Up in my bathroom, Rocky and I are deciding on either “Lick Me Red” or “MMM” lipstick color. We settle on “MMM.” Pursing my lips, I pat them with a tissue, open wide and check for lipsticked teeth. All clear. Taking up a beautiful ornate haircomb, I reach back, give my curls a twist at the nape and secure them with the comb. Using a little spit, I pull a few wisps out for a softer look—perfect.

This time, I’m not pitting out; I’ve sprayed extra stuff under there. You’d think there’d be a BO pill by now. I’d really get excited if they discovered a no-leg-shaving one, though. I slip on a tailored crème-colored blouse, slacks and then step into my favorite two-inch wedgies. I have higher heels, but with all the stairs around here, I’d be flat on my face in no time. One more check in my full-length mirror and Rocky and I are heading downstairs.

“Oh dear,” Ruby says, with a worried look on her perfectly made-up face. “You certainly aren’t going to wear that old rag to meet Helen’s boyfriend, are you?”

“Did someone forget their medication?” Ruby grins. “Damn you—do you always have to look so stunning?” Here she is, all four-foot ten, dressed in a smart pantsuit, long strings of pearls hanging to her waist.

“Smart alec. I tried to dress—subtle,” Ruby replies, very unconvincingly. “Anyway, you did mention that Helen is more refined, and so I only was attempting to make the dear woman more comfortable, is all.” Right.

“I’m going to go pick them up,” I say, throwing on a tan jacket then changing my mind and selecting one of Ruby’s shawls that live on pegs that march up and down the entire back of the basement door. Much better.

“All right, darling,” Ruby says, regarding me while tying on a cocktail apron, very frou-frou. It’s one Sam made special, with tulle and lace. “You really do look lovely—really.”

“I know.” We laugh and I mouth “good-bye.” I head out the back porch door, through the screened patio and out toward my van.

Slamming the van’s door, I flip down the visor and check my makeup once more. Good thing, too. I rub off a chunk of “MMM” lipstick from my front tooth and pinch my cheeks for color. The familiar start-up whine of this old VW van makes me grin. I give one of the yellow fringe balls running around the windshield a flick, shift to one and chug on down the long, rutted drive.

It’s become routine to slow down when crossing over the creek; there’s always something crawling around to look at. The burbling gush of water as it snakes its way around fallen pine branches and rocks is sheer music. Then I spy, off to my left, standing in what looks like an overgrown path—two deer.

I inch forward and roll my window down farther. This is the hand-rolling kind and it’s a little squeaky. But the deer only continue staring. I’m right alongside them now; they must be, oh, fifteen feet into the woods from me. Close enough that I can see into their beautiful eyes. Talk about a good makeup job. All that black eyeliner and the longest lashes.

I wonder—I bet these are the two I met not too long ago when I was sitting alongside the creek. Must live back there. Something is familiar about the way the male is holding his head, his rack is impressive. Suddenly, a gust of wind dashes through the pine trees. The whispering sound is startling. I look up toward the sky and watch yellow birch leaves fly up and away. Looking back, I see the deer have vanished, so I drive on.

After opening the gate and collecting all the mail, I slip Phoebe Snow’s Poetry Man CD into the player. I light up a cigarette and blow a thick ring while setting off, down North Shore Road. Passing by the field with all the birdhouses, I honk the horn, just in case Charlie’s around.

Since I’m a bit early, I pull the van over to one side of the ferry landing and climb out (after one more peek in the visor mirror). The sunshine on my face feels rich. A soft breeze sweeps over the lake, leaving a churned path that quickly fades back to shimmery water again. Off in the distance, toward Bayfield, I can barely see the shape of the ferry making its way here. I’m more excited than nervous this time. Must be a good sign.

Pulling the shawl closer around me, I think back to when I handed that little bundle over. You know, I don’t recall her crying, come to think of it. Maybe that’s because I was so busy sobbing myself. Sighing, the memory slowly fades away as the ferry comes into view.

I wave like a crazy person; up on the second floor of the ferry stands my daughter and a handsome man close beside her. Helen is striking in fitted jeans and a bulky yellow sweater. Her blond boyfriend is gorgeous. The ferry docks, the metal gate slowly lowers down to the pier and several cars drive off, followed by a procession of people.

