The Book of Eleanor

by Nat Burns

  After exchanging pleasantries while Maddy unlocked the door, I stepped inside, placed Oscar Marie’s carrier in the middle of the large, bare room, and let my gaze roam the building I had bought on faith just a few short months ago. Sound carried under the long, low ceiling, and stepping on the wooden floorboards set off a flurry of echoes.

  “This was built in the early 1980s,” she explained, laying her hand against the painted cinderblock wall with something like fondness. She turned to look at me. “What do you think of the shelves? Don’t they look great?”

  I studied the walls laddered with new bookshelves with a critical eye. A young local man named Heriberto had built them and he’d done a good job. They looked like part of the original architecture. I’d been worried, having never met the man, because I usually like to look someone in the eye when I hire them to do a job. Maddy had recommended him and handled the hiring. I could not fault her judgment. I was reminded anew that there was a noticeable difference in something lovingly handmade and something haphazardly produced.

  “Yes, he does do good work. You were right,” I said, running a hand over the dark, smooth surface of one of the shelves. Mounted on an intricate wooden framework, they stretched the entire length of the walls on both sides, and gleamed in the subdued sunlight from the front windows. “This building is really long, isn’t it? Unusual,” I murmured.

  Oscar Marie mewed as if in agreement.

  Maddy slowly blinked her pale blue eyes. “Oh, not an accident. The design allows you to take advantage of the street storefront as well as the Laguna Madre out back. Let me show you.”

  I followed her toward the back of the building. The northern wall was painted an unusual muted sea-green shade. Strangely attractive. Our target was an age darkened but ornate wooden door on the left side of this wall. I assumed it would guide us into the rear of the store and the living area that Maddy had described on the phone.

  “What’s this door here?” I paused. A heavy, mysterious looking set of double wooden doors centered in a wall on the right seemed to mock my new ownership.

  “Oh, goodness, I almost forgot.” Maddy strode to the door on the right and twisted the knob. The door clicked open reluctantly.

  “This is a storage area that they used when it was a gift shop. I always thought that the Torreses should have extended their living area into this space. There’s even an outside entrance. I guess she didn’t want the bother at first, then when Elizondo went into the hospital, she just lost interest,” Maddy mused.

  I stepped into a large, open room almost as large as the showroom, which contained several wooden carousels that had obviously been used in the gift shop, as well as a few long tables and other random pieces of furniture. Large bare side windows revealed the brightly painted blue cinderblock wall of the business next door. The front facing windows gave me a good view of the huge white cylinder of the Port Isabel Lighthouse.

  “Nice,” I sighed. “Maybe I could put several sitting rooms in here.” I suddenly realized my furniture needs had just leapt up a notch.

  “Hmm. Good idea. That would work,” Maddy said, a finger to her chin as she considered the space. That same finger then indicated a space just left of the entry. “A little conversation area would be nice here.”

  “It is going to be a reading room,” I murmured. “No reason not to expand into this part.”

  “Oh, yes. With floor lamps and plump little chairs,” Maddy continued her earlier thought. “That would be perfect. There’s no place in The Point exactly like that so it would definitely be innovative.”

  We moved out of that room and into the partially furnished rear apartment. The living area was as small as she had stated, but it was plenty big enough for me. A modest living room, furnished with an overstuffed sofa and one Queen Anne chair, both in desert hues, stood to the left. The bay side of the room offered a dominant dining room bordered by large windows framed by dark beige drapes. This area would be a perfect workroom. I felt the first tentative stirrings of excitement. Maybe the move would be the positive step I needed after all.

  I wandered the room as I envisioned how I would set up my worktable. I decided to move the small dining table and chairs to one side, the kitchen side, and set up my drafting table on the northwestern side, sideways to the window so I could look out at the bay as I worked. The view of the bay’s slowly rocking water was soothing.

  “This room gets plenty of light, and if you open the windows, you’ll get some fresh ocean breezes,” Maddy said, indicating the windows with the clipboard she held. Her words broke into my creative thoughts. I tried to concentrate on what she was saying. “Sometimes it gets pretty hot, but the wind really helps.”

