JILLY, BIRDIE, ROSE AND HANNAH drove north toward Wisconsin. They’d packed lightly, stashing their luggage in the back of the Land Rover along with Rose’s laptop computer, bottles of water and juice, audiotapes, books, and several bags of groceries that Rose had insisted that they’d need.
Birdie had volunteered to take the first turn at the wheel. Dressed for comfort in khakis, a long-sleeved flannel shirt and a down vest, she drove with her eyes on the road, not much in the mood for conversation. Jilly took her turn next. She enjoyed the feel of the road and the scenery; it had been a long time since she’d traveled across America. Likewise, Rose’s eyes, vivid behind her pale lashes, were limpid with worry as she turned to gaze out the window. She was dressed simply in a long denim skirt and a white cotton sweater. Her tiny feet were tucked into scuffed black penny loafers and were propped up over bags of snacks she had packed for the journey. Her long red hair was tied back in its usual braid and hung over her shoulder.
Jilly’s heart ached for her. Even though she’d been excited to go, the act of leaving the house that morning had been a trial. She had to count the bags in the back of the car over and over, then she went over the route with a simmering Birdie for the tenth time, and before she’d leave, she had to check that she had locked every door. Jilly had traveled so much in her life, she’d felt jaded in comparison.
“I suppose we should start thinking about a place to spend the night,” she suggested.
“I’ve marked the page of the area we’ll be staying in,” said Rose, opening up the tour guide from the AAA. “It’s slim pickings, I’m afraid.”
“I’m starved,” Hannah moaned.
“Let’s settle into the motel first and then find a place to eat,” Birdie replied.
“Or we can bring food in,” Rose said.
“I don’t care where we stay as long as it has a nice bathroom,” Jilly chimed in. “I’m dying for a hot bath.”
“We should probably get two rooms. One for Hannah and me, and one for you and Rose,” added Birdie. “I’ll cover the cost of ours and you two can split the other.”
“I want to stay with Aunt Jilly,” Hannah said.
Birdie felt the pang of rebuff and replied, “Do what you want. Makes no difference to me. Oh, look, there’s a sign for a Marriott. They’re usually quite nice.”
“That’s not one of the ones I circled.” Rose flipped through the pages until she found the listing. “It’s pretty expensive.”
“How much?”
“Let’s see…One hundred forty-five for a double.” She frowned and skipped a beat. “How many nights will we be there?”
“I can’t afford it,” Jilly said bluntly, keeping her eyes fixed on the road.
“What?” Birdie said with surprise.
Jilly’s hands tightened on the wheel. The day had brought them closer together, and the feeling of camaraderie was high. It was now or never. “I guess this is as good a time as any.” She cleared her throat. “I’m broke.” She glanced in the rearview mirror to see all eyes on her. “I’m not kidding. I don’t know how long this search will take or how much cash I’ll have to lay out for information. I figure I’ve got enough to last a few weeks if we stay at modest motels and away from four-star restaurants. I’m talking real modest motels, Birdie. As in, clean would be nice, if you get my meaning.”
There was a stunned silence.
Jilly flushed, but was relieved to have told them.
“What happened to all your money?” Rose asked when she could find her voice. “You had gobs of dough. And what about your fur coat and jewelry?”
“Your husband was a Rothschild!” Birdie exclaimed.
“The jewelry’s been sold. This ring?” Jilly lifted her hand and wiggled her finger, upon which sat a chunk of diamond. “Fake. You never get anything for a fur so I kept it, and as for my last husband, he was as fake as the ring. A handsome but poor relation to the main branch of the family. He swindled my money to pay off his gambling debts. I woke up one morning with a hangover and an empty bank account.”
“The creep!” Hannah exclaimed, but it was clear from her dazzled expression that she was eating this drama up.
“You’re lucky to be rid of him,” Birdie said.
Jilly was pleased to see fury shoot from her sister’s eyes. “Well, yeah, I know that now. Unfortunately it was a very expensive mistake made at a bad time in my life. In four short years my charming husband managed to squander what it took me twenty years to save. The cushion I’d planned on is gone and I can’t readily make my fortune again. I’m too old.”
