Chapter 2 - The North Shore
“Grace.” Robby cleared his throat. “Grace.” She looked over. “What do you want to eat?”
“I don’t care. Whatever you want is fine.”
“Whatever I find first then. We can take it down to the shore at one of the public picnic areas. That meet your approval?”
She ignored the edge in his voice. “Yes. It’s fine.”
Between its being early in the season and Covid, there was almost nothing open, but Robby found a combination gas station and cafe and went in.
Grace stayed in the truck and called the resort about a ride.
Her reservation started Thursday. She got lucky.
The owner said he went to town on Thursdays to run errands and pick up supplies.
She could meet him at Olsson’s Grocery in the afternoon, or, if that was a problem, he could pick her up wherever she was.
Robby returned with the food, reached in, and handed Grace the bag, along with two glass bottles of root beer.
“Burgers and fries.” He got in. “Personally, I don’t care if I never see another hamburger, but there were limited options.
It was this or frozen cheese pizza. At least I watched him cook these, along with one for himself. ”
Grace thought the aromas coming from the bag — fresh slices of onion, ketchup, fried beef, and French fries — were among the most heavenly she’d ever smelled.
She didn’t remember the last time she’d eaten, but she detested root beer.
“That’s the smell in this truck. Licorice.
You like licorice, don’t you?” She looked over at him as he buckled his seatbelt again.
“What?”
“You like licorice. I smelled it as soon as I got in, and now these,” she nodded at the bottles she was holding.
“Oh. Yeah. Love the stuff. Addicted. There should be some in the glove box. Black strings . . . laces, I mean. Always reminds me of guitar strings. When I was a kid, I wanted to string my guitar with them. Help yourself.”
“No thanks. I really don’t like it or root beer. My dad loved it too. Was always trying to get me to eat the stuff, but no way. Yuck!”
“Great. More for me.” He started the truck.
“While you were inside, I called the resort and got a ride up on Thursday, the day my reservation starts.” The truck bumped up onto the pavement from the gravel parking lot, and Grace lurched forward and hugged the bag to keep it from sliding off her lap, a tricky maneuver with a bottle in each hand.
Robby raised his eyebrows. “I’m impressed — by that save — and your luck, if that’s what it is.”
“What do you mean?”
“Things seem to fall in place for you . . . coffee, a ride up the Shore, lunch, a ride up the Trail. That’s not what I’d call luck.” He flicked on the right turn signal and looked over at her as the truck jolted off the highway onto a narrow dirt road with a “Wayside” sign.
“What would you call it?”
“Something more than luck. I’m too tired . . . I can’t remember the word. Great word, though.”
“Synchronicity?”
“That’s it.”
Then there were picnic tables, shaded by towering pines, spreading firs, still naked birch trees, and, beyond, a rocky beach with Lake Superior sparkling as far as the eye could see.
As the truck eased to a stop, Grace felt tears and couldn’t stop them.
Soon she was all-out sobbing. She was aware of Robby taking the bottles and the food.
She leaned forward covering her face. She felt his hand on her back, but she couldn’t stop crying.
Finally, shuddering, she sat up and opened her eyes but couldn’t look at him.
He removed his hand. “I’m sorry.” She shook her head.
“I honestly don’t know what’s the matter with me. ”
“I don’t think you did it on purpose. No need to apologize.”
“But I’m embarrassed. I don’t know you. I never cry . . . until today.”
“Forget it. Everybody’s stressed. Let’s get out, take off these masks, and eat. I’m starving.”
Grace opened her door and stepped out onto the North Shore.
No energy-sapping, suffocating humidity.
Only invigorating, crisp air scented with pine and fir.
And she could hear the waves rolling in and out over the rocks on the lakeshore.
Robby uncapped the root beers on the truck door.
“Don’t you have a water bottle on your backpack? ”
She looked over her shoulder at him as she walked toward a picnic table. “Yeah. I’ll come back for it.”
“I’ll get it.”
Grace shrugged and kept walking. She took everything out of the bag and sat on one bench.
Robby came up, sat opposite, and pushed her dented, yellow water bottle across the smooth, worn table.
He removed his mask, reached for a burger, and began to eat.
Grace decided to take her mask off completely, too.
This time, it came off without much trouble.
She put it on the table and looked up. He was chewing and watching her. “What?”
“Your hair. It’s interesting.”
“That’s one word for it. You must not have been around many redheads. This often comes with the territory.”
He nodded. “Probably not natural ones.” He took another bite and chewed. “Just to get this out of the way, I’ve been around people I can’t vouch for about Covid. What about you?”
“Same.”
“Okay. We have to continue to mask up, except when we’re outdoors, because I’m going to be visiting family, some elders.”
“Got it. And I’m going to pay for lunch. You’re driving, and there’s gas . . . I have cash.” She stood up, her left hand going to her front pocket, when he reached across the table, put his fingers on her wrist, and stopped her.
“I was coming this way anyway.” He made a downward motion with his hand. “Sit down. If I change my mind, I’ll just put you out.” He reached for his drink, smiling slightly.
“Okay . . . but no strings.”
“Don’t worry.” He started to lift the root beer to his lips.
“What is it with you and strings? You’ve had bad experiences with men?
” Grace drew back. “Oh, none of my business,” and they finished the meal in silence.
Then he drew his long legs out from under the table.
“I’m going to take a walk and stretch my legs.
You can come along, or not.” He stood up, gathered all the trash, put it in the bag, and walked over to a bear-proof garbage can.
Grace picked up her water bottle and the empty root beers and headed for the recycle.
Turning, she saw Robby at the back of his truck, getting into his jacket.
She walked over. “We need jackets?”
“Do you have one? If there’s any wind coming off the lake, it’ll be cold.”
“I have one, but I’ll have to find it. Would you open the back again?
” He did, Grace climbed in, being careful what she touched, put her water bottle away, wrenched her suitcase around, and unzipped the cloth top to reveal countless pieces of rolled clothing.
She felt around down the left side till her fingers touched stiff, waxed fabric.
She pulled out a brown jacket with a hood.
She put the jacket aside and was zipping up the suitcase, when Robby said, “You might want to get some real shoes. Judging by your tan, it was summer wherever you came from, but it’s barely spring up here.” He was looking at her sandals.
“I’ll risk it.” Grace slid off the tailgate. “I rarely get cold feet.”
“Suit yourself. Nice jacket,” he said, watching her put it on.
************
The beach was not long or sandy like Atlantic Coast beaches, but the view was just as expansive, and there were rocks of all sizes from agates and skipping stones to boulders and cliffs.
When they could go no farther because of a wall of rock blocking their way, they sat on a massive piece of it that had broken off, facing back the way they’d come.
The sun was shining but the breeze was chilly, and Grace was glad for her jacket. Robby zipped his.
Grace looked down, idly scanning for agates. “Since you know the area, if I tell you where I’m going, will you tell me if you know a place I might get a room tonight and tomorrow night? Price is important.”
Robby was looking down, too, but at Grace’s feet. “Yeah. But you’re going to Grand Marais, right?”
She turned her head and looked at him. He was smiling. “Yes. You knew once I told you I wasn’t going to Ely, didn’t you?”
“Yep.” He looked forward. “There’s a cafe in the main part of town. Whenever I come up, I go there. Margie has a few rooms upstairs she rents out. You can ask her about one of those. I stay there when I need a place. Not fancy, but warm and clean. Food’s simple but good.”
“That sounds like it’ll work. Thanks.”
He stood up. “We still have about an hour’s drive. We’ll go straight to the cafe. I was going there anyway.”