Chapter Eight
The morning comes too soon for Alison. The aggressive sun creeps skillfully in through the windowpane, up the mattress, onto the sheets, and then elbows her right in the eye. Without opening her eyes, she wonders how the sun does that, finds the one crack in the drapes and lands exactly on her eye. A few moments ago, she heard Hank and Jimmy lugging their suitcases down the stairs and she snuggled deeper into the covers.
Polly knocks on the bedroom door and then sticks her head in. “Hank asked me to tell you it’s time.”
“Ugh!” Alison buries her head back under the pillow. How can this be a vacation if someone is waking me up? Aren’t those mutually exclusive events?
“Alison?”
“Okay. I’m up.”
Polly Steiner likes her job. At sixty-years-old, she has no patience for the drama of other families she’s worked for - the Kraft family is a good fit. She’s been with them two days a week since Jimmy was born, and an ease of life has developed between them.
Polly straightens up the bedroom as Alison heads lazily for the bathroom. Polly organizes the magazines neatly on the bedside table. She picks up Hank’s black socks, which were left in a ball on the floor on his side of the bed, and she tosses them into the hamper. Alison rinses her face in the sink, and brushes her teeth. She slips on her light blue jeans and a long-sleeved white sweater.
“So, Polly, you will water the plants?”
“All except that ugly creeping Charlie in the downstairs hall. I hate that plant.”
“Yeah? I didn’t want to tell you, I heard it saying bad things about you to the other plants.”
“I knew it.”
“Oh, no! I forgot I have a dentist appointment scheduled this week.”
“They called to confirm yesterday and I canceled it,” Polly says.
“Oh, good. What else?”
“I stopped your mail.”
“Oh, right.”
“And the newspaper.”
“Perfect.”
“And I finished the novel you were reading.”
“How’d I like it?”
“You cried at the end.”
“Oh, I love a good cry.”
They smile at each other. Polly hands her the small travel case.
“Have a good time.”
“Actually, I woke up feeling a lot different this morning.”
“Yeah?”
“This will be an adventure. I think I’m going to have a good time.”
“That’s the pioneer spirit. I slipped the bug spray, the aspirin, and the anti-itch lotion inside your rain boots.”
“Oh. Good thinking.”
* * *
A few hours later, the tiny grey speedboat, which from Alison’s perspective is in questionable condition, and barely qualifies as a floatation device, bangs across the surface of Lake Superior. Hank sits in the aft next to the captain, who Alison is quite certain isn’t old enough for a driver’s license yet. The teenager has kept the boat relatively close to land. They’ve been speeding along since late morning without a single sign of civilization on the shore. Hank looks off at the distant horizon and invigorated, starts singing Proud Mary. Even the gathering storm clouds cannot wipe the grin from his face. He remembers the envious looks from his two partners, Scottie and Newt, at work yesterday. He knew when he got back he was going to hear about plans from each of them to do something out of bounds - something exciting. They are all ready for a break. They have worked hard and long on their business.
Two years ago, the three of them started Pump Up The Volume, a sound and lights equipment company. Hank is the first to actually take a vacation. They have worked like crazy for professional gigs, and they love it when a real band comes to town, but the bread and butter of their business is still high school musicals, bar mitzvahs, and weddings. Hank doesn’t mind though, because while there is always stress when the special night arrives, he works all the time with people who are planning happy events and that fits with his nature. It has been fun starting a business, in his hometown, with his best buddies, and being able to work all day long with the music blasting. Music is as essential to Hank as breathing. All kinds of music: Hip-hop, Reggae, Blues, Rap, Rock - it all works for him. The only improvement he made to their home was to wire every room for sound; even if he is out in the backyard, there is a speaker. When there is no music playing he is constantly looking around the room as though he’s lost something, and much to the misfortune of those around him if the music is turned off, he sings.
Business is good, but not too good as Newt says happily. Newt sees work as something one does in-between parties, something that pays for one’s life, but not something that is necessarily interesting. He could have been in the business of making dog treats and it would be exactly the same. As long as he is working with his buddies, he is okay with working. He prefers a nice easy pace and doesn’t like it when they get too busy. Scottie is a tech junky and loves the equipment, the more complicated the better. He shows up wide-eyed and excited at every tech convention within 500 miles. He races back to the store after each event like a teenager with a list of sound equipment they have to have. Newt keeps him in line economically. Hank just wants the music in every hour of his day. They have a comfortable partnership.
“Hank, you’re singing again,” Scottie complains.
“Am I?’
“A dismal rendition of Wild Thing,” Newt adds as he lifts a soundboard onto the countertop.
“I rock and you know it.”
“There’s a reason why Mrs. Kravitz in the seventh grade put you basically under the bleachers for the Spring Show.”
“Hey, don’t talk trash about my glory days!”