“Eve—hello,” Helen says and I can see she’s a little nervous.

Do I dare? Why not—I reach up and give her a nice hug, then step back to look her over.

“Helen,” I gush with obvious pride. “You look lovely. She should, you know.” I say this last part to the handsome man. “She’s got my nose.”

“Where are my manners?” Helen takes up his arm. “This is Ryan.”

He extends his hand; I give it a look and then hug him, too. Why the hell not?

“Good grief.” I step back and regard him. “Helen’s tall, but you are tall! ’Course, most everyone’s tall to me,” I say and then extend my elbow to Helen. “This way to the limo.” Helen and I walk over to the van with Ryan in tow.

“Does this thing run?” Ryan has the nerve to ask. “I haven’t seen an original VW van in a long time. It’s in great shape.”

His deep voice is full of admiration; now I like him. If he’d lose the nerd glasses, get some decent goo in his hair and maybe a goatee; just a thought.

“I’ve had this baby for—I bet…” I think for a moment. “Twenty years. Bought it from a client whose wife wanted a Mercedes instead. Can you imagine?”

I climb in front and Helen gets in the passenger seat. Ryan hops in back.

“Afraid this was made eons before fancy seatbelts,” I apologize. The look on Helen’s face makes me chuckle. “It’s not far and I promise I won’t go over eighty—much.”

“Ryan, have you ever been here before?” I ask his eyes, which are reflecting in my rearview mirror.

“I’ve not, we both are originally from Edina, Minnesota. This is awesome—I can’t get over the fact that there’s an island off of Wisconsin. Simply amazing.”

“Since you’re both new here,” I offer, “I’ll drive through our bustling downtown and share some island history.”

Giving my sunglasses a push up my oily nose, off I drive.

“This area we’re in now is the town of LaPointe. In the summer, over two thousand people live here. Lots of cabins and homes you can only see from the water, but during the wintry weather, things get quiet; about two hundred permanent residents stay on through it. I’m one of them.”

“I could live here,” Ryan comments from the back. “Only I think Helen would go stir-crazy.”

“I would,” she agrees. “But it certainly is charming. All these quaint shops and what’s that over there?” She’s pointing to what looks like an ancient circus tent.

“That’s a favorite local watering hole,” I pull over across the street from it. “Tom’s Burned Down Café.”

“All those signs everywhere,” Ryan says. “Looks like the owner has a sense of humor and must be into junk sculpture.”

“I guess his bar really did burn down,” I say. “But to be honest, I need to find out more about it.”

“Ryan Googled Madeline Island,” Helen offers. “Are there any Ojibwe left here?”

“Not that I know of,” I reply. “Fur traders came, eventually shoving out the Ojibwe, I’m embarrassed to say. The Island was named after Madeline Cadotte—daughter of Chief White Crane—wife of fur trader Michael Cadotte. The Ojibwe did live here hundreds of years before the Europeans gave them the boot.”

“I don’t recall,” Ryan says. “Just how big of a land mass is the island?”

“It’s fourteen miles long and about three miles wide. This road will lead us right to the cottage. It’s perched on a hill, in an area called Steamboat Point.”

“All these dark, mysterious driveways.” Helen points down a rutted drive that disappears into dark woods. “I can see how it’s hard to see people’s places.”

“Seems like most here,” I comment, “like to be left alone. Well—this is it.”

Pulling up to the sun sign, Helen reads out loud: “Eve and Ruby’s.”

“Isn’t that something? Some good friends of ours made that as a house—cottage-warming gift.”

“You can’t help but smile when you look at it,” Helen says and we do. Smile, that is.

“Hold on tight,” I warn. “’Cause it’s going to be a bumpy ride!” I chug through the gate and head into the dark, rutted drive.

Branches scratch the sides as we slowly pick up speed, mostly due to the fact that the driveway dips down to the creek and then steeply curves upward. I slow as we cross over the bridge. The sound of water rushing by and the yellow leaves raining down all around us couldn’t be more perfect. I glance over toward Helen and happily sigh.

“Up we go.” The van shakes and shimmies up the incline.

As the trees thin, the sky opens up, and there, straight ahead, the lake goes on and on. Helen and Ryan “ooh and ahh.” I pull the van over behind the cottage, finally coming to a stop alongside the back porch door.

