Sound Advice (Sensations Collection #1) (5 page)

“Tell me everything you’ve noticed.”

Sue was a small woman in her late fifties. She wore wire-rimmed eyeglasses and her jet-black hair was streaked with gray, cut in a short, feathered hairstyle that made her look older than she probably was. She ran short, unpolished fingers through her hair before she began.

“Well, aside from her locking herself out of the house the one time, we’ve seen her walking the street early in the morning to get a cup of coffee. Like 3:30 in the morning early. She’s dressed and wants to be the first one in town before her hair appointment, but it’s a Tuesday and the place doesn’t open until 5:00 am. I don’t want you to be upset, but Joe took her car keys one day when he was in the house helping her in with the groceries. He knows it might have stressed her to look for them, but it stressed him more as the Chief of Police to think she might drive onto that highway and have an accident. We pick up groceries for her and the church makes her single meals, which I deliver, although I’m not sure she takes them for herself. She has told me at times she appreciates the gesture for John, your grandfather.

“I’m afraid I’ve upset her occasionally by reminding her John is dead, but Mary Carter, who’s a nurse, told me it’s better for Elizabeth if we just play along. I don’t know if I would say she has Alzheimer’s. I’m not a doctor, but she is definitely confused and it seems to be more frequent, although now that you are here the consistency might do her some good as a reminder of the time frame she lives in. She seems to think your grandfather is alive and ill inside the house.”

Sue Carpenter paused and tears welled up in my eyes. Swiftly blinking them away and wiping a stray, I willed myself not to cry publicly.

“I don’t know what your plans are, Emily, but we can help you as much as possible. We don’t mind bringing her the groceries. She always pays for them. The meals come from the church, although I am afraid of her turning on the stove. Joe tries to keep up with the grass or ask one of the Mueller boys.”

I thought of the burned cookies. It was a wonder the house wasn’t already a pile of ashes. I had to blink harder.

“I’ll admit I don’t know what to do. I don’t live here, and no offense, but I don’t want to. I’ve been here before. I can’t send her to my sister’s with four children. I can’t take her to my apartment in Chicago. I don’t have the heart for a home or the money for a nurse. I just don’t know what to do.”

With that speech, the sound of a dish crashing to the floor came from somewhere in the house. Instinct and my conversation with Sue told me it was Nana. Standing, I saw Jess Carter leaning against the porch railing, facing away from where I had been sitting, but obviously close enough to be listening. Walking past him, I ignored his gaze and entered the back door to help clean up.

Apologizing several times for Nana, who was clearly rattled by the incident, I offered to pay for the dish and wanted to know all the details: where was it from, what was the style name, etc. Cheryl Mueller laughed as she said she had no idea what style or brand the dish was. She admitted that her boys had dropped so many over the years that the set was hardly complete anymore, and it was all a good sign that she was going to get the new dishes she wanted for Christmas. I was still embarrassed for Nana and after assisting her to bed, I sat on the front porch steps with my head in my hands, my fingers buried deep in my hair.

By escorting a lady, a gentleman allows the woman to place her hand lightly inside his crooked elbow, offered for her assistance. No other public physical display is necessary or appropriate. Casual conversation is acceptable.

“Matters of Manners,” 1962

“YOU LOOK LIKE you could use a drink,” a smooth voice spoke in the dark.

I looked up and there stood George Carpenter in front of me with what appeared to be a cool gin and tonic in a glass.

“If you don’t mind, I sure could,” I replied, reaching for the outstretched offer. Making space for George, I moved over on the step, but he shook his head and stood with one arm on the banister.

George Carpenter was a decent looking man who grew up awkwardly. He was tall and full with dark, wavy hair the same color as his mother’s. He was a smart boy, a blessing to slightly older parents who wished for and received only one child. His brain was his ticket out of Elk Rapids. He was the boy who wore polo shirts buttoned to the top and knee socks with khaki shorts as a kid. He wasn’t very athletic as a teenager, but as with a small town, there weren’t any cuts for the football program, so George was on the team. He wasn’t popular with the ladies, but everyone knew who he was. He was sweet to the girls and tried hard to be one of the boys. He grew up dreaming and admiring my blond-haired sister, Rosie, and when we were in town for childhood summers, George would occasionally make up our trio for playing in the sand, riding bikes into town, or hanging out in backyards.

He was dressed neatly for this casual evening in a pair of khaki pants and an oxford cloth shirt that he had buttoned one too many high, and had his sleeves pulled all the way to the cuffs despite the heat.

“Funny coming back here after all this time? It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you here.”

“Well, we both live far away. Me further than you. I’m busy, as I imagine you are, as a lawyer in Detroit.”

“Still writing books in Chicago my mom tells me. How is that going for you?”

“Not books, not yet,” I tried to sound nonchalant. “Writing articles for a travel magazine, which pays the bills and a few extras.”

“Stiff competition with the Internet, I imagine.”

“Yes, but whether paper copies or e-zines, the magazine still sells,” I laughed.

“Want to walk into town? The Town Tavern is all we have. It will be all locals, which you never were, but you might recognize a face or two. Jess Carter will be there with his brother, Tom.”

