Back to Madeline Island by Jay Gilbertson Read Free Book Online

clients—I used to own a hair salon—have shared their secrets with me. Having a child, when you’re a child yourself, can make you very un-marry-able later on. Especially thirty years ago. So I suppose, for some women, they feel it could affect their life—now.”
    Judith plunks our wine down, gives me a wink and offers us tissues from a box covered in a zebra pattern. We each take several—then she’s gone.
    â€œHey—your birthday was a couple of weeks ago! Happy thirtieth,” I say. We clink goblets. “I always think of you on October sixth.”
    â€œMe, too. I mean…think of you…I mean.” Helen looks uncomfortable. “I’m not usually very good at this, talking about myself, but you seem to have an effect on me.”
    â€œGood. Truth is, all my life people have told me the darndest things. I should have charged double at my salon. Hard enough doing hair all day, but you have to be a good listener, too. What do you do, to pay the rent?”
    â€œI’m a mathematics professor over at the University of Minnesota, Duluth.” She straightens and tucks a lock of hair behind an ear. “My focus is on differential calculus and how…sorry, I’m boring you. Ryan always says that I—”
    â€œNow who’s this Ryan?” Oh-my-God, she’s blushing, this might be a serious Ryan.
    â€œHe’s my—boyfriend. He’ll be done with his doctorate in forensic psychology in another year.”
    â€œThat’s the study of criminals—isn’t it?” Ruby will love this guy.
    â€œYes—and no,” she ponders, retucks the hair again. “Ryan’s focus is on the psychology part. Why a crime is committed, what was the person feeling and thinking at the time. Were they mentally competent—things like that.”
    â€œHow… interesting ,” I lie and she sees right through me and we laugh. “I’m afraid I’m not the intellectual type, but I think I can keep up. You certainly have my brains, though.” We chuckle and it feels great. Something in the air loosens a bit more.
    A waitress interrupts us, offers us lunch suggestions and sets down fresh wineglasses.
    â€œI see what you mean.” Helen peers over her “newspaper” menu. “The whitefish liver is a hot item here.”
    â€œThe fillet sounds perfect,” I offer. “Broiled whitefish, with almonds and dill drizzle. Honey—sign me up!” Helen looks around her menu—and smiles. I melt.
    We don’t chat much while eating; the delicious food is beyond words, almost. I order coffee, it’s tea for Helen, and then we decide to split a chocolate sundae. Ah.
    â€œHelen, you must have questions or…” I ask, suddenly nervous again.
    â€œMy mother’s not quite ready to meet you, but she suggested I ask if you have any—medical conditions that…”
    â€œNothing out of the ordinary.” I think for a moment. “Well…my mom, your grandmother—I’m sorry to say—died years ago of stupid cancer and my dad…we haven’t been very close. I’m an only child.”
    â€œSo Ruby’s your…girlfriend?” she carefully asks and I can tell she’d be fine with it.
    â€œNo.” I giggle at the thought. “She’s just a very dear friend. I’ve been less than lucky in the love department, but—I have Rocky.”
    â€œRocky?”
    â€œMy cat. Longest relationship I’ve ever had, besides the folks.”
    â€œThere is one thing, though”—she tucks both sides—“my mother said that when she brought me home from the convent, I was dressed in a perfectly knit yellow sweater. Did you make it—or?”
    â€œNo—I don’t know a thing about a yellow sweater. Maybe one of the sisters put you into it.”
    â€œDoesn’t matter…but I loved that sweater. I used to dress my dolls