Back to Madeline Island by Jay Gilbertson

do this kind of work.”
    He runs his hand along the intricate lines and I see it again, through his eyes.
    â€œAll the doorways are arched,” I add. “If you think this is cool, wait until you get a load of the toad window.”
    We enter the kitchen; Ruby goes around the stump table and poses next to her sparkling yellow and chrome stove.
    â€œEve and I have tried”—she points a perfectly manicured nail—“to count how many rings are in this stump, but as you can see, it’s simply too wide.”
    â€œHow in the world did this ever get in here?” Ryan asks, walking around it. “It must weigh tons and get a load of this ancient refrigerator.” Ruby grimaces at the word “ancient.”
    â€œHey, I do this,” Helen remarks, reaching over to the windowsill. “I have rocks from all sorts of places I’ve been—in my windowsills, too .”
    For some reason, I can barely find my voice, but I do. Stepping toward her, I say, “That one’s from Eau Claire and—”
    â€œWait a minute—I did my undergraduate there,” Helen says and my mouth drops open. “Where was your salon?”
    â€œWater Street,” I croak out. This is too weird. “It’s still there—Eve’s Salon, next to—”
    â€œAvalon’s,” Helen finishes. “I can’t believe I never saw you— maybe I did. I hardly left campus, though.”
    â€œVery disciplined, this one,” Ryan adds.
    â€œCheck this out.” Ryan is standing in the living room. “A two-story great room and who shot all these animals? Ruby—did you?”
    â€œGood heavens, no.” She walks over to the cabaña bar tucked in a corner. “Ryan, darling, when you’re done looking at all those dreadful stuffed things, could you assist me?”
    â€œSure. This is like a north woods dream,” Ryan comments. “A river-rock fireplace—all that’s missing is a library.”
    Suddenly Helen and I hear an enormous POP! Ruby and Ryan are laughing like crazy, so we investigate.
    â€œRyan,” Helen starts to say and then shakes her head. “Never trust that man with a loaded bottle.”
    â€œNo harm done,” Ruby assures us. “Has it simmered down a bit, darling?”
    â€œI think so,” he says, then pours bubbling champagne into four matching flutes and hands them all around. “I propose a toast.” He adjusts his glasses, thinking. “To new beginnings, to new friends, to you—Eve Moss—and you—Ruby Prévost.”
    We all step forward into a circle and clink each other’s glasses, several times, and then sip. I catch Ryan’s eye and he winks back. I think he’s fine just the way he is. Those big blue eyes, what would their children look like? Maybe one of them will have red curly hair. Maybe they’re just good friends and I should quit jumping to conclusions—right.
    â€œMuch better,” Ruby declares, refilling everyone’s glass a smidge. “I know you two can’t stay for supper, so I’ve prepared some scrumptious nibbles. But you’ll have to follow me as I’ve set them out in the”—dramatic pause—“library. Ryan, be a love and tote along the bubbly.”
    â€œWait a minute,” I blurt out. “We have to go to the dock first.”
    â€œOh, certainly,” Ruby adds. “How could I have forgotten?”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?” Helen asks.
    Ruby cuts her off. “You are family, darling.” Ruby faces Helen and I notice that her eyes are tearing. “It’s tradition—you must greet the lake when you first visit. Now come along, the both of you.”
    She links her elbow with Ryan’s and we head to the French doors. I fling them open and we set out across the verandah, down the wooden steps leading to the path. The sun is still high in the sky. A lone gull