It was Alison who suggested the name for the business. It is an inside joke. Hank liked Pump Up The Volume for the obvious reasons. Scottie, Newt and Alison liked it because whenever you’re around Hank you need to pump up the volume to drown out his singing.
Lake Superior suddenly rears up like a spooked horse. The speedboat pitches left and slaps back down on the water.
Hank keeps singing, “Big wheel keep on turning. Proud Mary keep on burning.”
“Dad, so uncool.”
“Uncool?”
“Completely.”
“Oh, yeah?” He stands and starts to rap T.Pain, “I’m on a boat. Hey ma, if you could see me now…” Jimmy laughs as Hank continues and adds ghetto gestures, “Arms spread wide on the starboard bow. Gonna fly this boat to the moon somehow.”
The boat shoots off a crest and out of the water, suspended, and then, smack down hard. Hank hits the deck and grins sheepishly flat on his ass. The captain rolls his eyes and tries to keep his grin small. Alison bites her tongue hard. She scrunches her face, as she tastes a drop of blood. In only a few seconds, the water conditions on the lake have worsened dramatically. The boat begins to feel even smaller to her. She looks out at the expanse of water; the lake has no end whatsoever. It is so vast that it looks no different from the ocean, except the ocean hasn’t ever looked this angry to her. The water is not a comforting azure with foaming whipped cream dollops, but an icky truculent green. She knows there will be no soft sand between her toes, no pedicures, or pleasing rum drinks in her immediate future. She notices Hank’s expression. He is so engaged, so happy.
Up and down. Side to side. The boat rocks, and tosses, and shimmies. In her seat, Alison sways back and forth. Her stomach churns and the skin on her hands turn bluish. She sinks down in the seat. There is no relief from the pounding of the boat on the waves as the wind picks up. Pregnant clouds, bulbous and ash colored, press down on them. The captain eyes the sky, and then jams down the throttle, jacking up the power and racing to get to the camp before the deluge. Alison can’t imagine why it matters to hurry, as she is already wet to the bone. She does not know about the unforgiving fury of this lake during a storm. The captain knows it well and this is why he is pushing the boat’s engine to its limit. She glances at her husband and son. They are in the same boat, at the same moment, experiencing the exact same thing and they look energized. I’m such a fuddy duddy, she thinks, dismayed.
Jimmy enjoys the tossing from crest to trough and watching him reminds Hank of when he used to toss his son up in the air and catch him. Was it so long ago when he was that small? They all grab the rail as they hit a particularly large swell. Hank and Jimmy’s faces are splattered with mist and glee.
Abruptly, Alison spins, leans over the edge of the boat, and throws up. It is a gut-wrenching heave that sends her chest smacking into the side. She opens her eyes. The water is only feet away and she swears it reaches for her. Its frigid spray clouts her face. She heaves again. The retching comes from deep in her belly, and she feels like her organs are coming out. With her chest against the cold wood, and her head loose over the side of the boat, she wonders which is worse, this actual all-encompassing sickness, or the stinging embarrassment. Even doubled over, ill as she is, she is still the lady her dad raised, and this is humiliating. And in front of Hank, and Jimmy, and this stranger. In ten years of marriage, her husband has never seen her shave her legs, floss her teeth, or go to the bathroom; she has always maintained her gentility and now this! She heaves again. It is the old seafarer’s irony that she is now desperate for water to cool the acid in her throat and cleanse her mouth. She flops back into the seat. Her skin is pasty, her eyes are bloodshot, and the tip of her nose is mulberry. Cautious to keep his balance in the unpredictable lurching boat, Hank starts toward her, but she warns him off with a shake of her hand. She can’t have him near her right now. He sits back down with no idea how to help her. He knows her well enough to know how she must be feeling. She places her head deep between her legs and her body sways limply, without resistance, as if she’s been deboned. Hank looks to the captain.
“Is there anything we can do?”
“Nope” he responds with little interest, “them people just gotta ride it out.”
Jimmy slides in next to his mother, “You okay, Mom?”
She responds without lifting her head. “Peachy.”
Hank trades a sympathetic shrug with Jimmy and for the first time, all kidding aside, Hank realizes this is stupid. Look at her, crumbled up, sick, miserable. Shit, what was he thinking?
“How much farther?” he asks the captain.
“Almost there.”
He yells over the motor, “Honey, we’re almost there.”
Alison doesn’t move, or respond, but she thinks, somewhat prophetically - just shoot me now.
