Chapter 7
1877 Words
Chapter 7
My grandmother wasn't wrong about the food.
The Sorensens lived in one of the houses on the lakeshore, hidden away under the trees. As we came up the front walk, I could see the fish house standing right on the rocky shore, a path worn through the crabby grass between it and the side of the house. My grandmother knocked just once then let herself in.
I realized I was standing with my mouth hanging open again when I felt that familiar sensation of small insects filling it. One flew straight back to my throat, and I coughed.
"Come on," my grandmother said to me. "Don't linger on the front step. It's rude."
"Oh, that's rude," I said as I followed her inside, but my sarcasm was lost on her. She bent to undo her laces and step out of her boots, and I slipped off my sneakers, which were no longer as white as they'd been that morning.
I could hear voices speaking softly somewhere in the back of the house, and someone was sniffling. I followed my grandmother into the kitchen, and that was when I saw what she had meant about the food. Every surface was covered with casseroles, their tops wrapped in foil, some with little post-it notes with warming up instructions written on them in neat cursive.
Then we were in a dining room. There were no people here either, but an array of coffee cakes were set out on the table as well as a sad-looking vegetable tray and a tiered thing stacked high with little sandwiches. My grandmother paused there to pile several of those sandwiches on a napkin and hand it back to me before continuing on to the next room.
The room ran the length of the back of the house, and the entire back wall was a series of windows that looked out over the lake. It was a stunning view even on this rather cloudy and uninspired day.
The people gathered inside were dressed much like my grandmother, in jeans designed for work and either worn old sweaters or flannel shirts. There were all standing around in their thick woolen socks. At the far end of the room to my left, a couple who looked to be in their fifties sat in a pair of chairs with everyone else clustered around them. The man had a stunned look to his face, like he wasn't sure where he was or even who he was. The woman had a wad of tissues in her hand but kept wiping her eyes on the sleeve of the old, faded cardigan she was wearing.
My grandmother moved around the room, touching arms and whispering words to the other people gathered there. The visitors were mostly women, but a few men who looked perhaps too old to fish were among them. Each person my grandmother spoke to got up from their chair and wandered back to the dining room as if suddenly finding themselves hungry. By the time she had reached the couple sitting in recliners on the far end of the room, everyone else had made themselves scarce.
"Nora," the sniffling woman said and fought her way out of the chair to hug my grandmother.
"I'm so sorry for your loss," my grandmother said. "Both of you," she said, holding out a hand for the man to grasp, which he did if briefly.
Then she sat down on the edge of their coffee table so she could see them both at once. I didn't know what I was supposed to do with myself besides eat the sandwiches, which felt completely inappropriate in that moment. These people were grieving. I wrapped the napkin around the sandwiches and put them in my sweatshirt pocket then sat down in a chair against the wall. Neither of the Sorensens even seemed to notice I was there at all.
"You'll find out who did this," Mr. Sorensen said, nodding as if agreeing with himself.
"I will," she said, catching his hand again to give it another squeeze. "You can rely on me."
"We know that," Mrs. Sorensen said. "We always know that."
"I didn't know Lisa very well," my grandmother said. "She just graduated, didn't she?"
"From junior college, yes," her mother agreed. "She was going to be a nurse. She had a job lined up in Duluth. She was so excited." Her voice cracked, and she pressed a hand over her eyes.
"She came home a lot, didn't she?" my grandmother asked.
"Every weekend," her father said. "Every break. And she's been here all summer, even though she was done with school and could've started working sooner."
"She was a good girl," her mother said, wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her shapeless cardigan again.
"Of course we knew that wasn't about us," her father said.
"She had a boyfriend?" my grandmother guessed.
"Well," he said, sitting back further in his chair and folding his hands over his stomach. "We always assumed so. She never brought anyone around, and no one ever called the place looking for her, but she has her own cellphone, you know. And she went out a lot. With friends, she said, but still and all."
"You never met him, though?" my grandmother asked.
"We assumed he was someone she knew at school," Mrs. Sorensen said.
My grandmother turned her head ever so slightly to give me a sharp look. I hadn't made a sound. I had only been thinking, if she had met someone at school like her parents thought, when did she and her boyfriend ever go out? If she came home every weekend, when would they have found the time?
I tapped a finger to my lips, a silent promise not to make a peep, and my grandmother turned back to the other two, who didn't seem to have noticed any of that at all.
"Maybe it was someone local," my grandmother said to them.
"No, we would've met a local boy," her father said.
"Not if she were afraid you wouldn't approve," my grandmother said gently.
"You mean you think she was seeing a Nelsen?" he asked, sitting up in his chair.
