Chapter 22 - The Island
They were crossing the big bridge leaving the city going toward the beaches.
The harbor was below on one side, the rivers joining to form it were on the other side.
Even at this hour on a Sunday night, the water sparkled with rippling dapples of light from the waterfront loading docks, and giant cranes moved slowly back and forth like long-necked dinosaurs from container ships to storage areas.
The old city beyond with its steeples and grand oaks was rapidly left behind as Condon sped across the bridge.
Then, they approached the long causeway to the island.
“Condon?” Grace saw his face in the rear-view mirror.
“Can you put the windows down so Robby can smell the marsh and the ocean?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Condon slowed the SUV, the windows glided down, and the heavy scent of salt marsh air flooded the vehicle.
Grace looked at Robby. “Smell it?” He nodded.
In a hoarse whisper, Robby looked over at her and said, “You know this guy?”
“He picked me up earlier. ‘You know how I come out of the shower with wet hair and lie down for a nap and oversleep?” Robby frowned, then nodded. “Well, I did that. He arrived at 7:30 the way Jakob told him to, came to the door, knocked repeatedly, then started calling my name. Jakob had told him not to come back without me. The windows were all open. It’s a small house. I finally heard him and ran to the door. I began to think the whole thing might be real, but I didn’t understand.
I hurried and got my clothes on and left with damp hair.
Condon took me to the back door of the theater and from that point on, things moved fast, too fast. When I saw Jakob, I knew it was either real, or I was caught in a dream.
It didn’t matter which ‘cause I was living it. I could still be dreaming.”
They crossed the old turnstile bridge onto the island, turned, went a mile, passing no one and no cars, just dark houses, almost to the end of the island.
Then Condon turned left off the pavement, bumping down into Grace’s long, plain yard, and curved the SUV alongside the house.
He hopped out, opened Grace’s door, and helped her out.
Robby got out on his side with the food.
The back of the SUV was opening. “I’ll get this,” Condon said.
“Y’all go on in. Just tell me where to put these. ”
“I think there’s room just inside the door.”
“You got it, Grace Wheeler.” Condon was enjoying himself.
Grace led up the stairs. When they got to the door, she opened it. Robby said, “You didn’t lock?”
“The storm door doesn’t have a key, and this,” she pointed to the knob of the wooden door as they passed it, “is the doorknob from my dad’s childhood home in Duluth.
We picked it out of the rubble — no key — after the house was torn down to put in the expressway.
There’s a deadbolt but I don’t use it unless I’m going out of town.
” She looked to their right. “Just put the pizza on the counter and the salad in the fridge, please. Maybe turn on some lights. Like I told you, I left in a hurry. It was light then. I’ll hold the door for Condon. ”
Condon got all four guitars in. Grace thanked him, and Robby came back and tipped him. “You’re good at your job.” He shook Condon’s hand. His voice was nearly gone.
“Thank you, Mr. Song, so are you. I heard you last week in Charlotte, because I knew I was working tonight. Never dreamed I’d get to meet you and Ms. Wheeler. Call us if you need any more transportation while you’re here.” He stepped out and went quickly down the stairs.
Robby and Grace were left alone, facing each other. Robby said in a hoarse whisper, “I need to think about this. I take responsibility for coming here, but I can’t let myself go backwards. I’m not sure I could make it back again.”
Grace nodded. “I’m not either. I understand.
” She pulled her hair back and looked at him.
“I don’t think your guitars will all fit in my car.
A couple. But I’ll drive you down to your house, and you can text me tomorrow.
I’ll take a walk, and you can come get the rest. But I don’t regret saying what I said. At least I got to say I’m sorry.”
“I never blamed you. You couldn’t help feeling what you felt.” He looked off. Moments passed. He looked back. “I don’t want to make a mistake. I need more time . . . to think . . . I’m going. But I’ll walk.” And he left.
************
Grace followed Gene’s advice and tried not to think.
This was definitely a problem too big for her to solve.
She was suddenly overcome with weariness, so she got the coffeemaker ready for the morning, turned off the lights, and went into the bathroom — the only room with no windows except a high one in the shower — to get ready for bed.
