by Susanne Beck
She nodded in understanding. "I might wait awhile to listen to them."
I realized immediately what she meant and I knew that I wouldn’t be hearing those particular songs for a good long while, if ever. Ice would need to be alone to deal with the feelings dredged up by that music and it was a privacy I would willingly grant her. I nodded, smiling.
"Thank you," she said again, her voice soft.
"You’re welcome." And then I intentionally echoed her words. "I just wanted to give something back to you that had been taken from you." And unspoken but still heard between us: the sound of your mother’s voice.
It was a Christmas I would always remember.
PART 6
WINTER TOOK ITS own sweet time stepping aside for spring, but it finally did and seemingly before I knew it, a year had passed since we first set foot upon Canadian soil. So many things had happened in my life since then. A year seemed much too short a time span for them all to have taken place.
And yet, there I was, standing on my own porch, looking out of my own window, down across my own land, watching sailboats promenade across a vast expanse of deep blue lake.
I pinched myself, just once, and when it hurt, I was convinced that what I was seeing was truly real and not the fevered dreamings of a sad young girl or a prison inmate desperate for freedom.
I was totally alone in the house, but the solitude was welcome and comforting after the bustle of the holiday season and the long, gray winter that followed. Ice had left sometime before sunrise, intending to get in a nice long run over grass newly sprung from the once frozen earth. Corinne, for her part, had announced her cabin fever quite loudly to one and all, both of which were me, and had left an hour before to do some exploring. She departed with the look I imagine a fox gets when he’s contemplating the chicken coop across the barnyard, and I spared a moment of pity for whomever her explorations pitted her against that day.
I suddenly felt the urge to get outside myself, and after donning a light jacket—yet another gift from Corinne—I stepped out into the warmth and sunshine of the newly born spring, taking in a deep breath of fresh air and smiling for all I was worth.
Walking down the small hill that separated the house from the lake, I stepped out onto the tiny green dock which I’d painted the day before, continuing to watch the sailboats as they fought both gravity and wind to remain upright in the water.
I spared a moment for wistful longing before remembering that I too knew how to sail.
My decision quickly made, I stepped back onto the shore and walked to the small cove where Ice and I had placed the Hobie after making it once again ready for sailing that past weekend. After readying the rigging, unfurling and hoisting the sails, and attaching the sling, I gently pushed the boat out into the shallows, then stepped aboard, my boot momentarily sinking into the icy water and causing my whole body to tense up in chilled reaction.
Still, I’d made up my mind and wasn’t about to let a little cold water dampen my enthusiasm, and so, with a healthy shove that chilled my body even more, I managed to catch the wind and started off toward the center of the lake, icy spray piercing my face with its needled drops.
The freedom I felt was incredible as I carved out a line and stuck to it, battling the wind and the water for my right to fly.
And fly I did, over the glassy blue lake, like a colorful bird just skimming over the water with one eye open for breakfast, controlling nature with a flick of my hand or a twist of my body, my smile, I’m sure, fierce and proud and wild and free.
When my soaked clothes and icy skin began to get the better of my endorphins, I turned for home. As I drew closer, I noticed that someone had taken up residence on the green dock. Still closer, I noted that ‘someone’ as Corinne, who’d appropriated a deck chair and her dark shawl, and was sitting quite comfortably, watching me as I approached, a grin on her face.
I resisted—only just—cutting sharply to the left and spraying her with a nice fan of icy water. Instead, I behaved myself and brought the Hobie in for a gentle landing against the sandy shore, then hopped from the boat and tugged it partly onto the beach, lowering the sails so it wouldn’t decide to take off again, preferring the water to a land-bound existence.
As I turned toward my friend, I suddenly found myself with a face full of towel. Grabbing it before it fell to the sand, I vigorously rubbed my chilled cheeks and icy hair, restoring circulation as best I could while I walked toward the dock. "Thanks."
"More than welcome, my dear. You’re quite the sailor. I’m impressed."
