Moon over Madeline Island by Jay Gilbertson Page A

sunshine.
    We both took our sweet time getting ready, neither one of us wanting to go. So here we sit with the van all packed. Rocky’s asleep in the front seat surrounded by coffee-stained maps, lipsticks, an empty cooler and my music. Even the toenails are done. I look down and wiggle a few.
    â€œI guess we should hit the road—huh?” I make a smoke ring that catches in the wind, then disappears.
    â€œThe sooner we do, the sooner we’ll be back, I should think,” Ruby adds with the gusto I need.
    â€œDo you feel anything weird? Or is it just me?”
    â€œI feel wonderful, actually,” Ruby says as smoke puffs out her nose. “Just wonderful.”
    â€œMe too, I guess. The weird feeling is actually the newness of finding all this here,” I say, opening my arms wide. “But I think we smoke too much and if we intend to live this cottage-by-the-lake life of God only knows what, well…maybe we should try to quit.”
    â€œI’ve smoked on and off for the last hundred years and I honestly can’t imagine quitting,” Ruby stammers uncertainly. “It is rather expensive though.”
    â€œNot to mention the smell. How about we quit?” I stand up, fling my cigarette butt to the ground and grind it out with my chunk heel. Hands on hips. Knowing full well Ruby loves a challenge.
    â€œI have so few bad habits left, darling, I just don’t know.” Ruby looks her burning cigarette over skeptically. “I think I need one horrid, icky habit—just one.”
    â€œIf I’m quitting, you are too and that’s that.” My painted fingernails drumming on hips now.
    â€œWell…I could find some other terrible habit. I mean, if you’re going to put it that way.” Ruby drops her cigarette and stamps it out with the dainty point of her designer sandal.
    We hop in the van, pull the doors shut and off we chug. The van slips through the trees, down and around and back through the way we came, all to the sounds of Connie Evingson singing “Fever.” Snapping along to the beat, we ease through the gate, lock it behind us and head off to the ferry-boat landing. Not looking back once.
    In line ahead of us, waiting in designer fashions, are Fat Kid and Lipstick. This time he’s munching his way through a bag of potato chips while sipping soda out of a huge straw. She’s delicately worrying an apple, taking small, feeble nibbles so as to maintain her perfectly applied lips. I look over at Ruby and we bust out laughing.
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    We’ve been driving for about an hour, smooth and easy. Rocky is still asleep in his basket. I’m sure he’s dreaming of all the creatures he munched, crunched, chased and then dragged into the kitchen to present as gifts.
    Right outside the city limits of Rice Lake, I turn to Ruby. “About this smoking thing…the quitting part, I mean.”
    â€œLet’s start stopping smoking…”
    â€œNext week!” We both say in a burst of energy that makes us laugh.
    Before you can say “Eau Claire, Wisconsin,” both of us are taking deep cancerous puffs while rolling down the windows. Chris Isaak croons over the speakers, “Baby Did a Bad Bad Thing.” I know that smoking is bad, but hell—it’s not that bad. Is it?
    â€œSo…what’s the plan?” Ruby asks, smoke slipping out her nose.
    â€œFeels weird huh?” I say and Ruby nods. “Like we’ve been gone for weeks.”
    â€œYou know, I haven’t felt this sure in the longest time. It’s really very simple. Moving…starting over, but at my age it’s usually to a nice assisted-living apartment.”
    â€œFor God’s sake, you’re not that old.”
    â€œSo true, so very true.” She hands me a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup all unwrapped, then pops one in her mouth too. With goo sticking to her gums, she admits, “These are really very tasty. I’ve