Stuck in Manistique Page 8

  “Two boiled hamburgers it is, then.” He shut the menu and held it out for the waitress to take.

  Emily put up a finger, her head suddenly in the menu. “You know what, I do want something.”

  “I thought you weren’t eating,” Mark said archly.

  “A girl can change her mind,” the waitress declared.

  Emily peeked above her menu. “Yeah.”

  The waitress hit him lightly on the shoulder with the menu.

  He held up his hands in surrender. “Okay. Okay.”

  “Anything you recommend?”

  “Turkey open-faced is my favorite,” the waitress replied without hesitation. “Good ol’ comfort food.”

  “That’s exactly what I need right now. I’ll take it.”

  “Okay. Anything else?”

  “And can I have the fried pickles appetizer?” Emily added.

  “Of course.”

  That’s a lot of food for someone who wasn’t planning on eating a minute ago, Mark wanted to say. But he didn’t. Besides, she was thin and could use it.

  After the waitress left, Emily grinned. “So do you help your aunt out a lot with the inn?”

  Mark shook his head. “No. Actually, this is my first time with guests.”

  “So I’m your first?”

  He twisted his lips, trying not to smile. “You could say that.”

  “I’ll try to be easy, then.”

  Mark chuckled. “Okay. Thanks.”

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing, nothing—so where were you heading when the deer rudely interrupted?”

  “I’m heading to Appleton. Didn’t I tell you that already?”

  “Sorry, I did hear you say that you were from Appleton. I didn’t realize that’s where you were going now.”

  “Yes.” She sat back and sighed. “Sorry, I’m not usually so punchy. It’s been a long day.”

  “I get it. No need to apologize.”

  She folded her arms and leaned on the table. “I’m going to my parents’ house.”

  “Where are you driving from?”

  “From school in East Lansing.”

  “East Lansing?” Mark asked, thinking about the bridge—avoiding the bridge. “Is this way shorter or something?”

  Emily shook her head. “No, not exactly. But this way is more scenic. Now I wish I had gone through Illinois.”

  Mark opened his arms wide. “And miss all this? Dinner with a stranger in a strange town.”

  She looked down before meeting his eyes with a smile. “I guess it could be worse.”

  “Yeah you could be living here,” he said softly, seeing the waitress returning.

  Emily burst out laughing.

  The waitress dropped off the appetizer and two plates. Emily pushed the plate of pickles toward Mark.

  “Didn’t you order these?”

  “Yes, but you have some too.”

  Mark grabbed one of the fried pickles and took a bite.

  He dropped it. “Hot!” He gulped down his beer.

  “What are you, six? Do you want me to blow on it for you?” She grabbed a pickle and blew on it, and then took a bite. “Mmm, these are good.”

  Eyeing her with mock disdain, Mark blew with exaggerated force and took another bite.

  “That’s better.” She laughed.

  He shook his head at her and then thought of his first date with Laura. He remembered it as a conversation of starts and stops, generic questions whose answers ended with How about you?

  “So now that you have your MD—”

  “DO,” she corrected.

  “Huh?”

  “I have a DO not an MD”

  “Oh, okay. That’s osteopathic medicine, right?”

  “Yeah, that’s right. Good.”

  “What exactly is the difference between the two? I never quite understood it.”

  “Not a lot. Both have to go through four-year medical programs, do a residency, and pass a board exam. As part of the DO program, there are some extra courses in pain management and total-person health.”

  “What does that mean? I mean, if I saw Emily MD versus Emily DO, what would be the difference?”

  “Depends. What are you coming in for?”

  “I don’t know. Let’s say it burns when I pee.”

  A smile flickered at the corners of her mouth. She shook her head a little and kept her gaze on him. “Okay. So both are going to ask about your sexual history.”

  “None. How about you?”

  Emily’s gaze fell for a brief second, her cheeks turning slightly red, but she recovered quickly. “I’m the doctor. I ask the questions,” she said firmly.

  “All right. Then what would you do differently than an MD?”