"Thanks," I said again, stepping on to the dock and draping the towel over one of the posts to dry in the warm spring sun. "Just another little something I picked up from Ice. She’s a great teacher."
"Indeed she is. But the best teacher in the world can’t help someone who doesn’t have at least a bit of natural ability. You, Angel, looked as if you’d been sailing all your life."
Feeling another blush coming on, I hid it by turning back toward the lake, watching the sailboats as they continued to make their way around the lake in endless circles.
Corinne chuckled, then reached under her chair and came up with a thermos, from which she poured a steaming cup of tea and handed to me. Taking the warm drink gratefully, I inhaled the wonderful scent and took a bracing sip, feeling the heat warm my insides in a most pleasant way. "God, that’s good." I took another sip, then turned back to look at her. "So, did you have fun ‘exploring’?"
Her teeth flashed white in a predator’s grin. "Oh yes. A great deal of fun. It’s amazing what sorts of rocks one can turn over when one has the right tools for the job."
Snorting, I finished the rest of my tea and handed the cup back to her. "It’s good to know you love your work."
She laughed. " Oh, I do indeed. Small towns like this have such juicy little secrets. The people hold to them so tightly, as if in giving them up, they’d somehow lose an important part of themselves." Her delighted laughter sounded again. "I do so enjoy poking holes in balloons of contention."
Shaking my head, I lowered myself to the sun-warmed wood of the dock, enjoying the feel of the gentle breeze against my slowly drying body. "So," I said after a moment, "what balloons did you manage to pop today?"
Corinne’s eyes went wide in mock surprise. "Am I hearing correctly? My little Angel actually wants to hear gossip? And here I thought that was beneath you."
I scowled at her, then closed my eyes and tipped my face toward the sun. "Fine. If you don’t want to tell me ... ."
Never one to resist a challenge, even if it was being made at her expense, Corinne remained silent for two whole seconds before beginning to tell her tale. "Were you aware that there’s a bit of a feud between a certain rather rotund and fashion-challenged innkeeper and a gentleman of your acquaintance who just happens to own the business establishment across the street?"
My head lowered, my eyes opened, and I found myself suddenly very much interested in her words. "What kind of feud?"
Her expression was one of a fisherman when he knows that his prey has been caught, hook, line and sinker. "Well," she said after a moment, "it seems that your friend Millicent ... ."
"She’s hardly my friend, Corinne."
"In any event," she said, her tone telling me exactly what she thought of my untimely interruption, "it seems that Millicent filed suit against Pop for having what she called an ‘unzoned eyesore’. She demanded that the old cars be removed post haste and the lot tidied up so that her guests would not have to be forced to look at lumps of rusted metal every time they peered out of their windows."
"And Pop refused, right?"
"Correct. He told her in no uncertain terms that both he and his eyesore—which is correctly zoned, by the way—were here to stay, and if she didn’t like that fact, she was free to ... well, I’m sure you can get the appropriate picture without my having to paint it for you, no?"
"Good for him! What did the courts say?"
"What could
they say? He has a permit and the ability to do with the land what he wishes, short of putting up a waste treatment plant or a topless bar, of course. She lost. And so, of course, she simply filed again."
"Damn. She obviously doesn’t know the meaning of the phrase ‘graceful loser’. How long has this been going on?"
"Ever since she first took over the Silver Pine from her deceased aunt, I believe."
"Wow. I wonder why he never told us about it." I looked up at her. "How did you manage to pry it out of him?"
She contrived to look pious. "A lady never boasts about her sexual prowess, my dear."
I almost choked on my own saliva. "Yeah. Right."
She laughed. "Actually, that little tidbit didn’t come from Pop. Doreen Symmonds gave it up quite easily after I stopped by and was conned into reading a few chapters of those torridly awful romance novels that warm her house with their tawdry splendor."