“What a piece of real estate,” Ryan says with awe. “That’s a great barn. How much land does this place sit on?”

“A little over ten acres,” I reply as Ruby comes out to meet us. “You must be Helen.” Ruby ambles over and shakes Helen’s hand, her bracelets jangling. “Lovely to meet you, darling. Yes, I can see a good bit of Eve in your face. Thank heavens you didn’t end up with her lack of height.” We chuckle.

“This is Ryan,” Helen offers and he steps beside her, putting his arm around her waist.

“A pleasure,” Ruby gushes. “You two look right out of a movie. Would you care for a bit of a tour? I’ve a little surprise for us in the living room. Right this way.”

Ruby is so in her element. Whenever there’s a handsome man around, the charm just drips off her. We head into the back porch.

“That is a huge fish!” Helen remarks. “Is that from out of this lake?”

“I caught that bloody bastard—sorry.” She pats her hair and starts in again. “I caught it, but my late husband, Ed, he’s really the one who hauled it in. I think the tie around his neck lends a certain…intelligence, don’t you?”

“What a porch,” Helen says, lingering next to a wicker love seat. “I would spend my entire summer out here, it’s so—peaceful.”

“Thank you, darling. We enjoy it and will miss it dreadfully when the weather turns cold. Like it’s begun to now. Come along.”

I notice she’s put away all the telling space heaters. I wonder, is it me, or has she turned up the Brit-bit a bit? Oh hell, why shouldn’t she. I grin. We step up the half-round porch.

“An arched door,” Ryan notes, pausing to take a closer look. “Look, Helen, there’s a stag horned deer carved right into it. I love the round, beveled window. Someone must have been very talented to do this kind of work.”

He runs his hand along the intricate lines and I see it again, through his eyes.

“All 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.

“Eve 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.”

“How 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.”

“Hey, 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—”

“Wait a minute—I did my undergraduate there,” Helen says and my mouth drops open. “Where was your salon?”

“Water Street,” I croak out. This is too weird. “It’s still there—Eve’s Salon, next to—”

“Avalon’s,” Helen finishes. “I can’t believe I never saw you—maybe I did. I hardly left campus, though.”

“Very disciplined, this one,” Ryan adds.

“Check this out.” Ryan is standing in the living room. “A two-story great room and who shot all these animals? Ruby—did you?”

“Good 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?”

“Sure. 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.

“Ryan,” Helen starts to say and then shakes her head. “Never trust that man with a loaded bottle.”

“No harm done,” Ruby assures us. “Has it simmered down a bit, darling?”

“I 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.

“Much 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.”

“Wait a minute,” I blurt out. “We have to go to the dock first.”

“Oh, certainly,” Ruby adds. “How could I have forgotten?”

“What 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 swoops over the lapping lake water; it shimmers around the dock invitingly ahead of us.

“I can’t believe you live here,” Helen says with awe in her voice. “A wooden dock—all this water.”

We file to the very end of the dock. Ryan puts his arm around Helen and pulls her close. Ruby and I sigh and gaze out toward the lake, the sky and the possibilities.

Just then Rocky comes racing down the path making a bee-line straight to us! I turn to look, ’cause he’s making a nasty growling sound. Oh boy, there’s what looks to be a head of something dangling from his mouth; it’s bloody and really disgusting. Then I spy the look of sheer terror on Ryan’s face—he’s nearly green and Rocky is headed right his way! Before I can do a thing, Rocky has carefully laid a limp mouse on his polished brown loafer.

Ryan steps backward and before I can yell “Holy shit,” he’s flying back, his arms flailing windmill-like with wild motions, until he splashes into the ice-cold water!

I turn to Helen, who’s obviously trying not to burst out laughing, and ask, “Can that man swim? Or does Ruby have to get in there and save him?”

“He was a champion swimmer,” Helen calmly replies. “But the poor man hates mice.”

We watch as Ryan free-styles to the shore in record time. He stands up and meekly waves at us, then turns and dashes up the path toward the cottage. Ruby trots on up in tow, and they go inside.

“How’s he with dead people?” I ask. “I mean, isn’t forensic medicine all about the dead?”

“I guess dead people don’t bother him, but he’s just got this thing about mice,” Helen says and starts to giggle. “But I had no idea how much—did you see the look on his face?” We lose it and cackle and it feels fabulous.