A few minutes later, the captain’s gloved hand turns the tiller and angles the boat toward shore. He spies the small dock up ahead, and the raucous waves now pummel the side of the boat as he powers toward it. Alison looks up and sees beyond the dock a woodsy wall of green; woods so dense the ground never feels the sun’s warm palm; a world that never completely dries out, damp and lush with birch, cedar, pines and wild orchids. The captain gestures to Hank to leap out. Hank bolts up and jumps off the boat and onto the shaky floating pier. He almost loses his balance as he lands one-footed, but manages to hang on. He knows that Jimmy is watching him with a son’s eyes and Hank is excited to parade his colors. The captain tosses him the dock line. Hank snatches the rope out of the air with one hand. He is energized, something here connects him to other men in older times, men who worked the land, men who fished for their meals, men who provided in the most fundamental way for the lives of their families, and he feels the history like remembering something he never knew. He pulls the rope toward the dock cleat. He knows today’s men have lost something being tied electronically to their lives, instead of through their bodies. How would he survive if confronted by the Earth’s untamed elements? How would he light a fire in this dampness, or trap an animal for food. If he could trap an animal, how would he kill it? He’s never killed anything larger than a spider. He has no clue which plants are edible or which are poisonous. He could never make a piece of clothing from an animal skin, and has little hope of constructing a viable shelter from twigs and leaves. Hell, now that he is being honest with himself, he doesn’t even really know how electricity works - only that when he flips the switch - it does. If there were nuclear war, or a planetary disaster, he would be less useful than Stone Age man. His survival is built upon a foundation of knowledge that is so far removed from his life that it is inaccessible, even to his imagination. In this moment, on this rickety dock, he faces the fact that he is a completely dependent individual. He has no practical skills, and no idea how to survive. The sudden acknowledgment of his dependency makes him wonder if maybe he has lost a bit of what it means to be a man. He feels the fresh cold air fill in his lungs and he likes it. He feels bigger and taller standing on this dock with the bitter wind and the spitting lake. He likes the power in his hands, pulling the boat in by the rope, with its tough spine and coarse bristles slicing across his palm. He hadn’t realized he was missing this connection. Civilized living with its take-out food and glossy magazine lifestyle precludes the opportunity to be a man in this fundamental way. Perhaps every man needs to go fishing in the wild with his son now and then. He is going to make the most of this. He gives Jimmy a thumbs up.
Jimmy smiles back at him. Hank knots the rope to the cleat on the dock. He looks up triumphantly to Alison…and…oh, her head is back between her legs. Damn. He will get her inside in front of the warm fire, pour her a glass of wine, and settle her down with her book. She’ll be relaxed then. It’ll be fine. He will make it fine.
“Okay, everybody out” the captain says. Hank steps down into the speedboat, takes Alison’s hand, and helps her up onto the moving dock. Jimmy darts off agilely.
“Just follow that trail about fifty yards up to the lodge.” The captain throws off their suitcases, reaches out, unties the knot, and starts to back the boat away.
“Wait!” Alison asks, “You’re leaving?”
“Yeah. Need to beat the storm. Easy, just up the path. Follow the sign.” And he rooster tails back onto the lake.
Alison turns to face the wall of woods in front of her and is relieved to see that the sign and path are clear. She walks quickly toward solid ground. “I need to be on something not moving.” She steps off the dock and plants both feet onto the ground. She takes a long deep breath. She bends over with her hand on her thighs and breathes deeply. Beneath her feet, the ground crawls with beetles, rolly pollies, spiders, mites, and the air is thick with mosquitoes so warlike they bite her through the denim of her jeans. Hank and Jimmy grab the suitcases and join her.
“Honey,” Hank begins, “let’s get where you can sit down and relax.” He takes her hand and they start up the path. It is such a good feeling to have his fingers intertwine with hers. They wrap strongly around her skin-to-skin, such a simple act with tendrils directly into her heart. Already she feels better. The dirt path is poorly maintained with large rocks and arthritic looking tree limbs splayed across it.
“Gives new meaning to the road less traveled by,” she says. Hank looks over and grins as she continues. “Hopefully it isn’t miles to go before I sleep.”
“Dad, Mom’s doin’ poetry again, make her stop.”
“Why would I do that?”
Exasperated he responds, “Because I’m on vacation.”
“Oh.”
“Okay, I get it.” She answers Jimmy, “We’re entering a poetry free zone. Although I’m pretty happy you even recognized it’s poetry. Do you know who it is?”
“Stop!”
She giggles. Hank squeezes her hand affectionately. After a few steps, the forest closes in all around them like a giant green fist. This is where green is born, she thinks. Here in this forest everything is soaked in lime and jade and covered with a thick verdant moss that climbs up and over every rock and every log. It is so vivid she can taste it on her tongue when she talks. She feels the green on her cheeks and on her eyelids.
As they walk up the trail toward the lodge the rain begins, a few drops at first, and then in earnest. The canopy formed by the trees serves as a living umbrella. When they become too sodden, they dump a bucket’s worth on the path. Although it isn’t far from the dock, up the path to the lodge, the distance she has traveled from her comfort zone feels infinite. Alison peers off to her left. She notices that even in the middle of the day, the darkness is edging in from the deep, and the woods appear foreboding.
* * *