The mental picture of Corinne reading such stories to a raptly listening, and no doubt intently sewing, Mrs. Symmonds almost dumped me into the lake as I collapsed against the floor of the dock in laughter. She waited out my small storm with tolerant amusement, and when my gales of laughter finally wound down to isolated chuckles, she continued. "Doreen has a great deal of interesting knowledge—dirt, I believe it’s called these days. She’s lived here far longer than anyone else, and because of her blindness, I think people believe her deaf as well."
Serious again, I sat back upright, resting my arms atop my crossed legs. "Did she have anything else interesting to say?"
"More than can be told in one sitting, to be sure. She’s a veritable fountain of information just waiting for a coin to be tossed her way."
"Anything else on Millicent and Pop?"
"Well, it appears that Millicent’s hatred of Pop doesn’t extend to owners of gas stations, and their attendant eyesores, in general. From what I’ve heard, she’s been seen courting a rather repulsive gentleman by the name of Conrad who just happens to own the station in the next town to the north."
I could feel my face drawing up in a grimace. "Yeah. I’ve seen him a few times. He’s been trying his damndest to get Ice away from Pop and work for him. Ice has come very close to rearranging his face for him more than once. Not that you’d be able to tell if she did, though. That man looks like a truck ran over him, stopped, backed up, and ran over him again for good measure. Millicent’s probably the only woman on this planet who’d look at him twice."
"I hear he’s as rich as sin."
"That’d do it."
"Trying to take Ice away would make sense," Corinne mused. "He managed to sway Pop’s original mechanic into his fold. I imagine he feels that if he lured Ice away as well, especially as good and popular as she is, Pop would be forced to shut down and Millicent’s problems would be solved."
"That’s not gonna happen," I replied with some heat. "That bitch is gonna have to try a whole lot harder than that." I could feel my muscles tense as my clenched fists beat a tattoo on my thighs. "God damn her! What gives her the right to act like such an ass?"
Corinne laughed. "Since when did someone need a right to act like an malicious fool, Angel? Dear God woman, you’ve been dealing with people of her ilk for five full years! Did you just think them confined to prison?"
"Of course not, Corinne. It’s just that ... ." I sighed, then looked up at her again. "Pop is my friend. And I don’t like to see my friends screwed with. Especially not by the likes of her." I came to my feet. "I think that woman needs to be knocked down a few pegs."
Corinne held out an arm. "Relax, Angel. Act in haste, repent in leisure, and all that. The best way to teach someone like dear Millicent a lesson is to use her own tactics against her."
Stopping as Corinne’s sage advice reached my ears, I resolutely let go my anger, knowing she was right on that count. I turned back to her. "Fine. As long as I get a part in whatever play you’re putting on."
She smiled enigmatically. "Oh, I think I might be able to come up with a role for you, sweet Angel."
As someone has been known to say however, the best laid plans of mice and men ... .
* * *
Late that very same night, I was awakened from a deep, dreamless sleep by the incongruous sound of a bell ringing. Immediately thinking of midnight phone calls and the bad omens they portended, I shot straight up in bed, looking around wildly. "Ice?"
"Right here," came a voice to my left. Turning my head in that direction, I saw her shadowed form bent over at the waist and apparently tugging her pants on.
"What’s going on? What’s that ringing?"
"Fire bell," she bit off as she stood once again to her full height and dragged a T-shirt over her head, settling her hair outside of the collar.
That got me up and moving. The town didn’t have a fire-station. In fact, the nearest one was almost forty miles away. So when the fire bell sounded, everyone ran to pitch in. It was either that or sit back and watch the entire town and half the surrounding forest go up in a puff of smoke.
"Hang on a minute, I just need to find my ... ah, there they are." I stepped over to the railing to retrieve jeans that had been flung there in the heat of the moment. My shirt, thankfully whole though a bit worse for wear, lay on the floor nearby and I pulled it on quickly, running my fingers through my hair. I slipped my feet into my ratty sneakers and turned to face my waiting lover. "Ready."
"Let’s go, then."
