Chapter Thirteen #3
“So how did you resume your friendship? Did she call you and ask you to come out to camp?”
“I called her after Barbie left. Not right away, but maybe a week or so after I heard. She was so different, even her voice wasn’t the same. It bothered me, that she didn’t sound right, so even though she hadn’t invited me, I drove out here. I will never forget . . .”
Tears formed in Greta’s eyes, and she looked in her bag for a tissue.
After she blotted her face, she said, “Maxine didn’t answer the door, so I let myself in.
She was sitting right there.” Greta paused and pointed to a chair that stood near the fireplace in the living room.
“Like she thought she was sitting in front of the fire, but the room was ice cold. Even the ashes were cold. At first I didn’t know if she was drunk or what, which would have been crazy because Maxine didn’t drink, but sure enough, she was.
She looked like she’d gotten into her father’s stash of bourbon and she’d been drunk for a couple of days, judging by the number of bottles on the floor.
She looked like hell.” Greta wiped at her eyes again.
“Wow.” Kit tried to picture it. “That must have been a shock.”
“She didn’t know when she’d last eaten or showered or how long the fire had been out. And she didn’t say a word, just shrugged or nodded or shook her head when I spoke to her. You had to have known her to understand how wildly out of character this was, Kit.”
“What did you do?”
“I threw her sorry ass in the shower and I made her put on clean clothes. I made her eat. If I hadn’t had small kids at home, I’d have stayed out here with her.
I came back every day after the kids went to school, and every day I pushed open that front door holding my breath until I knew she was okay.
It was a scary time. She needed help and should have had someone staying with her.
I offered to call Barbie and she flipped out at me. ”
“What finally brought her out of it?”
“I told her she had to get her shit together—pardon my French—or she’d have to close the camp because people had made reservations and were planning on coming in a few more months and there was a lot to do before she could let people stay.
That was right around the time of the fire.
I thought at first that would push her over the edge, but she seemed to snap out of the funk she’d been in after the cabin was gone.
By the time camp opened in May, she seemed almost like her old self again.
Not completely, I mean, much of the glow was gone, but you’d have to have known her real well to see it. ”
“When did my parents move, do you remember?”
“Let’s see, that would have been in . . . sometime in mid-February of 1970.”
“Oh, gosh. That was cutting it close. I was born on February 27 of 1970. My mom and dad must have just made it to their new home before I came along.”
“I think I remember Maxine mentioning that Barbie had a baby girl. It was so long ago.”
Greta smiled and reached across the table to pat Kit’s hand. “And here you are, all grown up, Maxine and Barbie are gone, but I’m still here, and now you are, too.”
“I’m glad you’re here.” Kit gave Greta’s hand a squeeze. “I bet it was hard for Mom to leave Maxine and move so far away, knowing how upset she was over Miles.”
“I’m sure she was. It seemed they left so fast. I didn’t even get to say goodbye to her. I kept thinking she’d be back over the summer, bring her baby—bring you—to the camp, but I never saw her again.”
“You didn’t think that was strange?”
“Of course I did.” Greta stared at Kit for a moment. “Do you know why she didn’t come back?”
Kit was taken aback by the question. “No, I thought you’d know. I was hoping you’d tell me. Maxine never said?”
Greta shook her head. “Whenever I asked her about Barbie, she’d say something like, ‘She has her own life to live.’”
“Damn, I thought for sure you’d know why.” Kit was frustrated. “Something must have happened during that time that caused them to stop speaking. Banks knows, but he insists he can’t tell me because he promised Maxine he would not.”
“Don’t you just hate it when that happens?”
Kit nodded, then turned her attention back to her lunch for a moment. The excellent chowder was now cool, and the sandwich seemed to have lost its flavor. “Did you know the cabin that burned down was the one that Miles always stayed in?”
Greta forced a smile. “Maxine used to call it the love shack.”
“Did she call you and tell you it had burned down? How did you find out about that?”
“My dad was a volunteer fireman and was called up to help put it out. He said the fire took that cabin right down to the ground. Nothing left but ash and a few badly burned timbers by the time he and the others got out here. Someone who was out this way hunting saw the smoke when it first started and called it in. And thank God he did. If it hadn’t been caught early, it might have taken the whole place.
Of course, the snow kept it somewhat contained, but still. ”
“Maxine never talked to you about it? Never said what happened or how she felt about it? That maybe she’d had a hand in starting it?”
“No. But the fire was not long after Barbie left. I suspected maybe Maxine had done it, maybe because she felt like everyone had left her. I never mentioned it to my dad, because, you know, arson is a crime. Besides, the thinking in town at the time was that someone had broken into one of the cabins and stayed there for a few days to do some ice fishing, built a fire in the fireplace but didn’t put it out before he left.
I never asked Maxine if she’d had a hand in it, but that’s how it felt to me, like it was a way of, I don’t know, howling in pain, if you get me. ”
“I do. And I think you’re right. Everyone had left her. If anyone had good reason to howl, it was Maxine.”