"Is it possible?" my grandmother asked.
"No, she'd never," Mrs. Sorensen said, sniffling again.
"Even if she had, that wouldn't matter to us," Mr. Sorensen said. "That's nothing to do with us. The fight with the Nelsens is a farming Sorensen matter. We fishing Sorensens don't involve ourselves with it."
My grandmother looked at them both sharply. Mr. Sorensen squirmed in his chair, then pretended he was just finding a more comfortable position. Mrs. Sorensen just continued dabbing at her eyes with the wad of tissues in her hand.
"You've told me that before," my grandmother said at last. "You're sure Lisa knew you felt this way?"
"Of course she did," he said. "She was our only daughter, our only child. She had no reason to ever hide anything from us. She knew that."
My grandmother sat back, and her face softened. "I'm sure you're right."
"You're going to find who did this?" Mrs. Sorensen asked, lunging forward to grasp my grandmother's knee.
"I gave you my word," my grandmother said. "You know what that's worth."
"I do," Mrs. Sorensen said, nodding a tad too empathically. "I do."
"Lisa was close with Jessica Larsen, correct?" my grandmother asked.
"Yes. Best friends since kindergarten," Mrs. Sorensen agreed. "She was here earlier. She brought these lovely little sandwiches. Oh, dear, my manners! Are you hungry at all? Let me just-"
"No, don't get up," my grandmother said. "I didn't mean to chase your company away. I'll send them back in to sit with you. I know where to find Jessica."
She leaned forward as if about to stand up but paused and looked at me, like she thought I might have something to say.
And in that moment the bereft couple finally noticed me there. So now I had three pairs of eyes trained on me, and I had absolutely nothing to contribute.
"I'm sorry to have met you in such circumstances," I said, getting up to extend my hand to each of them. "My condolences for your daughter."
"You're Ingrid," the man said.
"Yes, I am," I said.
"You were with her when she died?" he asked.
"No, not exactly," I said. "I'm sorry. She was already dead when I got there."
"Oh," he said. As if I had just crushed his soul.
"I'm sorry," I said again, lamely.
"It's time for us to go," my grandmother said, and put an arm around my shoulders to guide me out. As if I were the bereaved one.
We put our shoes back on and started walking down the mossy front walk towards the road.
"Are we going back up to the highway, then?" I asked, sneaking a sandwich out of my pocket. "To talk to Jessica?"
My grandmother was about to answer when she suddenly froze in place. I froze too, like we were deer in a herd, and one of us had just flashed the warning of a predator approaching.
But then my grandmother just called out, "Tore Nelsen. Why are you hiding behind that tree?"
I looked around but didn't spot which tree she was referring to until a little man stepped out into view. He was wearing a clean pair of overalls, so new they still had creases in them from how they'd been folded in the store. The flannel shirt beneath it was buttoned neatly all the way up, and he had a flat leather cap in his hands that he was twisting around and around.
"I wanted to pay my respects," he said, looking down at his own toes as if my grandmother were a teacher who had just called him out on the carpet.
"From behind that tree?"
"Come on, be fair," he said, still not quite looking up at her. "You know how things are."
"I know how things are between some of your family and some of theirs, yes," my grandmother said.
"I know it doesn't involve us particularly," Tore said, coming a little closer to looking my grandmother in the eye but not quite making it. "You know I don't hold with my cousins on that score. And these are fishing Sorensens, not farming Sorensens."
"So they just explained to me as well," my grandmother said. She sounded ever so slightly amused.
"Still and all," Tore said and fell silent, staring at the ground intently.
My grandmother sighed. "It would be a good gesture if you went in there," she said. "I would personally consider it a step in the right direction for both your families. Did you bring anything?"
"I have a sack of pumpkins behind the tree there," he said, his cheeks flushing pink. "They're small, but perfect for pies."
"I'm sure Mrs. Sorensen will appreciate the gesture," my grandmother said. "Go on inside now. My granddaughter and I are quite busy."
"Oh," he said, looking up and noticing me standing there. "Ingrid."
"Yes, Ingrid," my grandmother agreed. "Go on."
"I will," Tore said and dashed behind the tree to fetch the battered grocery bag overflowing with orange gourds.
"What was that all about?" I asked as we continued on towards the road.
"Hopefully, ancient history," my grandmother said.
When we got to the road, she turned back towards the meeting hall.
"Aren't we taking the shortcut up to the freeway?" I asked, looking back over my shoulder at where the bluffs jutted out into the lake.
"We're not going up to the freeway," my grandmother said.
"But... Jessica?"
"Can wait," she said. "There's something else I have to show you first."
- Writer
