Chapter 3 - The Lakeside
“Robby! Robby Song! Wake up!” An attractive, older woman in a bright, striped skirt with black, gray-streaked hair twisted loosely in a knot, no mask, was knocking on Robby’s window.
He startled awake and looked over. “Margie.” His voice was scratchy.
He reached for the door handle. Once out of the truck, he cleared his throat, left the door open between them, and stayed back.
“I’m not gonna hug you till I’m sure I don’t have any germs.”
“I understand. You come to check on everybody? They’re all fine — so far. Everybody is. You wear your voice out?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t come just to check on everybody. I came to stay. Safer here. Anyway, there’s no work.” He shrugged. Even from inside the truck, Grace could see a change in Robby’s body language. He looked years younger than that cool silhouette.
Margie took a step to the side and looked at him. “You’re too skinny. And you’ve aged. I can see it in your eyes. You’re livin’ too hard. Time you came home. Fresh air, food, and family.”
“And pie.”
“Come right in! I knew you’d show up — I’ve been keeping your favorite in the rotation.” Margie turned to walk away.
“Wait, Margie. I’ve got somebody with me.”
He leaned down and stuck his head in the truck. “Get out and meet Margie. We’re going in. You can ask her about a room.”
Grace got out just as Robby and Margie came around the back of the truck. Margie stopped when she saw Grace. “Margie Wind, this is Grace — oh . . . I don’t know your last name.”
“Wheeler.”
“Grace Wheeler, Margie Wind.”
Grace said, “Pleased to meet you.”
Margie nodded and looked at Robby. “You should get more details before you take Grace to meet the family.”
“No. It’s not like that . . . We just met . . . today . . . at the airport in Minneapolis. She needed a ride this far. I offered.”
“Ahhh, of course you did.” She looked back at Grace. “I’m glad to meet you too.” Margie turned around, and they followed her through the cafe door.
Robby and Grace sat well apart at the counter. “So, we think we’re Covid-free, but we can’t be sure, so we need to keep a safe distance. All of us. I’m not gonna be any part of you guys getting sick.”
“I hear you, and I’ll stay back on this side, but you should know some people up here aren’t liking being told to wear masks.”
“Don’t get me started on that. Not before I eat pie.” Robby removed his mask and watched Margie cut a wide wedge of lemon meringue. Grace chose blueberry from the list on a colorful chalkboard and took off her mask after only a minor fight with her hair.
“Grace? Coffee?”
“Yes, please.”
Margie put Grace’s pie in front of her. Handing Robby his pie, she told him, “You’re getting tea with your dad’s maple syrup and lemon.”
Robby put a huge forkful of pie in his mouth. “Don’t go to any trouble.”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” Margie poured water into the Bunn-O-Matic and pushed the switch on an electric kettle. With her back to Robby and Grace, she took three mugs off a shelf. “Grace, where’re you from and what brings you to the Northwoods?”
Robby looked over.
Grace swallowed. “The coast of South Carolina. I’m looking for a safe place, too.”
“You don’t have much of a Southern accent, and this sure is a long way for you to come for a safe place. ‘Nothing safe down there?” Margie turned around from getting a teabag out of a pottery crock and leaned against the counter, waiting on the coffee and the kettle.
“My dad was from Duluth. I spent summers just north of there till I was 12.”
“Ahhh. Now I’m getting the picture,” Margie nodded. “You must have family up here.”
“I do. I don’t know them well though, and the younger ones have moved away, last I heard.”
The kettle clicked off, and Margie turned around to pour. She set two steaming white mugs on the counter, pushing one toward Grace and the other to Robby. “Everyone’s looking for a safe place.” She got her coffee and sat on a stool well back from the counter.
Robby was blowing on his tea. “Do you have any vacancies, Margie?”
“Unfortunately, I do. All of them. Not many tourists. It’s early for them, but you see how empty the town is, not as many fishermen either.
Who knows about this season? We’re holding our breaths, just like everybody else.
Already hearing about cancellations, mostly after the lockdown.
” She turned to Grace. “You need a room?” Grace nodded. “How long?”
“Tonight and tomorrow night. I have a reservation up the Trail starting Thursday, and a ride too.” Margie looked quickly at Robby. “Not Robby. The resort owner is coming to pick up supplies and agreed to take me back with him.”
“I’ll need a room tonight too.” Grace looked over at Robby in surprise.
Margie watched them both. Robby continued to look at Margie.