“When I saw Rocky heading this way,” I blurt out, “and then saw what was in his mouth and then watching his fancy shoe get covered in goo…” We giggle some more.

After a time, I suggest we go in and see what can be done for the now-soaking-wet Ryan. We find him and Ruby in the kitchen. He’s perched on a stool in front of the open stove, wearing my yellow terry-cloth robe and bunny slippers, sipping a mug of something. They’re chuckling. Rocky is nowhere to be seen.

Ryan, looking very sweet, coyly says, “I thought a swim was in order. Hope it’s all right I’m wearing your robe.” We laugh. “I may keep these slippers, though…Let’s continue with the tour.”

“They do suit you, darling,” Ruby offers. “I’ve popped Ryan’s clothing into the dryer, won’t be long until they’re good as new. Follow me then, shall we?” Ruby leads us toward the hallway, then halts in front of the first door on the right and opens it.

“Howard, our neighbor next door,” Ruby begins, “has just finished putting the final touches on this tiny salon for Eve to keep us looking—ourselves.” She pats her hair.

“Very nice.” Helen peeks her head in. “My mom has one of those dressers. It’s called a waterfall, isn’t it? Works great for your station. I have a sister who does hair in Duluth, tries to anyway.”

“I brought it from my salon,” I offer. “That’s where Ruby and I first met, ten thousand years ago.” I stroll over, pick up a framed picture and hand it to Helen. “Ruby was my first client.”

“Your first client?” Helen asks. “And you didn’t even cash this check?”

“You kidding?” Ruby says. “That’s a canceled check, darling. For years and years, the prices she charged me, I kept Eve in food and drink! Now come along.”

We move on farther down the hallway. Passing several doors on our right (potty and a spare room), we end up in front of the huge, floor-to-ceiling toad window, which is just starting to light up with late afternoon sun.

“Good God,” Ryan marvels. “I’ve never—this place is filled with surprises. Now what’s the story here?”

“’Tis a long one, dear,” Ruby says, giving the toad’s crown a tap. “Basically, you’re looking at the original logo from this cottage’s rather exotic past.” Ruby turns to face us. “This way.” She turns left and dramatically pushes open the door and then steps into the library. “The library,” she announces.

“Oh man.” Ryan lets out a laugh. “I must be dreaming.” He wanders off to look at the hundreds of spines.

Helen heads over to one of the window seats and cautiously sits down next to a ball of gray fur.

“So you’re Rocky, the mouse catcher.” Helen lets him smell her hand; he looks over toward me.

“Helen—meet my favorite guy—Rocky.” I come over and sit on his other side. “Have you a cat?”

“I did.” Helen lowers her eyes, petting Rocky. “I had just recently moved into my condo and my cat, Newton, kept running back to my old apartment and then one day…he was gone.”

“That’s simply dreadful, darling,” Ruby offers. She scoops up one of the several “tasteful” trays displayed on the round table in the middle of the room and comes over. “Care for a finger sandwich? The open ones are crab with my special dill sauce, this is liver pâté and onion, and these are avocado.” She hands Helen and me paper napkins covered with leprechauns doing the cancan. She then saunters over to Ryan.

“She’s really wonderful,” Helen comments. “This place is wonderful. I’m so glad you invited us over. Sorry about dinner, but I’m meeting with some associates and—”

“Don’t be silly.” I wave away her apology. “Rocky loves girls—don’t you, honey.” I give his head a good rub; he lets out a happy “meow.” “He also loves mice and squirrels and bats—other things, too.”

Ruby and Ryan come over, arm in arm. “Ryan tells me he’s about to get his doctorate in forensic psychology and I thought I’d give him some pointers, seeing as I’m an expert and all. Besides—you two need to chat in private and he needs to get re-dressed.” They turn to leave and I hear Ruby ask him if he’s ever heard of her dear friend, Kay Scarpetta. Oh boy.

We settle back into cushions, facing each other, with Rocky all snuggled among our legs. Helen’s are so long, she hangs them over the edge, I watch as she straightens her perfectly creased jeans. Can you believe it? She irons her jeans.