“So sad, right?”
Kit nodded. “Very sad.”
They finished their lunches in silence. After she’d drained her cup of the last of her tea, Greta said, “I know you have a lot of questions. If I had the answers, I’d be more than happy to share them. Unfortunately, I have the same questions.”
“I appreciate that.” Kit stood and started to clear the table.
Greta rose to lend Kit a hand. “It was real nice of you to have me for lunch. I miss coming out here.”
“You are welcome anytime. Whether I’m here or not. At least, until it’s—” Kit paused.
“Until it’s sold?” Greta finished the sentence for her.
Kit nodded. “I don’t know what else to do. My life is in Pennsylvania. My husband. My kids. My grandson. My sister. My home.” She felt as if she were in confession, and Greta the priest.
“I understand.” Greta put an arm around Kit’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “You’ll do what you have to do. In the meantime, enjoy being here. It’s a special place.”
“Over the past couple of days, this house has become so familiar to me. It feels as if I belong here.”
“Of course you belong here. I’m glad you have some time to spend in the house. I guess you’ll be here for a while.”
“I have to go back to Pennsylvania tonight for my husband’s retirement party tomorrow night, but I’ll be back here on Sunday.”
“If he’s retired, he can come with you.”
“That’s what I was thinking. He’d love it here.”
“How could he not?” Greta left the dishes she carried on the counter. “I should get going. I told my granddaughter I’d try to make it to her basketball game this afternoon.”
“How old is she?” Kit asked as they went through the swinging door into the front hall.
“She’s nine. My son’s youngest. She’s going to be a handful when she hits her teens, believe me.”
Greta picked up her coat, but before she put it on, Kit said, “Oh, I almost forgot.” She grabbed the light-blue sweatshirt she had set aside for Greta. As she handed it to the older woman, she asked, “Is this the one you wanted?”
“Yes! Oh, thank you so much.” Greta held it up. “Maxine loved this shirt. Wore it all the time.”
“I’m glad you mentioned it before her things were sent to the thrift store.” Kit watched Greta carefully refold the shirt. “Are you sure there isn’t something else you want from the house? Anything at all?”
“No, but . . .” Greta paused. “Well, actually, there is one thing . . .”
“Name it.”
“When I used to stay here as a kid, Maxine and I used to take quilts out to the backyard and make sleeping bags out of them and lay on our backs and look at the stars.” She chuckled.
“This was between mosquito season and no-see-ums, of course. Most nights we gave up and came running back inside, chased by clouds of mosquitoes, quilts wrapped around us like mummies. I’d sure love to have one of those quilts if you could part with it. I’d treasure it.”
Kit smiled. “I’d love for you to have one. Do you have any idea where they would be?”
“Probably where they always were. In that blanket chest at the foot of Maxine’s bed.”
“I was just about to go through that when you called. It’s the last thing to be emptied. Assuming there are still blankets in there.”
“Oh, I’m sure there are. There were a whole bunch of them. All handmade. Some of them are really old. You should have an antique dealer look at them. I’ll bet they’re worth a pretty penny.”
“Come on up and pick one.”
Greta put her coat back down and followed Kit up the steps, chattering away. “Not sure if one person made all of them, but each one was made by someone in your family.”
“There’s one on Maxine’s bed,” Kit told her.
“She’s always slept with at least one, more in the winter. The old heater could only do so much when it got really cold.”
They’d reached Maxine’s room, and Kit pushed open the door. She stood aside for Greta to enter, then pointed to the blanket chest.
“Go ahead,” Kit told her. “Take your pick.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m positive.” Kit motioned again to the chest.
Greta opened the lid and lifted the first quilt. “I remember this one. This was Barbie’s favorite. You should take this one home with you.”
Kit stepped closer. “These were my mom’s favorite colors. Blue, yellow, and pink. I can see her loving this.”
“The one I’m looking for is green and white with a little touch of blue in it. I loved that thing. God only knows how old it is because it had some years on it back then.”
Kit peered into the open chest. “I think I see it, at least an edge of it. See? Under that brown-and-white one.”
“I do.” Greta reached for it and pulled it from under the pile. “Just as I remember it. Oh, and there’s the one Maxine liked to take outside. She always said it was the thickest one.”
“This one?” Kit touched a corner of the multicolored quilt.
“Yes.” Greta reached in and tugged the quilt free from the one that sat atop it. “Oh, there’s something lumped inside it. Maybe another quilt?”
Greta pulled on the fabric and the lump unraveled, exposing what had been wrapped within the soft folds of the quilt. “Now, isn’t that odd? Why would Maxine wrap up an old doll?”
Kit looked down into the chest, at the tiny figure clothed in a doll-size nightgown, and for a moment, time stood still.
“That’s not a doll, Greta,” she said softly even as her heart raced. “That’s—that’s . . .”
Greta made a choking sound.
“That’s a baby,” Kit said. “Or what remains of one.”