Back to Madeline Island by Jay Gilbertson

neck, but I can see it’s not going to stay there long.
    â€œDid everyone,” Lilly asks, “remember to wear a sports bra?” We all nod or say “yes.” “Eventually we’ll whip up something fancier, but for the time being it’s important to—well—have support!”
    â€œGirl,” Sam drawls, “with what I got to support here, ain’t no bra strong enough.”
    â€œConsider yourself fortunate,” Ruby adds. “My little twins hardly qualify for a bra, let alone a sporting one.” We chuckle.
    â€œOh shoot—I almost forgot.” Lilly dashes back over to her suitcase and rifles around. “Here,” she runs around, handing us each little cymbal things. “These are called zills . Put them on your thumbs and the other two on your middle fingers.”
    We cling them and soft cymbal sounds fill the room. All these props, the fun scarves and belts, what a riot. Lilly resumes her place up front. As she looks at us in the mirror, pride ekes out of her eyes.
    â€œThese are to keep the beat. Now, today we’re going to learn some basic alignment and figure eights, maybe try some circles, definitely isolations, along with arm and hand coordination. I hope to get to shimmy control, but traveling steps will have to wait. Let’s begin.”
    After about forty-five minutes (Lilly’s tough) we’re seated in a grouping of chairs and an ancient sofa, off to the side of the huge window facing the lake.
    â€œI had no idea”—Sam swallows a big gulp of water—“this was going to be all so damn en-joy-able. You can count me in and good , girl. I’m thinkin’ we need to keep on with this belly dancing.”
    â€œI concur.” Ruby clangs her zills and then we all do. “To Lilly!”
    We raise our water glasses and clink.
    â€œYou all made great progress,” Lilly says, beaming. “If we keep this up, why in no time at all we’ll be able to really cut a rug—so to speak.”
    â€œI, for one, am game,” I offer. “I haven’t had this much fun working out—well— ever, and we all were sweating up a storm; that must mean something .”
    â€œBelly dancers”—Ruby juts her chin out—“do not sweat .” She dabs at her moist forehead. “They perspire, darling.” We chuckle.
    Getting up, I say, “You guys have got to check out this model that Ed made of Madeline Island.”
    The ladies follow me over to a far corner where the model now lives.
    â€œJust amazing,” Lilly lisps and oohs and ahs. “Look—there’s even tiny little people and food in the cupboards, oh lordie.”
    â€œI’m getting all sorts of vibes off this thing,” Sam says, shaking her head. “Feels like more than lookin’ in folks’ windows to me.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” I ask and move over next to her. “Do you see something?”
    â€œI feel,” she offers, “ more is all—it’s better now—but there’s so much here’s all. If I focus on…let me try and explain better. See that little house there, the mint green one?” We nod.
    â€œThat there is Bonnie’s house over in LaPointe and I can see what that man—Al—I can see what he used to do to that poor child. Him dead and all, you’d think that would up and clear out, but the earth is a funny place and some things jus’ hang on, you know?”
    â€œSo all you have to do,” I say, my eyes wide, “is focus on a model of a house and…you see things?”
    â€œNot all, no, some just give off warmth, like things is right, and others, they don’t.”
    â€œVery peculiar.” Ruby scrunches her brow. “Tell me, darling,” she says carefully. “This little cabin, the one hidden back here, behind the barn, this barn—do you see anything there?” Ruby points to