“You’re not old,” Rose countered.
“Look at Hannah’s fresh skin, then look at mine. The camera never lies.” She peeked in the rearview mirror and her eyes crinkled to see Hannah sit up, alert and glowing to have been singled out for the compliment. “So the bottom line is, until I get my hands on my share from the sale of the house, I’m living on a shoestring.” She paused. “I’m sorry I was such a stinker about the money when we read the will, but now you know why. Being broke scares me.”
“I understand.” Rose’s lips turned upward in a teasing smile. “Especially if you’re as broke as me.”
“Oh, I get it,” Birdie chimed in. “I guess you think I’m Miss Flushpockets on this joyride.”
“Relatively speaking,” Jilly said with a laugh that spread to the others.
“I’m glad you’re all laughing. Here’s the punch line. Ready? I’m spread so thin with mortgage payments, I’m in the same boat as you. It’s all on paper. All the cash is tied up. I’m what’s known as house poor.”
“So we’re all in the same boat? Well whaddaya know?” Jilly tooted the horn as they started laughing in earnest.
“I hate to say it,” Birdie said to Jilly when the laughing subsided, “but I’m rather glad you’re broke.” She smirked. “It levels the playing field a bit.”
“You lived such a glamorous life,” Hannah said with an awestruck expression. “Compared to us.”
“It wasn’t so glamorous,” Jilly replied thoughtfully. “Actually, it got very tedious. Everyone trying to compete with one another, no one ever really listening, or caring. There wasn’t anyone you could really trust. Ambition can get quite ugly. It was all about being seen. Very empty, actually. Very lonely.”
Rose leaned forward in the seat, resting her arm on the headrest. “But won’t you miss living in Paris?”
“Me? No, not at all. My career is over.” She paused, then added with a hint of sentiment, “It was time to come home.”
Home. Rose had always thought of Evanston, Illinois, as home. She’d never lived anywhere else. What would it be like, she wondered, to explore a new place, to create a new home, all on one’s own? How would she go about trying to find a new grocery store, or get a new library card? How would she feel not knowing where to go for the best flowers or bread, or to walk down the street and have no one know her name? She turned her head and stared out the window at the strange landscape they whisked by.
Home. Birdie shivered under her down vest, wondering what was to become of her home. How could Dennis just leave on the afternoon train to Milwaukee without saying a word to her? They were tense, that was all, she told herself. The funeral, Jilly’s arrival, the will, and now this search for Spring—it was all too much. She’d call him later tonight, just to make sure he was all right. He was cruel to call her a nag. She had to keep on top of things or else everything at home would fall apart. That was her job, as the mom. She was only trying to help him—and Hannah. She glanced at her daughter on the seat beside her. Try as she might, she couldn’t shake the worry that her home had fallen apart already.
Home. Jilly drove for a while in a comfortable silence, rolling the word over in her mind. It held such meaning, even for a homeless wretch like herself. She’d lived in houses and flats, one more grand than the next, all over Europe. But she’d never really considered anywhere else home but the old Victorian on Michigan Avenue. With its overgrown hydrangeas, wraparound porch and marvelous filigree, it was the place where she stored all her memories.
Yet, driving north in this large car with her sisters and niece, it occurred to her that this small space was home, too. And whatever two-star motel they could afford to stay in tonight would also be home. Whenever, wherever the Seasons were together, that was home. Because home wasn’t a place but a state of mind.
“Are we there yet?”
The sisters smirked at the classic kid’s remark from Hannah.
“Did you know that the polka is Wisconsin’s state dance?” volunteered Rose, trying to make things interesting.
“It’s getting late,” said Birdie with a groan. She was driving the last leg of the trip. “I think we should just take the next motel we can find.”
“Please do,” Jilly said, gently massaging her neck, “before Rose tells us the state flower.”
“It’s the wood violet.”
Everyone groaned.
