The Heirloom Garden - A Novel - Viola Shipman Page 0,57
to head down the giant hill that leads toward Lake Michigan and Harbor Drive, where Pronto Pup is located. But then Cory stops.
“Coorrryyy...” I say with a laugh.
“She’s not in for the evening,” he says. “She’s on the far side of her house, in her daylily garden.”
“How do you know?”
“I just know,” he says.
I grab Lily’s hand, and we follow Cory to the other side of Iris’s cottage. Cory peers through a crack in the fence and then puts his mouth up to a slat. “Iris!” he yells. “Iris!”
Silence.
“Iris, it’s Cory,” he finally says. “I can see you. I’m sorry to bug you. We have a question.”
There is more silence, long enough for Lily to grow antsy and start tugging on my hand to leave, but then we hear, “Good evening.”
Cory looks at me. His eyes are large.
“Evening, Iris,” I say. “It’s Abby.”
“Yes, I know.”
“It’s such a beautiful evening, and we decided we would walk to Pronto Pup for dinner. We’ve never been and have heard such wonderful things. Would you like to join us?”
Radio silence. I look at Cory, who shrugs.
“Pronto Pup,” Iris finally says, her voice suddenly light and airy like a child’s. “I haven’t been there in a month of Sundays.”
“Well, come on, then,” Cory says.
“I can’t,” Iris says.
“Why not?” Cory asks. “Do you need me to help you finish anything?”
“No, no, no,” Iris says. “I just...can’t.”
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“Yes,” Iris says, though her voice sounds none too sure.
“Okay, then,” Cory says. “Next time.”
We begin to walk away when we hear Iris saying, “Pronto Pup, Mary. Remember?”
Cory stops and looks at me. Now my eyes are wide. Cory turns and calls, “Hey, Iris! Would you like us to bring you a corndog from Pronto Pup?”
“Oh, my!” Iris says, her voice bright. “Would you mind? Maybe two? Let me run in and get you some money.”
“No, no, Iris. It’s our treat,” Cory says. “We’ll be back in a few.” We begin to walk but again Cory stops. “But next time promise you’ll join us. Nothing to be scared of out here.”
I see Iris’s silhouette at the fence. “Isn’t there?” she finally whispers, as if to herself, in a tone that gives me chills.
We walk down the hill and past the historic, eclectic homes that comprise Highland Park: log cabins and storybook cottages with wide porches. Many of the cottages are literally perched atop a dune, and dizzying staircases rise straight up as if they head toward heaven. Some of the cottages have installed mini-funiculars alongside the staircases.
“Can you imagine getting your groceries into one of those?” I ask.
“Practical Mommy,” Lily says.
“One day you’ll understand, young lady,” I say, messing her hair.
The hill leads down to Harbor Drive, the main strip of action in the summer for Grand Haven. Here, bars, restaurants, shops and cottages hug the sandy beaches overlooking Lake Michigan and the Grand River leading to the big lake.
“It’s bustling,” Cory says.
Indeed, Grand Haven is alive on a perfect June night: kids run on the beach, families walk the pier, people fill the restaurants and—in the distance—we see a snaking line.
“That can’t be it, can it?” I ask.
A yellow-and-white stand sits along the roadway fronting the water. It is really nothing more than a pop-up shop, one you might find at a county fair.
“This is it?” I ask again. Driving by, it had seemed bigger from a distance.
An OPEN! flag flaps in the wind off the lake, and I find it hard to believe one person could work in such a tiny stand much less churn out any food. And yet there must be at least fifty people waiting in line.
“It’s gotta be good,” Cory says.
“Open since 1947,” says a woman in front of us. She looks like a hardy soul, a true Michigander. She is standing in wet shorts and a wet top.
“Did you get in the water?” I ask.
“Warm,” she says. “Nearly sixty-two.”
I’d be hypothermic, I think.
“I want fries!” Lily says.
“Only corndogs,” the woman says. “It’s all they do. Traditional fried-and-battered hotdog on a stick. Recipe’s a guarded secret. Plain, ketchup, mustard or both for a buck seventy-five. Best corndogs in the world. Best bargain in Michigan. I’m here first day they open in April, even if it’s snowing.” She looks at Lily. “Don’t worry, honey. You won’t be disappointed. This means summer!”
For some reason my heart begins to race as we approach the glass window. I feel like a kid. A woman is taking orders, while a man is frying the corndogs.