“I’m planning to see Marie — maybe Bella — while I’m here and get groceries before I go to my place.
I haven’t been there since February, since Grandfather’s and my birthday.
There’s nothing to eat there, but it’s too late now and I’m tired.
The last couple weeks have been brutal, trying to get all the work we could before everything shuts down.
We were all over the place. The band’ll be fine, but we were trying to do as many shows as we could for the crew and the venues.
Anyway, I can’t think about what I need till I get some sleep. My head’s more scrambled than ever.”
“Uh-huh,” Margie nodded and stood up. “You can have your usual room and Grace the corner room. Finish your coffee and tea and bring in your things.” She picked up their pie plates.
“You guys serving supper tonight?”
She looked at him over her shoulder. “You betcha, and the pie’s on the house, but you’ll have to pay for anything else. We’re going to need every dollar we can get this season. I guess you still got money.”
He nodded and looked at Grace. “Ready?”
They went out to the truck, and Robby lifted the cover.
“You really need to stay over?”
“I figure Margie could use the money.”
*************
Robby went in search of a toothbrush and toothpaste.
Grace wanted a shower. The nap in the truck had been good, restored her ability to think.
Now she stood under the warm shower and tried to relax.
She didn’t want to sleep surrounded by hair that smelled of hand sanitizer.
She’d brought her favorite almond shampoo.
Much better. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly .
. . enjoyed the warm water running over her tense muscles.
She could do this. She’d made it this far.
She was safe. She couldn’t remember coming to this café before, but Margie was kind enough, and Robby’d been helpful .
. . She had a ride Thursday. In two days she’d be up the Trail and life would be simpler .
. . fewer people to deal with . . . fewer emotions.
She just had to stay focused. And find more work.
Margie said to be down around 7:00 for supper.
A little before that, Grace opened her door.
Fried fish. She smiled. The same smell whether in the Lowcountry of South Carolina or next to Lake Superior.
She headed down in clean black jeans, a turquoise knit top, and towel-dried hair.
When she rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs, she saw Robby and Margie to her right.
Robby was on a stool at the far end of the counter, leaning forward over a bottle of beer.
Margie was standing back on her side. She heard Robby say, “I’ll risk it,” then Margie looked over and saw her. “Come sit. Would you like a beer?”
“Do you have a Pilsner?”
“I do. Castle Danger and Schell’s — Minnesota brews.”
“Well, I know nothing about Minnesota beer, so either one.”
Margie disappeared into the kitchen, and Grace became aware of the voices of the other guests in the dining room, several tables of men in heavy shirts, pants, and lace-up boots, talking with their hands about the sizes of their catch.
She turned and looked. Robby looked over his shoulder.
“Good times — fishing season’s just opened — although usually the place would be packed. ” He looked at Grace. “Feel better?”
“Yes, but I don’t know how long it’s going to last, once I drink this beer,” she said, as Margie placed a Schell coaster in front of her and put a beer on it.
“You kids make up your minds what you want, then take your beers to any table.” She glanced at Robby. “Know what you want?”
“No question — pan-fried walleye with the—”
“—the biggest loaded potato we’ve got and salad with Charlie’s blue cheese.” Margie finished his sentence.
Robby smiled. “That’s it.”
She turned to Grace. “I’ll have the same . . . small potato.”
“Done.” Margie turned to the kitchen.
Grace and Robby did as they were told and chose a table at one of the picture windows. “She still treats me like I’m eighteen.” He sat down.
“How old are you?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but thirty-six, going on forty, or so I’m told. How old are you?”
“You had me fooled,” Grace said. “Twenty-eight.”
“How did I have you fooled?”
“I was thinking forty.”
“Of course. You had me fooled too. I’da guessed twenty-two, going on fifteen.”
Grace was about to respond, but an older man, masked, with dark hair and a white apron walked up and put their salads on the table. “Charlie!” Robby stood up, then hesitated. “We’ll have to bump elbows. Not sure I’m Covid-free.”
They bumped and Charlie laughed. “Margie says you’re here to ride out this thing. I know you’ll be up and down the road, but don’t be a stranger.”
“It’s good to be home, Charlie. I’ll be back.” Then they both looked at Grace. “Grace Wheeler, Charlie Wind, Margie’s husband. Grace and I came up on the same plane. She had a reservation up the Trail, but no transportation past Duluth.”
“Well, I can’t say I blame you for helping her out. Don’t get up, miss, it’s a pleasure.”
“Nice to meet you, Charlie.”