  “So both kinds of doctors are going to order a urine test. But as DO’s, we’re taught to garner more information about the types of activities you do and the food you eat to try and prevent the problem from occurring again, assuming it’s not something serious, like cancer.”

  “I see . . . DO’s do more than MD’s.”

  “I’m not saying that.”

  “That’s what you just implied.”

  “No, I mean each one has a different point of emphasis, that’s all.”

  Mark smiled. “All right.”

  “The funny thing is, my nickname in high school was Em D, for my name Emily Davis.”

  “And you’re a DO Funny.”

  The waitress came out with the food. She set down Mark’s boiled hamburgers and Emily’s open-face sandwich. “Do you want another beer?”

  He shook his head, remembering it would be number three for the afternoon. “I better not. Thanks.”

  She left.

  “Let me know how your burger tastes,” Emily said.

  “Have one,” he insisted.

  “No, no.”

  He paid no attention to her and held one out to her. “Here.”

  She shook her head.

  “Just take a bite then. I know where you’ve been.”

  “I doubt that.” She took it, and they both took bites of their burgers at the same time.

  “It’s different,” Mark said. “Nothing to write home about, but it is juicy, like they said.”

  She handed her burger back to Mark. “I prefer grilled.”

  They ate quietly for a while.

  “I haven’t had an open-face sandwich in forever,” she said. “In fact, I haven’t eaten like this in a long time.”

  “You mean dinner?”

  “No, I mean—” She stopped herself.

  “Maybe it was that hospital cafeteria food?”

  Emily smiled. “Probably, though it’s not as bad as it used to be.”

  “You feeling better? You seemed a little stressed out earlier.”

  She sighed and shrugged. She took a bite and hid her mouth behind her hand. “My whole life has been stressful lately. Interviewing for residency, waiting to get matched, and now finding a place to live.” She looked down at her plate. “This deer-car is like the cherry on top of it all.” She dug out a bite of mashed potatoes and gravy.

  Despite wanting to probe further, Mark sensed a wall. He brought up Chicago and places to live, and this topic seemed to pick her up a bit. Since Emily’s residency was on the west side of the city, Mark verbally guided her through Chicagoland, from Lincoln Park neighborhood up north through Lakeview (too many fresh graduates) to Evanston (maybe) and some of the northwest suburbs, Forest Park and Oak Park north of the Green Line (too expensive), and as far west as Clarendon Hills (decidedly too far). They were talking about Evanston when Emily ordered a second glass of wine.

  When they headed back to the house, it was nearly six o’clock. As they turned the corner onto Lake Street, Emily said, “Is that smoke coming from your house?”

  A steady stream of white smoke billowed over the trees.

  “Electrical fire!” Mark yelled.

  Chapter Nine

  Mark slammed on the brakes, abruptly stoppin
g the car several feet from the curb. He jumped out and sprinted by the bushes toward the front door. The smoke appeared to be coming from the back of the house, so he ran around, keeping his eyes fixed on the second floor. He hadn’t yet seen this side of the house, and he took note of the spigot and garden hose. When he rounded the corner, he stopped in his tracks.

  Between the detached garage and the house, in a small dirt hole, a campfire was burning.

  “Is that the fire?” Emily asked, gasping as she ran up beside him.

  “Yeah.”

  “Who started that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Maybe it’s one of those prankster kids from the neighborhood.”

  Mark shot her a sidelong glance.

  “What?” she protested.

  “I’m going to get the hose,” he replied, and slogged back around the corner.

  Emily followed.

  “So strange. Do you need any help?”

  “No I’ve got it. Thanks.”

  “I’ll get my suitcase out of the car.”

  Mark attached the nozzle sprayer onto the hose and twisted the spigot on. Might be better off if the house burned down, he thought as he dragged the hose. Easier to collect insurance money than sell it. He chuckled, not seriously considering this option. As he reached the corner, the hose gave some resistance. Mark saw that it was tangled, so he yanked hard to free it. It loosened easily, and he stumbled as he rounded the corner. In a single move, he caught himself and lifted the sprayer, ready to play fireman. Except instead of the fire, he encountered a large figure in front of him and reflexively triggered the sprayer—

  “Whoa!” exclaimed Bear Foot, arms raised as if surrendering.