After pausing briefly to reassure a concerned Corinne, we stepped outside into the chilly spring night. The thick scent of smoke was heavy in the still air. I sniffed. "Smells like burning rubber."
"It’s Pop’s place," Ice retorted, pointing over the treeline toward the town. A thick plume of oily black smoke could be seen rising above it, alive and malicious in the light of a waxing moon.
My body came alive with tension. "Shit! The gas pumps!"
"I know. Let’s get moving."
We jumped into the truck, and Ice floored it, leaving me to hang on for dear life as we flew down the cracked and pitted street that connected our small neighborhood to the town itself. The stench of burning rubber became thicker and more cloying the closer we got, and as the truck came around the last bend, the sight of hungry flames licking upwards filled the windshield.
It seemed that almost half the town was already in attendance, with more arriving every minute. Several bucket brigades had already been formed, and men and women were busily spraying water from hoses attached to the businesses to the left and right of Pop’s garage.
Thankfully, the fire appeared, for the moment, to be contained to the junkyard, which was perhaps fifty yards away from the islands that held the gas pumps.
"Promise me something, Ice," I said as we jumped from the truck and ran to join the helpers.
"What’s that?"
"No running into burning buildings to save a litter of kittens, alright? I’ve already been through that once with you. I don’t think I could bear going through it again."
Her teeth flashed in the light of the fire. "No promises, Angel, but I’ll try my best."
She moved off into the line of fire, as it were, while I stepped up to Mary Lynch, who was directing the helpers to keep everyone organized and focused on their tasks. Mary pointed me in the direction of another rapidly forming bucket brigade and I gladly pitched in, grabbing and passing on each water-filled bucket that came my way.
As I became engrossed in the rather mindless work, I spared a moment to look around at the beehive of frantic, yet controlled, activity, feeling a surge of pride for a town which had, over the course of a year, become mine. There was no arguing or jostling or trying for glory. Everyone did their jobs without fuss or complaint, their entire focus on one goal and one goal only. To help out a friend in need.
After five years in jail, it felt good to be part of something like that.
Millicent, however, was conspicuous by her absence.
Turning my head, I looked at the darkened inn across
the street, swearing that I could see a curtain flutter in one of the upper rooms. The anger which had left me hours before returned in full force. I’ll bet my last dollar that bitch has something to do with this.
Still watching the Inn, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye and shifted my gaze downward toward the row of hedges which bordered her property. My eyes were past the point of burning tears from the smoke, but as I continued to watch, I saw again what had attracted my attention.
The bushes moved.
Then they moved again.
"Son of a bitch. Here, hold this." Blindly thrusting the bucket I was holding into the hands of the next person in line, I broke free from the bucket brigade and started off across the street.
Whoever was watching the fire obviously saw me and tried to bolt. The bushes moved violently again, and I broke into a sprint. "Oh no ya don’t!"
Running as fast as I could, I launched myself in a flying tackle, managing to wrap my arms around the ankles of the person trying to flee, and bring us both hard to the unforgiving ground. Getting quickly to my knees, I rolled the person I’d tackled over and saw the snarling face of a young man—no more than a boy, really—hot-spots of adolescent acne clear on his face.
Gritting his teeth, he began to struggle, but I held him rather easily, straddling his heaving chest and placing my knees squarely on his biceps, effectively pinning him. "Get offa me!" he yelled in a high, cracked voice.
"Not until you tell me what you were doing in those bushes."
"What the hell do ya think, I was doin, lady? Jerkin off?? I was watchin the fire!" He renewed his struggle to escape, becoming more red-faced with the effort. "Come on, lady! Get offa me. I wasn’t doin nothin wrong!"
"I think you’re lying," I replied, staring down at him and adjusting to the frantic movements of his body beneath me. I inhaled deeply and tried not to choke on the smoke which filled the air. "You smell like gasoline. I think you started that fire."
"I didn’t start nothin, bitch." Seeing his struggles were fruitless, he opted for staring sullenly at me. "Maybe you started it and are lookin’ for someone ta blame."
