by L. B. Dunbar
I presented my hand for a good-bye shake to Katie, but she just stared at my protruding hand.
“It was very nice to meet you, Katie. And it was a pleasure to work with you today.”
Knowing Katie did not know how to respond, I withdrew my hand as the girl looked at her father and then looked back at me before walking toward the ragged bushes. When she had finished crawling underneath the brush, the man grabbed her upper arms and swung her upward into a hug. The girl wrapped her arms and legs around her father as I’d seen her do only yesterday. He didn’t even glance back at me, but walked away as I waved to his back and the sparkling eyes that peered over his shoulder.
I returned to the yard work for a few more hours, and the flower beds began to look more like a garden again along the garage and a small section across the back of the yard by the bushes. The weeds were pulled, the dirt turned over to a nice rich brown, and some transplanted flowers filled empty spaces. I had just bent over to finish picking up the final pile of weeds in the yard when Cheryl Mueller leaned over the back bushes and asked Nana and I to dinner.
“You’ve been working so hard out here today. It’s been a shame to see the house fall apart.” Cheryl said with a nod of her head toward Nana’s home.
“I see you made a friend today. She’s a tough one to crack, that little Katie Carter. We’re offering them dinner as well for fixing the roof and decided to have a whole party. You and your grandmother come on over as well.”
It wasn’t a question but a gentle command, and my first thought was to politely decline. I knew there that Carter man felt negatively about me and I did not need to encourage his dislike any further, although his rudeness was getting annoying. On the other hand, exhausted from the day’s work, the idea of taking Nana out for dinner did not sound appetizing. I still had not made it to the grocery store and was afraid to see what her kitchen had to offer.
“We would love to attend. Should we bring anything?” I politely asked.
“Just yourselves.”
“Thank you. I’m sure Nana would enjoy the treat and some visiting.”
Cheryl Mueller looked at me with a quizzical expression.
“Alright then. See you at 6:00.”
ENTERING THE HOUSE, I found that Nana had started to make cookies at some point during the day, only to have forgotten them, causing the dough to burn to a black crisp under the too high heat in the oven. While I was at first angry because Nana could have caused a fire, I found Nana sleeping upright on one of the couches in the living room and decided to clean up the whole mess as if Nana had never made one. Unfortunately, she awoke to inquire about the little girl and comment on how she had made cookies, to which I had to admit to Nana that she’d burned them.
A hot shower was a warm welcome to my sore muscles and achy spirit. Letting the water pour over me despite knowing the hot water heater could only keep the water warm for so long, I recognized a strong smell of rotten eggs coming from the steamy liquid, which meant the water softener wasn’t working well. Barely wanting to guess at all the things that weren’t functioning properly in this house compared to all the noticeable things left unattended, I tried to wash my mind free of worry for a few minutes as I prepared for an evening with Jess Carter.
His rude demeanor was bordering on deplorable. He didn’t say hello. He didn’t say thank you. He didn’t introduce himself. Not considering myself a bad person, I couldn’t imagine what I had done to set him off again, but upset him I did. The way he looked at me with those deep blue eyes made me feel like he could freeze my soul in his dislike. He was intense and I couldn’t deal with him and his issues. I had my own.
I wanted to be angry with Rosie for not being present to help make some decisions about Nana. Growing increasing concerned that leaving Nana alone would not be a good idea, I had already thought of a few options that didn’t seem reasonable. A full time nurse would be costly. A removal to Chicago would not be practical. A move to North Carolina with Rosie would be out of the question since Rosie was married with children – three to be exact, and another one on the way. Being four years older than me, Rosie had left Michigan the same year I had started high school, and she’d never looked back. Deciding my next move needed to be a call to Rosie tonight after dinner to discuss some options, I knew deep down inside that I really just needed the friendly voice of reason from my sister after the silent visitor and her angry father from earlier in the day.