  “Ah!” Mark stopped spraying. “You surprised me. Sorry.”

  Bear Foot looked down at his gray sweatshirt, now with a dark stain from the chest down to the stomach.

  “I’m so sorry,” Mark repeated. “What are you doing here?”

  “What are you doing with the hose?”

  “Putting out that fire, of course!”

  “No, you can’t,” Bear Foot insisted. “It’s for Vivian.”

  “What?”

  “It’s a ritual, to keep her warm during her journey.”

  “What journey? She’s dead!”

  Bear Foot craned his neck toward the sky. “The journey we all have to take some day.”

  “You mean, you started that fire?”

  Bear Foot nodded. “Yes, of course.”

  Mark pointed the nozzle toward the ground. “You freaked me out. Driving up, I thought the house was on fire.”

  “I should have mentioned it.”

  Mark nodded, then gestured at Bear Foot’s wet sweatshirt. “Let me go get you a towel.”

  “I’ll be okay.”

  “You sure?”

  Bear Foot nodded.

  Back near the spigot, Mark turned off the water, and coiled the hose.

  Emily burst from around the corner, an excited expression on her face. “Hey! There’s a truck parked on the other side of the house. I think it’s that Bear Claw guy.”

  Mark snorted a laugh and put his finger to his lips. When Emily got close enough, he said softly, “A bear claw is a pastry. You think he’s named after a pastry?”

  “That’s what you called him.”

  “No. Bear Foot.”

  She pursed her lips and shook her head. “It should be Bear Paw then, not Foot. People have feet. Animals have paws.”

  “Well he is a person.”

  “Whatever,” she sighed. “So did he know anything about the fire?”

  “He’s the one who started it.”

  “Seriously? Why?”

  “For Vivian.” It had slipped out, and he blamed his careless lips on a waning buzz.

  “Who?”

  “Oh, my aunt. She asked Bear Foot to do it. Apparently an old Native American tradition. Wards off evil spirits or some such nonsense. Who knows what she was thinking?”

  “You did warn me you weren’t quite ready for guests.”

  Mark laughed. “That’s right. You’re taking your chances staying here.”

  “I already knew that.” She smiled.

  He started toward the front of the house. At the porch, he hesitantly picked up Emily’s suitcase. But this time, she didn’t deter him.

  “Smells wonderful in here,” Emily said as they walked inside.

  Mark nodded, though he didn’t really care for it. In fact, he kind of detested it. “It’s all my aunt.”

  “It’s nice. I like the parlor,” she said looking to her right.

  “There’s a library here if you’d like some place quiet to read,” he said when they reached the stairs.

  “Nice.”

  When they reached the top, Mark said, “You can have the first room here.”

  “Thanks again for letting me stay here tonight,” she said.

  He briefly turned back toward her and gave her a quick smile. “Not a problem.”

  “I don’t think I would have much liked the motels down the highway. I doubt they do anything to ward off evil spirits.”

  He laughed. “No, probably not.”

  Mark set the suitcase next to the antique dresser. When he saw the key inserted in the knob, he realized how bad he was at being an innkeeper. He hadn’t even thought of a key. Luckily Vivian had. He pulled it out and held it out for Emily. “Here you go.”

  Taking it, she smiled. “Thanks.”

  Mark smiled back and they stared at each other, and before it became too awkward, he pointed downstairs and said, “I should really get Bear Foot a towel.”

  “Why, is he going to make smoke signals?” She laughed.

  “No,” he replied with a feeble smile. “I accidentally sprayed him with the hose.”

  “Accidentally?”

  “Well when I turned the corner, he caught me by surprise.”

  “So you hosed him down?” Her smile broadened into a flabbergasted grin.

