Chapter 7 - Visitor
“Not Billy . . . for sure . . . but I have a delivery.”
And there was Robby, masked, in a soot-smudged, scarlet red canvas coat, his hands full, looking more like a Northwoods hunter than a rock star.
“Robby!” Grace stood, nearly upending her laptop. “What are you doing here?” Her right hand raised to push her hair back, but it was already there with the clip she wore to keep it out of her eyes while she worked.
“Glad to see you too. Where can I put this? It’s fragile.” Robby was holding a double-layer paper sack in both hands.
Grace looked around and pointed to the waist-high, unfinished shelves in front of him. “I guess right there. This place is a work-in-progress.” The whole cabin, inside and out, smelled of new wood and fresh paint.
“Precious cargo.” He put the bag down and surveyed the cabin. “I like this, and you look good.”
Grace was still in her nightclothes, black leggings, an oversized, buffalo plaid flannel shirt, and two pairs of ragg socks — she had forgotten to bring slippers. “Thanks. You clearly need your eyes examined. What’re you doing here?”
“I was in town yesterday.” He held up his right foot.
“Got boots.” Grace nodded. “So, of course, I went by the Lakeside for pie. They asked about you and weren’t satisfied with my answers from having seen you the night before.
Margie said I needed to have a ‘proper visit,’ ask more questions, get more information.
She said to stop in early this morning, they’d feed me and have stuff for me to deliver .
. . along with hugs.” He paused. “I told her that last item could get me injured, but she said she’d pay my medical bills.
Sooo, what about that? Do I get to deliver a hug? ”
Grace frowned.
“Is that a no? I told Margie there was no guarantee. She said I must be losing my touch.”
“Not exactly a no. More of a, ‘I haven’t had a shower yet.”
“Well, l wasn’t expecting you to get naked, but if you’re offering . . .”
“Not a chance.” She hesitated. “We can hug, if you want.”
“Well, Margie’s going to ask.” Robby stepped towards Grace. She raised her arms, then lowered them to his waist, and they hugged. “Ummm. You smell good for someone who hasn’t had a shower. What is that? Your hair?”
“Oh. Must be. I don’t use perfume. Almond?”
“Yes. I guess.”
“I’m surprised you can smell it through your mask. You smell like woodsmoke. Your coat?”
“Yes . . . I don’t want to let you go. You smell too good.”
“You probably say that to all the girls.”
“I don’t, and there haven’t been any lately.”
“Ahhh. There’s your problem.” Grace tried to disengage, but Robby didn’t. “Robby, let go.”
“Do you promise another hug before I leave?” No response. “Do you?”
“Yes.”
Robby let her go and moved toward the bag, looked in, and pulled out a jar which he handed to Grace. “From Charlie.”
“Blue cheese?”
“Yep. And from Margie — her killer mac ‘n’ cheese.” He pulled out a to-go box and handed that to Grace. “And the pièce de résistance.” He lifted out a pie box. “Blueberry.” He put that on the shelf top next to the empty bag and looked at Grace. “Have you got coffee? Can we visit? Eat pie?”
“I do have coffee, but I’m working,” she said, gesturing toward the table. “It’s a weekday. I know it’s Friday, but I have to work. Then we can visit, okay? Do stay. Maybe you brought a guitar?”
“Yes. Okay . . .” Robby took a deep breath. “I get it’s a workday for you.” He looked around. “Even in this coat, I can tell it’s chilly in here.” He looked at the woodstove on the far wall. “I don’t see flames. Is that working? You aren’t cold?”
“Yeah, it’s working. I just hadn’t noticed — woke up with an idea and went straight to the table.
In fact — now that I think about it — there’s not any wood.
I brought the last of it in before I went to bed.
I was going to chop some after I got enough down on this idea . . . always takes longer than I think.”
“You were going to chop some?” Robby’s eyebrows went up.
“Who you think’s been chopping since I got here? You think I can’t chop wood?” Grace’s eyebrows drew together, and she straightened.
“No! No, I’m sure you can!” Robby put his hands up. “I’m sorry. Don’t get riled.” He shook his head. “I’ve just completed a refresher course in woodchopping. I can do it while you work. Just point me in the right direction. Coffee and pie after, right?”
“Yes.” Grace pointed at the side door and walked off to the refrigerator with Charlie’s dressing and Margie’s mac and cheese. Robby watched her, walked to the door, and went out.
*******
She came to a stopping point, maybe the end, she wasn’t sure, but she needed a break.
She went to the side door where she could hear Robby chopping and opened it.