I convinced Nana to walk the short distance to the Mueller’s house behind her own, and we slowly strolled outside and around the corner to the opposite corner of the block. It wasn’t a city block by counts of one thousand, but simply one end of a yard to the other end of another yard. If it had been Chicago, an alley would run right through the middle, but there were no alleys here. This was a century worth of independent property and private ownership.
The Mueller’s home had been in their family for three generations. The Carpenter’s next door to Nana had been two generations. Technically, Nana’s had been three generations, although Nana and Grandpa Parrish were the first generation owners. Elk Rapids is a small community that has seen its fair share of ups and downs, but one thing that was consistent was the water that flowed through the edge of town and the harbor inlets that surrounded it. One thing that had drawn Nana and Grandpa to the area was its potential. It was a small town that intended to remain small in appearance and culture. It prided itself on its main street of stores, its close community feel, and its intimate attention. It was not resentful of the visitors and brought comfort to travelers as he or she passed through the area, knowing these qualities would inevitably bring people back. The harbor boasted seasonal fun with plenty of water sports and a beautiful stretch of beach. I hadn’t seen the water in the two days since I’d returned, but I had the feeling of its presence calling me as we walked to the Mueller’s.
We were the last to arrive to this dinner party, which included Cheryl and Dan Mueller with their teenage sons, Robert and Kevin. Sue and Joe Carpenter, Nana’s next-door neighbors, were also there with their oldest son, George, who was in town for the weekend from Detroit, and finally, there was Katie Carter, and her father. The dinner was not formal, but a barbeque out back and I was sadly overdressed in a navy blue tank dress and strappy sandals. I stood out amongst the host and hostess, but I also knew Nana would never have let me wear shorts when she herself was dressed in a skirt and blouse. When drinks were offered, I made another error by asking for a glass of white wine when beer was all that was available. The dinner was grilled chicken, corn on the cob, home grown zucchini, and cornbread. The portions were something I wasn’t used to, nor did I know how to eat my meal neatly.
One thing I did admire was the ease of the company. These people seemed relaxed with their light banter of conversation in a way my friends and I never were with our always trying-to-outdo-the-other comparisons. The atmosphere in the early evening was breezy like the weather, not stuffy and dark like many of the fashionable cafes and dinner places my friends frequented, and despite the unbelievable portions of food, the meal was delicious in a way I only vaguely remembered. There was no elaborate sauce smothering the taste. There was no secret ingredient that a hostess wouldn’t share with the other guests. There was garnish that was unrecognizable as edible. The food was simple and satisfying.
When the meal was over, relief engulfed me that I didn’t have to help with the dishes as I knew would be the tradition here. My hands ached from pulling weeds and since I hadn’t been able to find any gloves, my bare palms felt rough and cut, not to mention my manicure was ruined with several chips in the polish. The dishwashing soap would only irritate my fingers more, but more importantly I needed a moment to talk to Sue Carpenter about my grandmother.
“Tell me everything you’ve noticed.”
Sue was a small woman in her late fifties. She wore wire-rimmed eyeglasses and her jet-black hair was streaked with gray, cut in a short, feathered hairstyle that made her look older than
she probably was. She ran short, unpolished fingers through her hair before she began.
“Well, aside from her locking herself out of the house the one time, we’ve seen her walking the street early in the morning to get a cup of coffee. Like 3:30 in the morning early. She’s dressed and wants to be the first one in town before her hair appointment, but it’s a Tuesday and the place doesn’t open until 5:00 am. I don’t want you to be upset, but Joe took her car keys one day when he was in the house helping her in with the groceries. He knows it might have stressed her to look for them, but it stressed him more as the Chief of Police to think she might drive onto that highway and have an accident. We pick up groceries for her and the church makes her single meals, which I deliver, although I’m not sure she takes them for herself. She has told me at times she appreciates the gesture for John, your grandfather.
