“What’s up, guys!” Cal Decker’s voice blasts out at full volume, jump scaring me and almost making my phone sailacross the apartment. “Did you hear? At midnight tonight, you’ll be able to see the Northern Lights in Racine. It’s a once-in-a-decade night, and you’re not going to want to miss it!”
My heart speeds up. For once, I’m not thinking about Eitan, the wedding, or my book. All I can think about is Louise and her bucket list item.
This is something I can do.
I fling off the covers and grab the first pair of pants I see. I hesitate, not sure if I should show up at Louise’s unannounced or call her landline and risk waking her up.Landline, I figure. If this is a horrible idea, at least she can tell me before I leave the house.
My thumb hovers for a moment over her contact number.It’s pointless, she had said,I won’t be able to travel anytime soon.It was one of the few moments I saw her spirit smothered.
I swallow my hesitation and dial. The line rings four times before a receiver clicks.
“Hello?” Alma’s sleepy, confused voice answers.
“Alma—it’s Ruby.”
“Hello, Ruby?” they say with equal disorientation.
“Hi. Um, I know it’s late and this is rather strange?—”
“It’s ten thirty,” Alma interrupts me, checking the time for herself.
“Yes, but the Northern Lights are going to be visible in Racine in an hour and a half?—”
“Wait,” Alma interrupts (perhaps they can just let me finish my sentence), “The Northern Lights?” Her voice changes, registering the same thing I did.
“The Northern Lights,” I confirm.
“I’ll see if Louise is up. Can you meet us at Louise’s house?”
Excitement whips inside me for the first time in a week. “I can be there in thirty.”
Louise isawake and dressed in a green kaftan and a fur coat by the time my taxi gets to Winnetka. She’s in a wheelchair instead of her walker, but she clucks her tongue at my surprise.
“This is better than the walker, Gem,” she says matter-of-factly. “This is the Mercedes-Benz of assisted transportation.”
Alma wheels her to heractualBenz, but Louise grabs my wrist. “Thank you for this.”
“Of course.”This is as much for me, as for you, I want to say. But that could raise questions I’m not too keen on answering. Alma and I scurry between the carriage house (Louise corrects you if you call it a garage) and the car, loading folding chairs and blankets and flashlights.
Louise wants to listen to her and Alfie’s favorite album on the way, so we listen toRumors, front to back. “The way God intended,” Louise says firmly. At this point, the Universe is just taking the piss. “Dreams”blasts through the car, and every second of it, I fight not to lose myself in the memory of dancing with Eitan.
Stevie Nix was right, as usual, about players.
We find a cornfield outside of Racine proper, on the edge of a gas station parking lot, with miles of clear night sky overhead. Alma puts the car in park, and I jump out, folding chair in hand.
“I’m getting a slushie,” Alma informs us, giving me a nod before turning toward the gas station.
I take Louise’s wheelchair out of the trunk and set it next to the car, pulling it open and helping Louise situate herself. She’s moving slower, but she still gets there. A cool October breeze hits, and it reminds me to put one of the blankets over Louise’s legs. I zip my fleece up to my chin and open my chair next to Louise’s.
“Scenic spot.” There’s a few other cars with similar ideas as us, but overall, it’s a relatively unpopulated area.
The stars are ten times brighter here than in the city, the moon completely out of sight. The sky is tinged with green, the first confirmation that we actually will be able to see the Northern Lights.
“Do you know why Chicago is flat?” Louise asks, eyes on the stars.
“It’s always been flat…?”
“Not always.” Louise tuts. “The glaciers that formed the Great Lakes flattened this whole area. It used to be hills and bluffs, like the western edge of the state. It’s easy to forget what it looked like before. So simple to live life believing that nature isn’t as fickle as we are. Lake Michigan is only twelve thousand years old. Chump change, in rock years.”