  “Yes, this will be a perfect work space for me...the light... perfect.”

  “That’s right, you’re a cartoonist. I saw your strip in Business Weekly last week. That Sassy Suzy, she gets into the biggest scrapes. When she told Mister Marks that his toast was burnt and he thought she was making fun of his sandals…well, I laughed so hard. I just had to show it to Ernest. You haven’t met Ernie yet, he’s my husband. He laughed too. We were both wiping our eyes, it was so funny.”

  I smiled and moved into the small galley-style kitchen. “I’m glad to hear that. The editor really liked that one too. He e-mailed me about it, which is kind of unusual as I usually don’t hear from the papers that carry my work.”

  I switched on the faucet to check the water pressure.

  “So you are syndicated? That’s wonderful.” She cocked her head to one side, her gray wispy hair shifting and waving somewhat companionably. “You’re young for that. How did you get into cartooning?”

  I opened the refrigerator and thumbed up the cooling fan before answering the same question I’d been asked a million times before. “In college. Although I’d always doodled as a kid.” I shrugged. “Guess it’s what I’m supposed to do.”

  Silence grew in the small room. Maddy continued to study me. I sensed her mind clicking like a busy abacus.

  “When you called, you said you wanted to open a bookstore and were looking for retail property. What’s that about? Are you still going to do Sassy Suzy?” she asked.

  “Oh, yes, of course I will.” I felt a sudden lurch of alarm. How could I talk about this, about Mary, so soon? Though I lived my life as an openly lesbian cartoonist, I was always a little hesitant to tell strangers anything about my personal life. I decided now was as good a time as any to talk to Maddy.

  “My partner, Mary, died a few months ago, and she left me a large collection of books.” I said finally, hoping my pain remained hidden. “And I don’t really want to sell them, so it’s not really a bookstore. It’s more of a reading room, coffee shop-type place.”

  Maddy grunted slightly. Her eyes widened. “Ah, I see, and it’s a good idea. I am so sorry for your loss, though.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  I saw the questions forming. People always wanted to know how she died—assuming, by my young age, that it was cancer or perhaps a car accident. I had no easy answers I wanted to share so, turning my attention back to the kitchen, I effectively dismissed her interest and forestalled any further queries.

  “Wow, would you look at this,” I said, peering through the large window over the sink. I pulled open the kitchen door, which led onto a wide, square deck with a private dock that stretched a good half mile into the bay. It was a breathtaking scene, and I suddenly, completely understood the high listing price of the mostly nondescript property.

  “Isn’t it wonderful?” Maddy sighed next to me. “I remember when Ruetta built this place. Her husband, Elizondo, was in a wheelchair by then, and she used to bring him out here while she minded the shop. All of his retired buddies would stop by and visit with him, and there’d be a regular pachanga going on back here.”

  “Pachanga?”

  She laughed and explained. “South Texas barbeque party. Huge.”

  The bay appeared calm, but that was just an illusion
. Hundreds of birds, pelicans, and gulls mostly, moved busily about the raised dock feeding and basking in the fierce sunlight. The rocky shoreline teemed with smaller birds. Beneath the boards of the dock, dunlins and egrets chased after hermit crabs and large, glossy water gliders. From everywhere came the sounds of birds calling directions to one another, waves slapping the sand and rocks with gleeful abandon, and the wind baying mournfully through the deck railings.

  “Oh, my heavens,” I muttered. “You said waterfront but I had no idea. I’ll never get any work done.”

  Maddy laughed at my dilemma. “Right enough. When Ernest and I used to come here from the north as Winter Texans, I always brought some project I thought I’d get done during the winter, like needlepoint or quilting. I’ve got to admit though, I’d spend days just watching the water and in March, back home I’d go, that unfinished project going right back with me.”

  “I sure hope that doesn’t really happen to me,” I said, leading the way back to the kitchen and firmly closing the door.

  “You’ll be living here, like we do now,” Maddy counseled. “You do sort of get used to it after a while.”

  “Oh, so you live here full time now. I should have guessed since you’re working here.”