  “No, not like that.” He laughed defensively. “I barely got him, really.” He gestured in a tight circle around his chest. “I thought he was something else.”

  “Like what? A big bear?” Emily laughed hysterically.

  Mark shook his head at her. “Come downstairs whenever you like.”

  “Only if you promise not to hose me down.”

  “I don’t promise any such thing.” He shot a reflexive wink at her, and swiftly left the room, closing the door behind him.

  Mark quickly checked out the other bedrooms on the second floor. Four in total, each with its own bathroom. He took a towel from one of the bathrooms and rushed downstairs. Outside, he searched around, walking the perimeter of the house, but he couldn’t find Bear Foot. The truck was still parked on the street, just past the garage.

  He went back inside and, in the parlor, he set the towel down on the console table. He grabbed the reservation calendar and flipped to May. As he went through the months, he saw boxes were filled in sporadically until the end of September. He considered leaving a note on the door rather than calling each one. But he couldn’t leave things that way, disappointing guests with a For Sale sign, leaving them to fend for themselves and find vacancies off the highway.

  So he picked up the house phone and marked the number under Peter Hinton’s name. Staring out the window as it rang, he saw Bear Foot passing by.

  He hung up the phone, grabbed the towel, and hurried out of the house, down the steps, and around the corner.

  Bear Foot had already disappeared.

  When Mark reached the back of the house, he was mesmerized by the plume of pure white smoke, whiter than he had ever seen. He inched closer. Something was vaporizing, drifting up and off, slowly dissipating in the sky. Bear Foot stood close to the fire, his eyes closed, his lips moving as if he were reading to himself.

  Mark stood there with a towel in his hand, waiting for Bear Foot to open his eyes.

  “Was that the finale?” Mark asked.
<
br />   “Finale? No, of course not. Her journey is three days long.”

  “Three days,” he repeated, a little annoyed.

  Bear Foot nodded. “We must keep this fire going. Will you take care of it while I’m away? I’ve stacked some wood at the side there.”

  No way! “There must be some kind of ordinance against this.”

  “Ordinance against what?”

  “Fires—doesn’t the city have rules about having open fires like this?”

  Bear Foot shrugged. “Never heard of anything like that. That would be a strange law.”

  Mark thought for a moment. “Oh!” he exclaimed, much too excitedly. After a long pause and a solemn grimace, he said, “Vivian died on Tuesday morning, so this is the third day.”

  Lines appeared on Bear Foot’s forehead. “Then we’ll keep it going through the night. At least she’ll have one night of comfort during her journey.”

  A chill wind suddenly enveloped Mark. He flinched. Sitting in front of a fire actually sounded pleasant. “Hey, do you think we can use the fireplace instead? I have a guest inside, and I’m not sure she appreciates smoke outside her window.” He pointed up, where there was, in fact, a window, but he wasn’t sure it was to Emily’s room. “Besides that, Vivian’s remains are in an urn on the mantel.”

  Bear Foot looked away, frowning in thought, as if reviewing some manual on rituals. “Yes, that should be fine,” he finally said.

  He followed Mark to the front of the house. Mark turned back slightly as they reached the door. “I’m sure Vivian would have appreciated this,” he said as sincerely as possible.

  “It’s the way of her people.”

  Mark snapped around. “What people?”

  “Chippewa.”

  “What do you mean? Was Vivian somehow Native American?”

  “Yes, of course. You didn’t know?”

  “No,” he got out softly. His gaze fell to the ground. “She was adopted,” he muttered as explanation. “And we were never really that close.”

  Inside the house, in front of the fireplace, they stood in silence, the blue urn stationed on the mantel. Mark watched Bear Foot solemnly stare at the urn. He softly laid his thick fingers on it and shut his eyes.

  A stirring noise came from upstairs, a gentle creaking as Emily moved about. Mark reached for some wood on the rack at the left side of the hearth.

  “I’ll take care of the fire outside,” Bear Foot said and left.