“I’m afraid I’ve upset her occasionally by reminding her John is dead, but Mary Carter, who’s a nurse, told me it’s better for Elizabeth if we just play along. I don’t know if I would say she has Alzheimer’s. I’m not a doctor, but she is definitely confused and it seems to be more frequent, although now that you are here the consistency might do her some good as a reminder of the time frame she lives in. She seems to think your grandfather is alive and ill inside the house.”
Sue Carpenter paused and tears welled up in my eyes. Swiftly blinking them away and wiping a stray, I willed myself not to cry publicly.
“I don’t know what your plans are, Emily, but we can help you as much as possible. We don’t mind bringing her the groceries. She always pays for them. The meals come from the church, although I am afraid of her turning on the stove. Joe tries to keep up with the grass or ask one of the Mueller boys.”
I thought of the burned cookies. It was a wonder the house wasn’t already a pile of ashes. I had to blink harder.
“I’ll admit I don’t know what to do. I don’t live here, and no offense, but I don’t want to. I’ve been here before. I can’t send her to my sister’s with four children. I can’t take her to my apartment in Chicago. I don’t have the heart for a home or the money for a nurse. I just don’t know what to do.”
With that speech, the sound of a dish crashing to the floor came from somewhere in the house. Instinct and my conversation with Sue told me it was Nana. Standing, I saw Jess Carter leaning against the porch railing, facing away from where I had been sitting, but obviously close enough to be listening. Walking past him, I ignored his gaze and entered the back door to help clean up.
Apologizing several times for Nana, who was clearly rattled by the incident, I offered to pay for the dish and wanted to know all the details: where was it from, what was the style name, etc. Cheryl Mueller laughed as she said she had no idea what style or brand the dish was. She admitted that her boys had dropped so many over the years that the set was hardly complete anymore, and it was all a good sign that she was going to get the new dishes she wanted for Christmas. I was still embarrassed for Nana and after assisting her to bed, I sat on the front porch steps with my head in my hands, my fingers buried deep in my hair.
By escorting a lady, a gentleman allows the woman to place her hand lightly inside his crooked elbow, offered for her assistance. No other public physical display is necessary or appropriate. Casual conversation is acceptable.
“Matters of Manners,” 1962
“YOU LOOK LIKE you could use a drink,” a smooth voice spoke in the dark.
I looked up and there stood George Carpenter in front of me with what appeared to be a cool gin and tonic in a glass.
“If you don’t mind, I sure could,” I replied, reaching for the outstretched offer. Making space for George, I moved over on the step, but he shook his head and stood with one arm on the banister.
George Carpenter was a decent looking man who grew up awkwardly. He was tall and full with dark, wavy hair the same color as his mother’s. He was a smart boy, a blessing to slightly older parents who wished for and received only one child. His brain was his ticket out of Elk Rapids. He was the boy who wore polo shirts buttoned to the top and knee socks with khaki shorts as a kid. He wasn’t very athletic as a teenager, but as with a small town, there weren’t any cuts for the football program, so George was on the team. He wasn’t popular with the ladies, but everyone knew who he was. He was sweet to the girls and tried hard to be one of the boys. He grew up dreaming and admiring my blond-haired sister, Rosie, and when we were in town for childhood summers, George would occasionally make up our trio for playing in the sand, riding bikes into town, or hanging out in backyards.
He was dressed neatly for this casual evening in a pair of khaki pants and an oxford cloth shirt that he had buttoned one too many high, and had his sleeves pulled all the way to the cuffs despite the heat.
“Funny coming back here after all this time? It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you here.”
“Well, we both live far away. Me further than you. I’m busy, as I imagine you are, as a lawyer in Detroit.”
“Still writing books in Chicago my mom tells me. How is that going for you?”
“Not books, not yet,” I tried to sound nonchalant. “Writing articles for a travel magazine, which pays the bills and a few extras.”
“Stiff competition with the Internet, I imagine.”
“Yes, but whether paper copies or e-zines, the magazine still sells,” I laughed.