  We moved into the relative dimness of the living room. Maddy indicated that I should take a seat on the sofa.

  “I do, and I certainly get more done these days after living in Port Isabel for the past three years. And speaking of getting things done, let’s get this last bit of paperwork out of the way so you can get on with moving yourself and settling in. When is the truck coming?”

  She handed me the clipboard, and I began signing the viewing papers. I’d signed and had notarized the sale papers a month or so ago, but these papers had to do with Maddy’s real estate company. “The books will be here in about three hours. I sold everything else.”

  “Everything?”

  I heard the disbelief in her voice. “Pretty much. There’s a new bed on the truck, but I auctioned off the contents of the house before I sold it. The SUV is full of some stuff too.”

  “Ah, I see. Listen, do you need some help here?” Maddy asked as I signed.

  “How do you mean? Unpacking?” I answered absently, reading the mostly meaningless small print.

  “That, or like getting the store ready, or minding it while you draw. I know several young men who would be happy to help out.”

  I looked at her when I handed the clipboard back. Had I noted a subtle emphasis on men? I had to chuckle just a little. I guess Grey Graham would be an interesting new topic of conversation in Port Isabel before the end of the day.

  “Hmm, a good idea. I have your card and will maybe give you a call after I get settled in.”

  Maddy smiled and started to respond, but a loud voice echoing in the front of the building arrested her.

  “Yo, Maddy, where ya at?” The gruff voice was accompanied by loud staccato barking and Oscar Marie’s angry squalls.

  I leapt to my feet and raced into the front. A balding, heavyset man stood next to Oscar Marie’s carrier. He held the leads of three small dogs. The Lhasa apso and two fox terriers were digging at the metal grate on the front of the carrier.

  “Holy shit!” the man exclaimed. “Someone left a damned cat out here.” He pulled the dogs away from the carrier. “Hish now! Y’all boys just move on back here now.”

  Poor Oscar Marie. Her thick black fur had bristled into a broad mane by the time I reached her carrier. Her large topaz eyes were darkened by fear. She stared at me accusingly.

  “It’s okay, baby,” I crooned, wishing I could open the cage and hold her. I knew better, though. She would take off like a ruptured balloon and the chase would be on. I satisfied myself by moving the crate around, thereby blocking her view of the dogs with the solid side of it, hoping to calm her.

  “I am so sorry, ma’am,” the man said, securely shortening the dogs’ leads. “I was blinded by the sun when I stepped in, and they were on her before I knew what was afoot.”

  I looked into his sorrowful brown eyes and knew his apology was heartfelt. “That’s okay. No harm done.”

  “Ms. Graham, this is Ernie, my husband,” Maddy said. “Ernie, this is cartoonist Grey Graham, our newest Point resident.”

  “Well, pleased to meet you, Ms. Graham,” Ernie said, extending his hand. He indicated the dogs. “These miscreants are Buffy, JJ and Diablo.”

  “But we call him Dabbles most of the time,” Maddy interjected, lifting the tan and white terrier up for snuggles. “He’s not such a devil anymore,” she added in a crooning singsong. Dabbles responded by lovingly licking her nose with his long pink tongue.

  “You do spoil him rotten, Mad,” Ernie said, shaking his head and smiling indulgently.

  Maddy grimaced at me. “They’re our kids,” she explained.

  I held up a staying palm and nodded. “No need to tell me about it. I feel the same about my Oscar Marie.”

  Maddy lowered Dabbles to the floor and took the lead from her husband. “We do apologize for the fright. Will she be okay?”

  I smiled to reassure her. “She’s a Maine Coon breed and tough as nails. She just wants out of this carrier so she can explore her new home.”

  “I bet. Well, there’s plenty to explore here. This old building has nooks and crannies galore.”

  “Elizondo sure loved this old place,” Ernie added, his voice echoing boldly in the open space. He turned to his wife. “Did you show her the deck out back?”

  “Now, Ernest, why do you think I’m even here?” she said archly. “Of course I did. And she loved it as much as we do, I’m sure.”

  She glanced at me for support and I hastily agreed.

