Back to Madeline Island by Jay Gilbertson Page B

little light. Hmm, the daddy that raised me?
    Â 
    Rocky and I are cuddled up out on the balcony that runs along the entire front of the boathouse. Stars are blinking over Lake Superior like crazy, making the water twinkle as if silver glitter was raining down. A spiral of smoke snakes from my nose and then slips up and disappears.
    All this sky and water, here, so far north. I no longer feel like I’m far away from anything . When you feel connected to a place, don’t you find that there’s something familiar about it? Like way inside, you think to yourself, “Haven’t I been here before?” Maybe, just maybe, you have.

C HAPTER F IVE
    â€œG ood morning, ladies,” I declare, practically bouncing into the boathouse. Sam and Lilly look up from their machines with matching grins. Johnny is just coming out of the bathroom and comes over to give me a nice hug.
    â€œHey, look whose gunna be on Oprah!” Johnny singsongs and I give him a playful slug.
    â€œNo way,” I reply and send Sam a wink.
    â€œEve Moss,” Ruby calls from the back. “Get your rear back here this minute!”
    I shrug my shoulders to the group and head back to the office. Howard and Ruby are clustered in front of my computer screen.
    â€œThere you are, darling.” Ruby motions for me to come over and have a look. Howard stands. I sit in his place and stare into the screen.
    â€œWhat the hell? I mean, is this for real?”
    â€œWe got the e-mail this morning,” Howard says, folding his muscled arms across his chest. “What do you think?”
    â€œMartha? I mean—really? This is too much.”
    â€œThink what it could mean for sales, darling,” Ruby implores. Dressed head-to-toe in a tasteful denim number. “I could go on her show—being as I am Ruby of Ruby’s Aprons.” I roll my eyes at Howard.
    â€œShe’s only asking to see some samples,” I remind her. “For all we know, they may want to copy them or…”
    â€œCopy them?” Ruby’s voice rises up a good octave. “Bloody hell she’ll copy them. Why—we’d sue her bum right off!” Howard and I giggle and then so does Ruby.
    â€œMy goodness.” Ruby pats her hair. “I do get my knickers in a twist now and again, don’t I?”
    â€œRuby,” I explain, “this is only a request to see if maybe we could fit into their catalog, and to be honest with you, I don’t care to be in anyone’s catalog.”
    We hear a round of applause from the front room. Sam throws in one of her ear-piercing two-fingered whistles for bad measure. Howard prints out the note and hands it over to me. Ruby and I head to the front. It’s become a “note” world, hasn’t it?
    â€œI’ve a bit of news for you all,” I say, clearing my throat. The sewing machines have all stopped. Ruby turns down the CD of Django Reinhardt and I recite:
    â€œDear Ruby’s Aprons,
    We here at Martha Stewart Living are very impressed with your website and are always on the lookout for something new and exciting. Both of which you seem to be! Since the trend of cocooning is snowballing into a national frenzy, we feel your charming “back to the kitchen” style is so on point.
    Would you consider sending us a sampling of your bestselling aprons in order for our product research team to evaluate them for placement in our special holiday catalog?
    Regards,
Eva Mullings
Deputy Trends Director”
    â€œGood grief,” I mutter. “Back to the kitchen? And what’s this stuff about cocooning?”
    â€œPerhaps, darling,” Ruby offers from the kitchen, “they’re desperate for a jump-start of sorts. Maybe they see us as competition or—”
    â€œMaybe,” Sam says, chuckling, “they’s just looking to get somethin’ free and I say—jump on this.” Sam holds up a see-through apron of white tulle all