They had long passed through Green Bay, a bustling town dominated by paper mills and bordered by hardwood forests. They’d also passed plenty of Holiday Inns, Comfort Suites and Super 8 Motels. They’d all agreed to move on closer to Marian House. Now they were back in the country, snaking around wooded hills and muddy fields still littered with patches of snow and ice. It was a harsh landscape this time of year. Spring had not yet taken hold this far north.
Birdie was getting worried. The temperature was dropping by the minute as the late afternoon cast a gray pall on the horizon. She hoped it wouldn’t snow. She boosted the heater a bit, deciding that she didn’t care how much the next place cost. She’d pay for everyone, go into debt, whatever, if she could just get out of the car. She rubbed the small of her back; it was killing her. They should be in the town of Hodges soon, she told herself, pushing on the gas pedal and risking the ticket.
A half hour later they arrived at the small dairy town. Hodges was a quaint place, though rather depressed. Charming redbrick buildings tilting with age and disrepair were graced with elaborate but timeworn architectural details. They lined both sides of Main Street and housed the town’s newspaper, a small drugstore, a diner, a bank, a bookstore, Meeske’s grocery and a number of antique shops. Birdie slowed to the speed limit of twenty-five, and as they drove along the narrow street, they all peered out the windows with heightened curiosity.
“This would have been a thriving town back when dairy farming was booming,” Birdie commented.
“It’s like something out of a Stephen King novel,” Hannah said.
“Oh, I don’t know. I think it’s charming,” Rose said. “Did you know that milk and cheese products are still the chief exports of Wisconsin?”
“I could go for a little wine and cheese about now,” said Jilly.
“Let’s just hope they have a motel.”
Jilly was about to say “Don’t worry, we’ll find a place” when she saw a small sign: River’s End Motel. Clean Rooms, Friendly Service, Reasonable Prices.
“Sounds like our place,” Birdie exclaimed, noting the address. “What a nice name, River’s End.”
They all agreed and had visions of comfortable beds, a television and a prettyish little river meandering outside their window. As Birdie crossed a charming bridge over a narrow river of clear water, her hopes soared. They passed a lovely white house with black shutters that was a bed-and-breakfast. Unfortunately, it had an Occupied sign in the window. The road dipped lower. They crossed a railroad track and there, wedged on a narrow strip of land between the track and a shallow tributary of the river, was the River’s End Motel.
Her heart sank, and from the silence in the car, she knew the feeling was mutual. There was no graceful entry or even a driveway to the motel. A dozen small rooms fanned to the left, each with an identical picture window and a cheap brown wood door. A dozen identical rooms spread to the right, joined by a small A-framed office.
“Oh, great,” said Jilly, giving voice to what they were all thinking. “Just what we wanted. A cheap imitation of an early Howard Johnson. Man, oh man, if the girls in Paris could see me now.”
“Paris? Heck, if the girls in Milwaukee could see me now,” Hannah joined in.
Birdie pulled to a stop in front of the office and rolled down the window. “It’s worse than I thought. The building is made of cement blocks. Look, you can see the square outlines under that lovely shade of poo-brown paint.”
“Now, don’t be harsh,” Jilly teased. “At least the poo-brown paint is fairly fresh. And don’t you think that vat of red geraniums at the front door lends it a certain je ne sais quoi? Even if they are fake.”
“Speaking of pooped, I am. It’s this or keep going,” Birdie announced. “I’m for giving it a try.”
“Well, it looks cheap,” Rose said.
“It’d better be,” quipped Jilly.
They tumbled out from the Land Rover into the moist, frigid northern air, yawning and stretching, each looking at the sorry motel with resignation.
Birdie went into the office while the others began unpacking the car. Inside the small office was no better. The brown-and-white decor was from the fifties and showed its age. A high motel counter of wood separated the back of the room from the front. It sagged in the middle from too many years of elbows leaning upon it. A stand beside the door was filled with brochures showing people riding Jet Skis and boats in lakes, touring caves and buying clothing at countless outlets for tourist shopping—all of them miles from Hodges in Door County.