  “Well, dear, here are your keys, both sets. The red dot is the front door, green is the side door, and blue is for the back door. If you have any questions or problems, don’t you hesitate to give me a call.”

  I felt a sudden urge to ask them to stay, to have dinner, a glass of wine, but knew the idea was ridiculous. I didn’t know them. Beyond that, I wasn’t even settled in yet, and was certainly not ready to entertain. I guess starting anew on a life alone was proving more daunting than I had expected.

  “Thank you so much,” I said instead. “For everything. You have been just wonderful.”

  “My pleasure, child, and again, I’m sorry for your loss. I hope over time you will come to love The Point—your new home—as much as we have.”

  I leaned forward and drew her into a brief hug with hated tears welling in my eyes. “I’m sure I will,” I said, even as an unfamiliar loneliness raged in my heart.

  Angie

  The nature preserve beckoned enticingly on my right, but I had other plans. I guided my open Jeep along Beach Road, all the way off South Padre and over the Queen Isabella Causeway, the stiff ocean wind actually buffeting me around on my worn leather driver’s seat. I passed Lighthouse Square quickly, praying for a green light in case Mama was looking out the front windows of The Fat Mother.

  Within minutes, I was at a low, nondescript building that faced seaward on one of the many finger inlets of Laguna Madre, just off the main highway in Port Isabel, a few blocks from the restaurant. I parked my Jeep and took a minute to let the powerful ocean wind caress my face and play in my hair. I tilted my face toward the sun. Responsibilities nagged at me. I knew Mama would need me for dinner setups, but this felt just so darn good. I guess I am a hedonist at heart, enjoying my own outdoor creature comforts.

  Sighing reluctantly, I leapt from the Jeep and raced up to the heavy metal double doors of the building. A small bas-relief metal sign posted on the wall by the door declared it the Wilson Special School. As usual, I slapped the sign gently as I passed through the unlocked right side.

  It had taken us a long time and a ton of begging to get Captain Petey Wilson to part with the startup and rent money for this facility, the South Padre Island Center for Extraordinary Youth, or Wilson’s SPICEY as the residents referred to it.
The building had been a church originally, and had passed into the hands of the Port Isabel Town Council when the congregation moved inland to Bayview.

  A gentle wave of sound hit me as I veered left of the main activity room and entered my cubbyhole of an office. A hand- lettered sign on the door proclaimed it as Angie’s office. The letters were misaligned and the spelling off, but I adored it nevertheless.

  The boy who had drawn the placard, David Imuss, had asphyxiated in his sleep one night about a year ago. I’d been heartbroken, but the sign he’d made for me helped keep his memory alive. We’d had a lot of good times together.

  I sighed and checked my desk for messages. No news was good news. I smiled. My position at the school as teacher slash activities director gobbled up time like a corporate Pac-Man. I dropped into the squealing desk chair and opened the lower right-hand drawer. I lifted out the cashbox and unlocked it, using a key kept on my car key lanyard. Separating out the ten dollars tip from the restaurant money for Melvin’s pizza, I slid it into the cashbox, then re-locked it securely. My stash was growing. It was up to four hundred eighty dollars, just from tips and two odd jobs during the past two weeks.

  I let the office door drift closed behind me as I strode into the main hall. Stretching a good forty feet in each direction, the hall provided plenty of room for the various wheelchairs and mobility equipment needed by our kids. Today, they were finishing up the art project I had laid out on the class schedule, making castles from clay, and then drawing them. It had also been a history lesson about the Middle Ages.

  Connie and Emilio, two of the older kids, were signing vigorously at the end of the table. I watched long enough to realize it was a dirty joke before I looked away, embarrassed. Maria, bless her heart, sat alone as usual, but alert and ready to help if asked.

  Maria’s case really kept me in a low state of unease. Raped and beaten as a young teen, her face slashed, she was now twenty-one and had little life beyond her home and these school walls. A couple of years ago, I had taken her out once for smoothies, just the two of us. Although she’d been amenable to the outing, she’d quickly become a bundle of nerves and tightly held fear when a group of loud, rowdy boys entered the diner. It would take a long time for those psychological scars to heal, which saddened me.