A question marked my face, which I’m sure George couldn’t answer.
Why would I want to see Jess Carter at a bar?
He hadn’t even talked to me at dinner. Although Katie came to sit by me and let me cut her food, she still did not speak. Jess seemed uninterested about life in Chicago when others inquired and I tried to keep the attention on me at a minimum. No one asked about my writing and I wondered how George knew anything about my desire to write books. Most of the conversation was town gossip that I didn’t understand because I didn’t know the people.

As George commented, I wasn’t from Elk Rapids. Michigan was divided into two areas – Up North and down state. Up North is a proper name; it’s a state of mind. Down state is an action; it’s a directional thing. If you lived Up North, you traveled down state only for a necessity. If you lived down south, you traveled Up North for a vacation. You were never called a ‘southerner’ or a ‘northerner’, but rather labeled a
local
. Where I grew up in East Lansing, home of Michigan State University, locals were nicknamed ‘townies’ for living in the town year-round while the college kids came and went. Being a local in Elk Rapids meant permanent residence, preferably by generations, which I was not, but I never considered myself a visitor either since Rosie and I spent summers up here with our grandparents who were residents. It was a fine line to be on. Again, I wouldn’t know anyone at the bar, but I needed a small reprieve from my worries about Nana.

“George, I would love to go into town.” Exaggeratedly, George crooked his elbow to escort me, and we walked the two blocks to River Street. Summer nights by Lake Michigan are peaceful. The dark masks the quiet streets like a soft blanket and the background sound of the gentle rush of waves on the sand are a lullaby. With my hand wrapped lazily in George’s arms, I had visions of late night bike rides with my sister and stolen moments down at the bridge to watch the rapids that flowed through the middle of town. Like any Midwestern small town, there was only one main street off an interstate highway with a single stop light. Lined with an ice cream shop, a pharmacy, a bar, and a few specialty shops, the town was the essence of Americana. We passed each place as we made our way to Town Tavern, known for cheeseburgers and locally brewed beer specials. It was the locals’ place for nightlife.

As George and I entered the bar, the conversation came to a subtle hush, and then started again. I was guided over to a table of people roughly around our ages, somewhere in their twenties. Immediately, I recognized the man from Sound System who introduced himself as Tom Carter. He introduced his wife, Karyn, and their friends Pat and Denise Woods. Tom made a big show of inviting George and I to sit down to join them for a drink, and with his good humor, we couldn’t refuse. George looked confused by the invitation, but agreed eagerly as we sat. There were two additional empty places at the table with filled glasses, and moments after I sat, I looked up to see Jess and a dark-haired woman sitting down with hardy laughter.

“And then…” Jess started, but froze as he noticed me across the table from him.
He looks wasted
, I thought, as I took in his glassy eyes, bright blue in color, and filled with humor, which I had never seen before. They almost sparkled with amusement and for a moment his eyes might have matched the pleasant ones held by his brother.

“Well, lookie here,” Jess mocked in his best southern drawl imitation again. “Maybe you can find a glass of white wine in our local establishment.” He snorted as his hand hit the table, causing the liquid in several nearby glasses to jiggle. The conversation grew slowly silent as Jess leaned forward on the circular wood with his elbows and took a long drink from the glass before him. The waitress stood behind George, who had ordered a beer, and waited for me.

“How about more talking to strangers or trying to kidnap the local children?” Jess mocked again. His eyes were changing to that steel-denim stare of anger and I noticed his jaw clenching with tension. It was like a curtain had come down on the laughter and dragged his face into consternation.

Talking to strangers? Kidnapping?

I was getting sick of Jess Carter’s patronizing attitude toward me, so I impulsively ordered. “I’ll have what he’s having,” I said, attempting to meet Jess on his own playing field. He laughed again, but I didn’t believe he knew humor, because the laugh was pure evil.

“It’s water,” he snorted.

Sheepishly, I looked at the waitress. “Never mind.”

Turning to George, I immediately changed my mind about being out in this small town, in this bar, and in the vicinity of Jess Carter.

“I think this was a bad idea after all. Thank you for the invitation.”

“Thank you for the invitation,” Jess mocked again. “So polite, these big city girls.”

“What is your problem? Are you high?” I snapped, taking a hard look at him and my voice cracked on the final word. “This isn’t high school. Grow up,” I additionally stammered as I walked away from the table and stormed out the open door.

A hand eventually gripped my upper arm, tugging me to a halt.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down. What was that all about?”

George caught up to me, forcing me to sit down on a wrought iron bench along the sidewalk in front of a storefront a few doors down from the bar. River Street was well lit for a small town, and off in the distance I could hear the water rushing the rapids. A group of local teenagers crowded the street corner. The street itself was full of parked cars, and a couple strolled on a late night dog-walk.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what I did to that guy, but he hates me. He looks at me like I’m a pariah and talks to me like I’m an idiot. Then again, he really doesn’t talk to me at all. He’s so…so rude.”

George sat in silence for a moment before he let out a deep breath.

“I hate small town gossip. And I would be the last to spread it based on the pain it has caused me, but I think I need to give you some information.” He shifted his body to face mine.

“Jess Carter’s wife left him a few years ago. They were high school sweethearts and he was a smart guy. Debbie Swartz saw Jess as a way out of town, and she was a player. When Jess got a full ride scholarship for football to the University of Michigan, she was more excited than he was. He hardly played, but after the first year, his grades in engineering kept him in the scholarship range…”

“Engineering, but he…”

George waved me off from interrupting.