“Want to walk into town? The Town Tavern is all we have. It will be all locals, which you never were, but you might recognize a face or two. Jess Carter will be there with his brother, Tom.”
A question marked my face, which I’m sure George couldn’t answer. Why would I want to see Jess Carter at a bar? He hadn’t even talked to me at dinner. Although Katie came to sit by me and let me cut her food, she still did not speak. Jess seemed uninterested about life in Chicago when others inquired and I tried to keep the attention on me at a minimum. No one asked about my writing and I wondered how George knew anything about my desire to write books. Most of the conversation was town gossip that I didn’t understand because I didn’t know the people.
As George commented, I wasn’t from Elk Rapids. Michigan was divided into two areas – Up North and down state. Up North is a proper name; it’s a state of mind. Down state is an action; it’s a directional thing. If you lived Up North, you traveled down state only for a necessity. If you lived down south, you traveled Up North for a vacation. You were never called a ‘southerner’ or a ‘northerner’, but rather labeled a local. Where I grew up in East Lansing, home of Michigan State University, locals were nicknamed ‘townies’ for living in the town year-round while the college kids came and went. Being a local in Elk Rapids meant permanent residence, preferably by generations, which I was not, but I never considered myself a visitor either since Rosie and I spent summers up here with our grandparents who were residents. It was a fine line to be on. Again, I wouldn’t know anyone at the bar, but I needed a small reprieve from my worries about Nana.
“George, I would love to go into town.” Exaggeratedly, George crooked his elbow to escort me, and we walked the two blocks to River Street. Summer nights by Lake Michigan are peaceful. The dark masks the quiet streets like a soft blanket and the background sound of the gentle rush of waves on the sand are a lullaby. With my hand wrapped lazily in George’s arms, I had visions of late night bike rides with my sister and stolen moments down at the bridge to watch the rapids that flowed through the middle of town. Like any Midwestern small town, there was only one main street off an interstate highway with a single stop light. Lined with an ice cream shop, a pharmacy, a bar, and a few specialty shops, the town was the essence of Americana. We passed each place as we made our way to Town Tavern, known for cheeseburgers and locally brewed beer specials. It was the locals’ place for nightlife.
As George and I entered the bar, the conversation came to a subtle hush, and then started again. I was guided over to a table of people roughly around our ages, somewhere in their twenties. I
mmediately, I recognized the man from Sound System who introduced himself as Tom Carter. He introduced his wife, Karyn, and their friends Pat and Denise Woods. Tom made a big show of inviting George and I to sit down to join them for a drink, and with his good humor, we couldn’t refuse. George looked confused by the invitation, but agreed eagerly as we sat. There were two additional empty places at the table with filled glasses, and moments after I sat, I looked up to see Jess and a dark-haired woman sitting down with hardy laughter.
“And then…” Jess started, but froze as he noticed me across the table from him. He looks wasted, I thought, as I took in his glassy eyes, bright blue in color, and filled with humor, which I had never seen before. They almost sparkled with amusement and for a moment his eyes might have matched the pleasant ones held by his brother.
“Well, lookie here,” Jess mocked in his best southern drawl imitation again. “Maybe you can find a glass of white wine in our local establishment.” He snorted as his hand hit the table, causing the liquid in several nearby glasses to jiggle. The conversation grew slowly silent as Jess leaned forward on the circular wood with his elbows and took a long drink from the glass before him. The waitress stood behind George, who had ordered a beer, and waited for me.
“How about more talking to strangers or trying to kidnap the local children?” Jess mocked again. His eyes were changing to that steel-denim stare of anger and I noticed his jaw clenching with tension. It was like a curtain had come down on the laughter and dragged his face into consternation.
Talking to strangers? Kidnapping?
I was getting sick of Jess Carter’s patronizing attitude toward me, so I impulsively ordered. “I’ll have what he’s having,” I said, attempting to meet Jess on his own playing field. He laughed again, but I didn’t believe he knew humor, because the laugh was pure evil.
