Lewis & Ondarko - Best Friends 03 - Now and Zen (4 page)

“Long line today,” she continued, handing over their tickets. “Are you sure you can handle all this traffic?”

“We can always handle a flood of beautiful women taking a ride with us,” Mike teased back, flashing a wide smile, framed by a neat, gray beard.

“Looks to me like the women are taking over out on the island today,” he continued. “Guess it’s just one of the perks of doing this job so many years.”

“How many years has it been, anyway?” Deb asked.

“Twenty-three this September. I started back when I still had hair. And I still think it’s the best job anyone could have.”

“Don’t you get tired of driving back and forth all day long?” Pat asked.

“No way. There’s a whole lot more to this than just pushing automatic pilot. This is a huge operation that requires a lot of attention to detail,” he pontificated. “Not to mention the responsibility for the lives and well being of customers. Transporting thousands of people across these waters is no picnic in the park. I think of this as a profession, not a job. In all my twenty-three years, we’ve only been late twice and never lost anyone yet!”

“That’s quite a record!” Deb smiled at him. A horn honked impatiently behind them.

“Well, I better get this little hot rod on board so we don’t ruin your record,” she said.

“Have a great time,” Mike replied, pointing to the next car. “good looking ride.” he added.

Deb pulled into the indicated parking spot on the ferry, turned off the car and set the brake carefully. She stepped out to stretch her legs, patting the car’s fender affectionately.

“Come on, Pat, let’s go get a seat up top on the viewing deck,” she urged.

Carrying her jacket and leading the way, Deb followed a long line of women to the narrow metal stairway. As she reached the top, her enthusiasm melted into disappointment when she saw that it was standing room only on the deck. Deb turned and found a place to stand along the railing.

A woman with dark eyes and hair approached them with a knowing smile.

“Are you Pat and Deb?” she asked with a hint of awe in her voice.

“Those are our names,” Pat replied hesitantly. “But how do you know us? Have we met somewhere before?” A wrinkled furrow appeared on her brow.

“In a way we have,” the woman replied mysteriously. “I’m Violet from Sedona. But most of my friends call me Windcatcher. I’ve come all this way to become more enlightened,” she said in a throaty whisper.

Pat cocked her head sideways and glanced at Deb who raised her eyebrow.

“Do you have a relative on the island?” Deb asked.

“No, why would I?” Windcatcher replied, puzzled by the question. “Well, see you at solstice.” After turning around in her gauzy dress, the stranger appeared to float away into the crowd.

“That was weird,” Deb said.

Twenty minutes later as the ferry approached the dock, Pat was still standing on the top deck, looking out toward wild foliage surrounding the small town of La Pointe.

La Pointe, the mystical town where fairy tales could be centered, stands like a sentinel guarding her secrets on the mainland side of Madeline Island.

The view from La Pointe looks over toward the rolling hills of Bayfield, dotted with quaint shops, tall Victorian lady houses, and sailboats all in a row. The boats reminded Pat of heron legs stuck up in the air when they search with their bills for delectables in the muddy water bottom.

Standing on the dock, shimmering water in either direction hugs the shores of other islands or travels farther to the very place heaven touches earth at the water’s edge on the horizon.

La Pointe herself is quite unlike any other place you may have traveled, though your eyes may tell you it is ordinary. There is magic there for certain special folks. One foot on her beach, one touch of toe to sand, one deep full breath of the moist air, and your heart knows. This is a place of magic in the capital M sense of the word… a place where you can dream and believe in those dreams… a place to become in… a place where time seems to stand still. Pat always felt as though she was coming home as she approached La Pointe on the ferry.

Some visitors may not sense the magic at all. They come to eat ice cream and visit the museum, smile politely, and go home thinking,
Well what a nice place to visit for a day.
With a slightly uneasy feeling, they quickly go back to their daily grind, with thoughts like
better get that lawn mowed; it’s a busy day at work tomorrow.
These people are asleep to the unconditional gifts of respite and renewal offered to all guests of the island.

Pat took a deep breath and slowly let it out.
Even the air seems special out here,
she thought,
rarefied somehow, like what it must be in the Himalayas.

She held onto the rail as the captain gently kissed the dock with the ferry.