“Hello!” she called out, and waited. No one came out. “Hello!” she called again, louder. Again, not a sound. Great, she thought to herself. There wasn’t a car in the parking lot and he or she probably didn’t get any customers this time of year. Her stomach rumbled and she thought they should probably go look for something to eat and then return. She walked to the window and peered out the yellowed venetian blinds. She groaned, seeing their luggage sitting in the parking lot already.
“Hello. May I help you?”
It was the richness of the voice that startled her. And the accent. She put her hand to her breast and spun around on her heel.
Standing behind the counter was a tall, bronze-skinned man whom she guessed to be East Indian. He wasn’t so much handsome as he was exotic, with prominent cheekbones and a full, sensual mouth. His hair was dark and worn combed back to lightly graze the top of his starched white collar. It was his eyes that arrested her; they were dark and shone with tremendous magnetism.
“You startled me,” she said, suddenly uneasy.
“I’m sorry. I was out back and didn’t hear you come in. Were you waiting long?” He spoke with a unique, clipped British accent.
“No,” she replied, regaining her equilibrium. “We’ve only just arrived. Do you have rooms available?”
His lips turned upward just enough to hint at amusement. Behind him the wall was covered with keys. “I do,” he replied. “How many rooms will you be requiring?”
“Two. With double beds. There will be two of us staying in each room.”
He turned to remove two keys from the wall. “Rooms 101 and 102. They have double beds and a small patio out back facing the river. Though with this weather…” He lifted a brow. “How long will you be staying?”
Birdie didn’t want to commit without seeing the rooms. The bed-and-breakfast down the block was inviting. “Tonight. Maybe tomorrow, too. We have appointments and are not yet certain.”
“Very good,” he repeated. Then, as though he’d read her mind, “If you find you’ll need to stay longer, that will be no problem.”
“I assume there are phones and televisions and…” She left the rest hanging.
“Of course.”
They completed their business quickly. She took the keys and, thanking him, hurried from the office. Something about him made her feel nervous. It might have been his foreignness, or his swarthy, masculine good looks, but in that small, warm space, she became very aware that she was a woman and he was a man.
“Okay, girls,” she called out, shivering when she met a blast of cold air. “Let’s move in.”
They lugged their bags to the two rooms at the farthermost end of the motel. Birdie opened the door to her room, snaked her hand in to flick on the light, then felt her heart hit her toes.
“We’re staying here?” Hannah’s voice rang with dismay. “What a dump!”
Birdie moved farther into the cramped square room, closing the door against the chill air. The air inside wasn’t much better. The first thing she did was to lift the cheap metal heater and push it to High.
The room was tiny and cramped. Two double beds were squeezed into the room only inches apart from each other. They were permanently affixed to the wood-paneled walls by headboards, which were, in fact, mere extensions of the wall. Beside them, on either side, were two nightstands, each holding a futuristic lamp that was only missing the lava. However, the room smelled of clean soap, and though the furniture was dated and chipped in spots, at least it was real wood.
Birdie stood for a moment, suitcase still in hand, trying to decide if she should call the others to load the car back up, or toss her stuff on the floor and rough it for one night. Her bladder decided for her.
“It’s not that bad,” she lied, hurrying between the retro built-in dresser and the edges of the beds. The space was so narrow she had to turn sideways to pass without bumping her knees. She passed the avocado-green Formica vanity-sink combo so popular in motels and opened a chipped wood-grain door.
The bathroom was even worse. It was the size of a small closet. A small toilet was squeezed in beside a narrow shower stall with a natural-cotton cloth curtain hanging on metal hooks. She hadn’t seen one of those since summer camp, and that was for the outside shower. Sitting down, she peeked behind the curtain, holding her breath.
Oh, Lord, she thought, wondering what Hannah would say to this. And Jilly? She put her palm to her head and shook it. The stall was rusting at every joint. The faucet was sticking out from the wall by the metal pipe and the drain on the floor was a hole in the cement slab floor covered by a metal grate. She thought of her home in Wisconsin with its big, tiled bathroom and Jacuzzi tub. The thought of those jets massaging her aching back made her groan again. Dennis used to love to rub her back….