“So, you went to college in Eau Claire?” I ask, taking a sip. “Watts, she works at my salon, does all the college kids. Maybe you went to her? ’Course I would have remembered—I never forget a face.”

“No, actually,” Helen tucks her hair behind an ear, “I’ve always had long hair, so I don’t have it trimmed very often. My sister cuts it several times a year.”

“It is long.” I study her and notice some curly hairs underneath. “Do you straighten your hair?”

Damn it, I didn’t mean it to come out so accusingly, but it did. I love my curls; we made peace years ago, mainly ’cause I’m too lazy to pull them straight with a blow dryer. It’s way too much work.

“I do.” She absently runs her fingers through her hair. “Ever since I discovered a paddle brush and now there’s all these great products and—I just don’t feel polished with it curly. No offense, it looks great on you, but not on me.”

“You certainly needn’t apologize,” I say apologetically. “It’s a relief, in a way. I mean, all I could really recognize on you was my nose, so now you’ve got my hair, too.” We grin.

“To our shared gene pool,” Helen offers, raising her glass.

“Indeed,” I say. “This is a long shot—but did you ever have a Professor Moss? He mainly taught religious studies—”

Helen chokes on her champagne and turns a horrible red. I leap up and dash over to her side. I take her glass and then smack her on her back a couple of times. She catches her breath.

“Oh my GOD! Why didn’t I put it together when you told me your last name? Of course—Moss. My God,” she sputters out. A bewildered look crosses her pale face.

“I take it you have heard of him, of my dad, that is.”

“Yes, certainly. I had your father for a class on religious history. I really enjoyed it, and as I recall, he was unusually passionate about his subject.”

“That would be my dad. Professor Moss takes his religion very seriously.”

I sit down opposite her, hand her her glass back and take a really big sip from mine. I’ve read about stuff like this, the adopted kid living next door to the birth mother, blah-blah, interview at ten, but this is fricking spooky. I mean, this is my story.

“I have to admit,” I offer. “This certainly has thrown me, but I’ve heard it’s not that unusual, you know, that our paths have crossed—sort of anyway—but it sure seems as though we were supposed to meet, you know?”

“I believe that, too,” Helen says really quietly. “Tell me—about your father. Not the professor part, even though it was a huge lecture hall class—I think I can remember what he was like in that regard—but the parent part.”

“Well, let’s see.” I finish my glass, set it down and fold my arms over my chest. “I was raised Catholic—which I’m totally fine with.” I undo my arms and gaze at my nails for strength. “So things were rather strict growing up and then, when I got pregnant, well, he was horrified. I mean, he was so concerned about what the neighbors would think, not to mention my parents’ church. So I was whisked away to a convent.”

“Whisked away?”

“They never even came to see me, not once. After I had you, they picked me up and we simply went back to our safe little lives. I guess I’ve never really forgiven him for that. My mom, she was so torn. After she died, my dad quickly remarried a Mormon widow with six kids. Can you imagine?”

“A Mormon?” Helen ponders this for a moment. “With six kids? My God, that’s, that’s so many kids, and for a strict Catholic to convert to Mormonism is truly amazing. She must be…” Helen hesitates, and then cracks a smile.

“Parents don’t have sex—oh God, I can’t imagine…maybe she’s a really good cook or something…” We giggle.

Helen lets out a whistle. “I’ve encountered so few Mormons, I can’t really imagine…seems to me, from what I’ve read, they tend to keep to themselves.”

“I really haven’t any problem with the Mormon part, I suppose, but he, he leaped into an entirely different life and…never looked back…for me.” I shudder and realize I’ve held this in for so long and now, well, it just makes me sad.

“Maybe I don’t want to meet him. Do you know where he lives?”

I shrug. “Last time we spoke, which was quite a few years ago, he and Kate were living on Altoona Lake, in Eau Claire. I guess he’s ill and—well, I think it’s time to—”

“Hit the road!” Ryan states, strolling back into the library all dressed in his now dry clothing. “You two look more like sisters than mother and daughter.”

“You bring him with you any ol’ time,” I say and mean it. “Next time you come, you have to see the boathouse and meet the crew and—”

“Thank you—for—finding me,” Helen stammers and we tear up again.

Isn’t it funny how sometimes the very thing you’ve been looking all over for is so close by? I reach over and give her arm a pat. Ruby just smiles and smiles.