Home. That’s it. Madeline has the feel of home,
she thought. The same feeling she got when she went back to her childhood home to Moccasin Lake in Chippewa National Forest, a place of belonging, nostalgia, and freedom.

A woman beside her bumped her arm while picking up her bag, bringing Pat out of her reverie.

“Oh, excuse me,” Pat said with automatic Midwestern manners.

“No, no, it was me. Sorry.” The woman glanced at Pat, and then looked again, smiling. “Do I know you?”

“Well, I have one of those ordinary faces.” Pat smiled back. “Are you from Ashland?”

Since she had been a pastor in several states, Pat often ran into people who couldn’t quite place where they had met her before. She rarely mentioned her church work because it usually stopped the conversation.

“No. Is that a town near here? I thought this town was Bayfield. Actually I’ve never been in Wisconsin, let alone to Madeline Island. Maybe it’s just that you remind me of someone.” The woman looked intently at Pat’s face again and picked up her bag.

“Well, nice meeting you. I’ve got to find a motel. I hope I didn’t make a mistake not pre-renting. Turning, she started down the metal stairs to the main deck.

As Pat walked towards the car, Deb approached her from behind.

“Hey, kiddo,” Deb said, coming up behind her. “What do you say we stop off at Lotta’s Lakeside Cafe for a good cup of coffee and a bagel before we check in?”

“Sure.” Pat nodded her head in agreement. “You know I would never turn down a good cup of coffee.”

Deb bent down to tie her shoelace. Losing her balance as she knelt, she fell clumsily onto the wood planking with a hard thud. Red-faced, Deb reached up to find her balance and was surprised to feel a warm hand in hers.

“Need some help?” a woman’s voice sang light heartedly.

Deb looked up into the kindly face of a middle-aged stranger dressed in casual summer clothing. She peered intently into the woman’s freckled face and piercing blue eyes, trying to place her.

Where do I know her from?
Deb wondered, wracking her memory and lamenting her “senioritis.”

The woman had a bemused, mirth-filled spark of recognition in her eyes. The corner of her mouth was raised in a half smile.

Deb reluctantly allowed the woman to help her regain her balance as she gracefully and effortlessly pulled her to her feet.

“Thanks,” Deb said, “but that wasn’t necessary.”

“No problem,” the woman replied. “After all, we women have to stick together at solstice time.”

“Have we met?” Deb asked.

“I don’t know, have we?”

“You just seem too familiar, like someone I’ve met before.”

The woman, who was boarding the ferry, smiled, silently turned, and started walking toward the stairs to the top deck.

“Come on, Deb! We need to get our coffee. Let’s get back down to your hot red ‘lady’ and blow this popsicle stand. I can’t wait to hear what Lotta’s going to say about that car.”

“Sure, Pat,” Deb said, turning and watching the woman walk away. “In a minute. I just had the strangest feeling being with that woman, just now. It was like when my teenage daughter told me after an argument, that, in spite of it all, she thought I was a good mother. I almost hate to leave her behind.”

While Deb drove along the pier into La Pointe, they sat in companionable silence, quickly forgetting about the stranger.

The ferry was relatively empty on the trip back to Bayfield. Most of the traffic was going out to the island, so there were empty benches, but the woman who had helped Deb decided to go up to the top deck and stand anyway. She loved the lake and its breezes in her face. Halfway up the narrow metal stairs, a man bumped her hard as he pushed past. Startled, she grabbed the rail, her foot slipping dangerously.

Laughing too loudly to his male companion, he turned to stare at her for a moment. Realizing that she was a woman too old to be of interest, he forgot her immediately.

“Man, some people are slow when they get old.” His friend gave her a sheepish grin, then moved on, claiming a bench for the two of them.

She sighed and continued up the stairs. As she walked toward the side of the boat, a woman reached out a hand.

“Are you alright? I saw what that guy did. What a weasel!”

“Oh, I’m fine,” she replied. “It takes more than ill manners to change my mood. Besides, I find that what goes around comes around.”

“Would you like to sit?” The woman patted the seat on the bench next to her and moved over.

“Thank you. I believe I will.” She sat down and adjusted her shoe that had slipped off her heel.