He had his back to her. He’d removed his coat and also a red chamois shirt and laid them on a rock.
He was swinging the axe in a white undershirt, his thick braid between his shoulder blades.
It was not an unpleasant sight. She watched him a while longer before calling, “Hey .
. . old guy . . . with the axe. How ‘bout I make a fresh pot of coffee, and we eat pie?”
Robby turned around. He’d removed his mask.
“Who you calling ‘old guy’? You know, no other girl has ever commented on my age, and a lot of them were younger than you.” He leaned on the axe.
“I chopped all this wood for you.” There was a substantial pile of wood.
“I’ll finish splitting this one and bring some in.
Coffee and pie’d be great.” He turned around and resumed swinging.
Grace made coffee in the stovetop percolator she’d found on a shelf, its bottom blackened from campfires.
She was lifting the pie out of the box when the screen door creaked open and wood clattered onto the porch floor.
She heard Robby stack it against the wall and go back out.
Minutes later, he came in carrying his coat and an armful of wood, but wearing the red shirt, unbuttoned.
“I’ve been doing a lot of chopping lately — my place and elders down at Fond du Lac.
Trying to keep busy and stay in shape . .
. and” he lowered his voice, “reconnect.” He glanced at the pie Grace was about to slice into, then went to the woodstove and got it going.
He hung his coat on a hook by the front door, found a mug, got Grace’s, put sugar and coffee in both, and took them to the table.
Grace followed with plates of pie, and they sat down at opposite ends.
“So, what’s your mask protocol? I’m in crowds more than you are.”
Grace looked up from her coffee. “What kind of crowds?”
“Friends. Family. I have a big family. I’m still masking in public and around elders, but I’m not consistent with my friends.” He took a sip of coffee. “So, what do you want me to do?”
Grace cut into her pie and said with her mouth full, “Leave it off, but keep your distance.” She laughed.
“Shoulda guessed.” He took a bite of pie.
They ate until there were footsteps and a knock on the front door. “Come on in, Billy.”
Robby looked around. Billy opened the door, saw Robby, and looked confused. “Billy, this is my friend Robby. Robby, Jim’s helper, Billy. He’s making this a better place. Want some great blueberry pie that just arrived with Robby?”
“Uh. No . . . I would, but I had sausage and French toast at the lodge just a little while ago, and I’m still full. I’ve got that porch furniture. ‘OK if I bring it in? You could show me where you want it?”
“Sure.”
Grace got her mug and followed Billy out the door, leaving Robby with his pie. He finished the last bites, faster than he would have liked, and walked out. Grace was telling Billy where the picnic table should go. “Let me help you bring that in.”
Billy looked at Robby in surprise. “Nah, I can do it.”
“I’d like to. I need the exercise. Too much time off.”
“Well, alright then. It’s out here.” Billy started for the door.
“You boys have fun. I’ll finish my pie.”
Grace heard a lot of bumping and scraping. She also heard Billy say, “So, are you Grace’s boyfriend?”
There was a period of no talk, just scraping, before Robby answered, “No. Interesting idea, but I’m not making much headway there. We don’t even get along most of the time. I did talk her into a hug when I got here.”
Grace went back to her laptop. After a while, she saw Billy and Robby from the window, down on the point, talking. Then they walked toward the cabin. Billy went around to the truck. Robby came in the side door. As he did, he looked over at her. “How’s it going?”
“Well, actually, I’m interested in the subject, which makes it not seem so much like work.”
“What’s the subject? A piece for your home newspaper?”
“No, although, I’ve got one of those, too.” Grace hesitated, thinking about that, then went on. “I guess you don’t know about my new job.”
“No. How would I?” He moved toward the coffee. “Want some?” Grace shook her head. “So are you going to tell me, or is it none of my business?” He poured coffee.
“No need to get snarky — I’m glad to talk about it.
After you left the other night, Brad offered me a job, and I took it” — Robby stopped stirring the sugar into his coffee and glanced over— “. . . on a trial basis. I’m writing the weekly blog posts and in charge of their media relations.
So, now I have two jobs. The second could become busier if tensions escalate with the mining companies.
He wants me to come to Ely to meet everyone, but I don’t see that happening. ”
“I’m sure he does,” Robby said, smiling slightly and walking over to the table.
He put his mug down, sat, and took a slow sip, looking at Grace over the rim.
“That’s great — just what you wanted. Being focused paid off.
” He took another sip, still looking at Grace. “Maybe now you can be distracted.”
“I don’t think so. This is just the start.” She looked down at the laptop.