She changed into the nightgown hanging behind the door, an old favorite — sleeveless, long, faded calico — and braided her hair down one side, a big, fat, untidy braid.
She got in bed, feeling sand scratch the backs of her calves as she stretched her legs out under the sheet, the beach smell of sunblock enveloping her, and the next thing she knew, the sun was peeking in the street side windows of her bedroom.
And she was alone. Maybe it was all a dream.
It was Monday morning, though, for real.
Thank God for routines. She pushed the button on the coffeemaker as she went through the kitchen on the way to getting the newspaper.
Before she was out the door, the grinder was whirring away.
She walked the length of her yard barefoot.
There was no driveway, paved or tire-rutted through the grass, since she seldom went anywhere.
The lawn consisted of mown grass and weeds, in equal measure, but Grace had discovered if she kept it mowed, stickers didn’t grow.
It looked like a gorgeous day, maybe warm and soft after last night’s rain, but not hot and humid.
She stood by the street, leaning back against one of two palmetto trees that framed the turn into her yard, and glanced at the front page.
Then, reading the daily Covid numbers, she walked back toward the house.
When she got to the stairs, she folded the paper under one arm, and went up, passing through the aroma of French Roast wafting through the open kitchen window on the breeze from the harbor.
Thinking maybe this was going to be a good day, she walked in.
Robby was standing at her kitchen sink, looking out the window into her yard.
He turned to her. “Good morning. Two things. First, yes I let myself in — and so could anybody else, since the whole house is wide open, especially if they’ve seen you in that nightgown. And second, are you aware anyone can see right through that thing?”
“Okay . . . I can do this too, although it’s early, and I haven’t had my coffee.
First, I told you I don’t lock unless I’m going away.
That’s not going to change. Second, I never thought about whether this nightgown is see-through.
I’ve had it since college. It’s my favorite.
I’m sorta surprised but I don’t care . .
. It’s good to see you. Now I want my coffee.
You want some? There should be two mugfuls. ”
“Yes.”
“The mugs are there.” She pointed at the rough, heart pine cabinet to the left of the refrigerator. “Would you fix mine, too? Want some pizza?”
“I’ll fix your coffee but pass on the pizza. I had toast. What else do you have?” He poured coffee into the mugs, which emptied the pot. He put it in the sink.
Grace slowly and thoughtfully counted off on her fingers, “Hardboiled eggs, grits, butter, peanut butter, blueberry jam, saltines, beer.” Then she put a slice of pizza on a paper towel and into the countertop microwave.
“In other words, not much.” Robby said, stirring sugar into the coffees.
“Enough for me.”
Their eyes met. “Maybe you should order groceries.”
“I’d do that if I had a reason.”
“Let’s drink this coffee, you eat your anchovies, and we’ll talk. Maybe we can find a reason.”
“You must have slept. You’re stronger.” Grace said, passing him on the way to the porch with her pizza. “You bring the coffees.”
They sat at the gate-leg table Grace had found at a thrift store and painted dark red. It had an assortment of wooden chairs, which she’d painted green and turquoise. Robby looked around. His eyes came to rest on the hammock at the other end of the porch. He turned back to Grace.
“I did get some sleep. When you say you don’t lock unless you’re going away, you mean out of town?”
“Yes . . . which reminds me, though it may not interest you at all, I’m not flying back to Minnesota. I’m driving. I sold my old car and bought a low-mileage, four-wheel drive Subaru. So, I’ll have a reliable car. I thought four-wheel drive was a good idea.”
“You’re driving? By yourself? That’s fifteen hundred miles.”
“I’m not worried. It’s a good car and I like road trips. We never took any because of Covid, but I must’ve mentioned that. Maybe you’ve forgotten. “
“I haven’t forgotten anything, much as I’ve tried.” He picked up his mug and sipped. “Good coffee.”
“Fresh ground beans.”
Robby nodded. “When are you starting this mammoth road trip?”
“Later than last year. I’ll stay here till it gets too hot.”
“When’s that usually?”
“Hard to say — June sometime — although there’s usually one hot spell before then. It doesn’t matter. I’m in charge of my own schedule, still working remotely, just meeting deadlines. You used to like saying you were in charge of your own schedule.” She looked at him over the top of her mug.