“I sure hope that karma thing’s not true. There are some things I’ve done I certainly don’t want to be held accountable for.” She laughed uncomfortably, surprised she had said anything at all.

“Oh, we all make mistakes, but what we do about them is what matters, don’t you think?”

“You mean like if that guy had apologized just now? Although, some things you just can’t make right by an ‘I’m sorry.’ I’m Lotta by the way, and you are?” she said, extending her hand.

“On my way to the mainland for a visit,” the other said, deliberately misunderstanding.

Lotta nodded, not offended by the woman’s aloofness. She, too, was used to keeping her own secrets.

Three benches over, two men were passing the time watching the other passengers.

“What about those two women over there?” the older one asked, nodding in their direction. He sat with his arms folded across his Armani covered belly like a big rich toad.

“Nah,” the other replied, “too old for me.” Unconsciously, his tongue slipped out, traveling over his lips as if he could taste them. “I like them young.” He reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out a cigarette and lighter, and cupping his hands over his mouth, lit up.

“That’s where you got it wrong. Now, the first one, I know her. That’s Lotta, a tough cookie, and not someone to mess around with. I’ve heard rumors. But the other one; see how she carries herself so confidently? How well her clothes fit? Now that one has money; you can go to the bank on it.”

“Money? Maybe so, but I like to keep business and pleasure separate.”

The older man let out a cynical snort.

“In the dark it doesn’t really matter, and the money can take you to a lot of warm places.” He winked. Noticing the woman looking right into his eyes, he turned away, suddenly feeling ashamed and then angry, like a little boy caught stealing a cookie.

“You know that development project I was talking about?” the younger man asked, exhaling smoke from his cigarette. “I really do need some upfront cash.” He glanced at his older companion. “And since it sounds like your cash cow may dry up, maybe I should rethink the business and pleasure thing.”

Deep in his own thoughts, the older man was no longer listening.

Deb pulled up in front of the tiny cafe called Lottas.

“Come on, Deb,” Pat said over her shoulder as she opened the door to the familiar tinkle of the doorbell. “Are you going to kiss that car every time you leave it like you do the kids?”

She stepped inside with sudden amazement. The room was filled with women of all ages. She looked around and spied one small open table close to the kitchen. They pulled out chairs just as a frazzled looking waitress came through the swinging kitchen doors. Smiling in recognition, she rushed by.

“Two veggie omelets, dry whole wheat, and a side of hummus. Do you want the hot sauce?” she asked, holding up the bottle. “Yell if you need anything.”

Walking back to Pat and Deb’s small table, the woman glanced around to make sure no one was waving for service.

“Hi, Sadie,” Pat said.

“It’s great to see you two. You certainly know how to throw a party.” She poured them both coffees.

Deb looked up from the menu with a confused expression. “You mean some of our friends and family have already been showing up? I thought we’d be the first.”

“Dang,” Sadie said pulling up a chair from another table and straddling it. “If all these are family, your parents had some kind of sex life.” She waved a hand at the crowded room.

“What are you talking about? Too much espresso in your life?” Pat asked.

“I’m going to need more than espresso if this keeps up all week. All the rooms on the island are booked solid. Don’t worry. We’ve got one of the teens coming in to help. Loved the vid by the way. Lotta has it showing on my laptop up at the counter.”

“Vid?” Pat asked, busy putting cream in her cup. The place made the best strong coffee on the island, and Pat’s attention was all on anticipating the perfect brew.

“Don’t play coy with me. You could have mentioned this event ahead of time as a favor to your friends. Never mind. This is as much business as we care to handle.”

“Where’s Lotta?” Pat asked, suddenly noticing the owner’s absence.

“Oh, she had to go over to the mainland to meet someone in Bayfield. She’ll be back tonight.”

“I’m going to go look,” Deb said. She stood and picked up her cup while walking over to the counter. “Pat! Come look,” she called a moment later. “It’s us!”

Pat reluctantly got up and went to stand by Deb.

“Oh, that’s just that funny little joke thing Martin was going to make, remember? We forgot to ask him if he ever finished it. He must have.” She turned to the waitress. “How on earth did you find it?” For Pat, trying to find something specifically on the web, let alone on YouTube, seemed like going into a dark forest without a flashlight.