When she returned to the room a few minutes later, Jilly and Rose were already there commiserating.
“Welcome to Punjab Palace,” Jilly said with a smirk. “Get a load of the artwork.”
Birdie looked to see prints of various Hindu gods she couldn’t name.
“Did you see the bathroom?” Jilly asked, her face aghast. “I use the term loosely, considering there isn’t even a bath.”
Birdie nodded. “My shower has a grate that goes into the floor.”
“You’ve got a grate? Ours is an open hole.” She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Look, I know I said I wanted something cheap, but this is beyond the pale. We simply cannot stay here.”
“It’s late,” Birdie replied, trying not to yawn. “Unless you know of somewhere else we can go…At least this place is clean and there’s a bed.”
“I don’t care!” Jilly exclaimed, her eyes wildly scanning the room. “There isn’t a bath. No iron, no fridge.” She took a breath. “There’s no room service!”
“Jilly,” Birdie snapped. “You said you couldn’t afford the three-star hotel we passed down the road. This place we can afford.”
“This place has no stars. It’s minus stars.”
“It’s not so bad,” Rose interrupted. “It’s…”
Suddenly, the air was rent with the sound of grating plumbing as the ancient system tried to deal with the novelty of a flushing toilet. Birdie ran back to the bathroom in time to discover the water in the toilet bowl rising fast to the top.
“It’s gonna blow!” Birdie ran back. “Quick, call the office!”
“Where’s the phone?”
Birdie jumped on one bed then to the other, the quickest route in the crowded room, but the phone wasn’t on either of the nightstands.
“Here it is, by the TV,” Hannah called. She picked up the receiver and dialed 0. While she reported the flooding toilet, Birdie watched a trickle of water escape from the bathroom.
“Here it comes!” she screamed, jumping from foot to foot. Then a laugh exploded from her mouth. She didn’t know where it came from, but suddenly the whole scenario seemed hilarious.
Jilly caught the absurdity immediately and burst out laughing, collapsing on the other bed. Hannah joined her, kicking her legs in the air while she howled. Only Rose stood somewhat uncertain, staring with horror at the flow of water seeping from the bathroom.
Thwack. Someone hit Rose with a pillow. She looked up, stunned, her neatly braided hair smooshed by the blow.
“Why, you little…” Rose kicked off her shoes and leaped to the bed. Instantly, they were all diving for the pillows, fighting for them, the victor getting off a good whap while another pillow found a new victim. They were squealing and jumping like wild women, laughing till the tears and the miles flowed from their eyes.
No one noticed the door open.
“Excuse me!” The voice was loud and unmistakably male.
The hilarity came to a sudden stop. They presented a tableau of twisted shapes, their bodies a blend of bent and grasping legs, pillows, shoulders, their mouths agape with choked laughter, their eyes wide with surprise.
The man stood at the door, a pillow in hand, his hair disheveled. His thick, dark brows gathered like thunderclouds over his proud, straight nose. His eyes flashed. In his other hand, he held a bucket filled with tools and sponges.
“I’m Mr. Patel, the manager. I knocked several times….” He was trying to maintain his dignity.
Birdie, Hannah and Rose responded instantly, smoothing their slacks and hair, then stepping from the bed in whatever ladylike manner they could muster.
“We’re terribly sorry for making you wait,” Birdie said.
“And for hitting you with a pillow,” added Rose, smoothing her loosened braid from her scarlet face.
“We…we didn’t know you were there.” Hannah giggled.
“Excuse me,” he said again, all politeness, but no one could miss his disdain. He looked past them toward the bathroom. As though he’d spoken, Hannah and Rose hurried from the narrow path of walking space to let him pass. He cast a quick, assessing glance at Jilly from under thick lashes, then disappeared into the bathroom.
Birdie, Rose and Hannah each slapped palms across their mouths to keep from laughing.
