockling’s would give her the assortments and in exchange, she’d put some of our business cards in her dining room next to the plate of fudge. She agreed, and that was the start of our friendship.”
Rita paused long enough to take another taste of her coffee. “At first it was just casual conversation when she stopped in to get the fudge, but eventually we started meeting up for a quick lunch or an occasional dinner. It’s fun
ny though, Adele never talked about herself. It was always about business or the island, or things she wanted to change at Safe Harbor. She was one focused woman.”
“It sounds like it.”
“Yeah,” Rita said, setting aside her cup. “Anyway, I guess it was probably a few years after we became friends when she first invited me to have dinner with her at her place. I showed up with a bottle of wine, and we had a great meal, and as always, the conversation was easy and all about business. After we were done eating, she banished me to the living room while she straightened up the kitchen, and that’s when I saw the mantle over the fireplace. It was practically a shrine to Stanley.”
“You’re kidding? When I moved in, it was empty. The whole place was empty.”
“I don’t know what to tell you about that, but back then it was far from empty. In the center was the American flag in one of those triangular cases along with some photographs of him, and a bunch of letters tied in a ribbon off to one side. There was even a pipe propped up in a stand like it was waiting for its owner to come home.”
“Wow,” Robin whispered. “I wonder what happened to all of it.”
“I don’t know,” Rita said softly. “But when she came in with some coffee, I guess she noticed what I was doing, and she just started talking about Stanley. It was so unlike her. So different than the women I had come to know, but I wasn’t about to stop her.”
“What did she say?”
“She said they had met in college. Stanley was a couple of years ahead of her, but apparently love at first sight does exist because that’s the way she described it. One look and that was it for both of them.”