Jilly still stood on the bed, a pillow hanging from her left hand. She had not moved from the moment that she lay eyes on the man at the threshold. His dress and appearance were proper and immaculate. He wore black trousers and a long-sleeved white shirt buttoned high. Nonetheless she saw in him an animal ferocity, like that of a tiger tethered by a slim leash. As quickly as a blink of an eye, however, he had reined himself in, leaving her to wonder if what she had seen in his eyes was really there or a trick of the light. She dropped the pillow, tumbled from the bed, then, grabbing her purse, went out into the cold twilight for a smoke.
By the time the toilet was repaired and they’d showered, they were too tired to go out in search of food. They were commiserating about what to do when Mr. Patel returned to Birdie’s room carrying a chilled bottle of white wine and four sparkling glasses.
“I apologize for the inconvenience,” he said. He didn’t smile but the hard lines of his face had softened.
Birdie took the wine, handed it to Rose, then accepted the glasses with profuse thanks, assuring him it wasn’t necessary, but very nice. She closed the door, then turned and leaned her back against it, her eyes wide. When she looked into her sisters’ eyes, she knew instantly that they had all gone weak at the sight of the ruthlessly handsome Mr. Patel. Again, they burst out laughing, making a show of fanning themselves. Hannah pretended to be shocked at their lascivious behavior but everyone knew she loved seeing her mom in this new light. For the first time, Hannah was being accepted as a woman.
They poured the wine. When Jilly raised her eyebrows at Birdie, she splashed some into Hannah’s glass. For dinner they ate runny Brie cheese and French bread left over from the funeral, carrot and celery strips, along with oranges and grapes from Rose’s glorious picnic. It was like a big slumber party. They got into their pajamas, turned on a movie from the cable television—a luxury Hannah was ecstatic to discover the cheesy motel actually had—pulled out their private stashes of chocolate, and just relaxed for a few hours. But the day had proved too long. One by one the eyelids drooped. Yawning, Jilly and Hannah returned to their room.
When Birdie fell into a fitful sleep, Rose quietly set up her computer to write to DannyBoy.
He’d asked her for a description, something she was loath to do. She composed and deleted a dozen e-mails that gave a vague description of her appearance. How could she make herself sound attractive without sounding like she was trite or boasting? In the end, she went to the newspaper and studied the personal ads, trying to choose wording that was the least offensive. At last she managed to write a kind of newspaper ad/e-mail combo that she figured was as good as it was going to get.
Dear DannyBoy,
Okay, here goes. I’m not very good at describing myself. It makes me feel very uncomfortable, even immodest. But because you asked…
I’m single, white and thirty-six years old. I’m medium height, have red hair that goes to my waist. Most people describe me as thin. You know I love to collect stamps. I also like to read (a lot), cook, surf the Net, and I’ve recently found I’ve taken a liking to road trips.
Well, that’s me. I’m quiet but hopefully not dull. I have lots of interests and I’m looking for someone to share them with.
Rosebud
It was the most horrid e-mail she’d ever written. She couldn’t believe she was actually writing that about herself. Her hand hovered over the delete button as she read and reread the letter. Beside her, Birdie shifted again in her sleep, muttering fitfully. Birdie had confided about her fight with Dennis. Rose had never known Birdie to be so confused or scared, but when she’d spoken of Dennis, she had wrung her hands, something totally out of character for her. Rose cast a worried look at her and knew she should turn off the light soon.
She shifted her hand, then pushed Send. As soon as she sent it, her stomach fell and she wished she could take it back.
He must have been waiting for her letter, though, for he wrote back almost instantly.
Dear Rosebud,
You’re late tonight. I hoped it was because you were on the road and not because I asked you what you looked like. Maybe I shouldn’t have. You seem a bit put off. Please don’t be. Now I can imagine a face behind the words. A real nice face. But you didn’t tell me the most important thing. What color are your eyes?
DannyBoy
She took a deep sigh of relief that he’d written back. A short laugh escaped her as she wrote her reply.
Uh-uh, DannyBoy. You have to describe yourself first.
Before she could receive his reply, she turned off the computer, and a moment later, the overhead light as well.