Eloise flipped the on switch on the coffee pot, and then went to the restroom. She washed her hands and looked in the mirror and knew that coffee wouldn't help.

The coffee dripped into the glass pot slowly, then all at once, in a downpour. Eloise liked to watch the coffee fill the pot; steam always condensed at the top and dripped down into the thick, dark liquid looming below. Once the pot was filled and the light switched on, Eloise retrieved one mug and two jars from the cabinet to her left. She filled the mug nearly to the brim, then topped it off with a touch of half and half. It burned her tongue when she sipped, so she set it aside momentarily to focus on the jars. 

Eloise filled each jar equally with what was left in the pot. Before it got too cold, she put three sugars into one and one sugar into the other, stirred until it was dissolved. She put half and half in each, slightly more in the sugary one, until it was the color of cardboard. Eloise knew how to make this coffee. 

She returned to the mug and found that it was now cool enough to sip comfortably. She sat down at the kitchen table and drank and contemplated making toast. She decided yes, that toast was a good idea, and got up to put the bread into the oven. The timer set for four minutes, Eloise journeyed back to the table. There was still one third of a cup of coffee in the mug, but it had grown cold. Eloise turned to the microwave and put her coffee in for thirty seconds, watched the mug spin around inside. The mug was dark blue and said “Milwaukee Zoo” across its surface. There were four animals: a bear, a lion, a giraffe, and an elephant. They marched in one single file line, one behind the other, for eternity. 

The timer went off, and Eloise retrieved her coffee from the microwave. She checked the timer for the toast, still three minutes left. She sat back down at the table and looked at the placemat in the center. It was woven by her aunt, who was asleep upstairs. Many things that she had woven were placed around the house, waiting patiently for compliments from passers-by. The mat was hexagonal in shape, predominantly royal blue and purple in color, with traces of periwinkle appearing throughout. It looked like the ocean at night, deep and swirling. Eloise tried to discern how each strand touched each other, but the colors merged together too much for her to follow. The timer buzzed on the toaster oven. 

Eloise got the butter out of the fridge on the way to the toaster, took her toast out. She wished that her aunt left her butter on the counter in a tray the way they did at home, but the decision was not up to her. So she spread the cold butter on the toasted bread and tried to be satisfied, went to the cupboard to look for lids once she had finished. 

After finding the lids, she distributed ice evenly into the two half-filled jars, bringing them up to the seal. Eloise sipped both until she could put the lids on. She shook each jar to ensure that the contents were evenly distributed, then set the jars down on the counter. 

Eloise checked the time. 7:02 AM. It was time to go. She scrawled be back by 9:30 untidily across half of an envelope for her aunt to find once she came down. The address still peeked through the torn edge:

      

      ker Street

      ewa Falls, WI

      774

 

✦✦✦

 

A meek sign wished Eloise a happy journey as she drove the car out of town. On the way in she had been reminded of the population: 402. Gilman consisted of one main street that was actually just the highway with a lowered speed limit. That street was called Main Street, and it had four roads diverging to the north and two to the south. To the south was the park, accessible only by swinging bridge. Eloise had spent many summer days in the park, playing until she had gotten sticky with heat and picking blueberries on the walk back to her aunt’s. Her aunt, and most of the town’s residents, lived to the north of Main Street. Her aunt’s house was beautiful; red brick with green accents and ivy creeping up the exterior walls. The previous summer, her aunt had given her the task of painting the front porch steps. The finish had withstood the winter, and the steps remained a subdued grey. To the right of the porch steps was a statue of a flamingo, salvaged from her grandmother’s bar. The paint was beginning to chip off, yet the bird remained strong, perched on one leg. It, too, had wished Eloise a happy journey as she drove the car out of town. 

Eloise switched on the cruise control once the speed limit rose. The car, a blue 1997 Toyota Tacoma, rumbled down down the highway at 45 miles per hour. The leather of the seat was still cold from the night spent in the garage, waiting to be warmed by the sunlight of the morning. Eloise glanced at the clock next to the stereo. 7:12. She kept the driver’s window open, her arm perched on the frame. Bugs, confused by the coming of the new day, were smashed against the windshield as the truck pushed on. She drove with her left foot up on the seat, her right poised on the break. Eloise did not listen to any music on this ride. 

The highway went all the way across the state, ending just before it reached the great lake. Eloise drove in the opposite direction to travel to a much smaller lake thirty miles east. Lake Holcombe was where her grandmother’s bar had been, where her family began. The Silver Bridge Resort consisted of fourteen cabins, which themselves consisted of a single room with a dusty bed inside. Sheets were provided and were laundered after each guest’s visit had come to an end. The main attraction was the bar, where a jukebox hummed and bearded men shot pool deep into the night. The bar had a doorway, which led directly into the family’s living space. Three bedrooms for six children, two boys and four girls. The girls shared a room until only one remained, and then it was left as though four girls still lived there once she, too, had gone. The boys, twelve years apart in age, shared a room for only three years, as the older brother left home at age sixteen. The youngest child then had the room to himself, but preferred to spend time in his sisters’ room once they had all left home. He would sit on their bed and read until his father would tell him to come help out at the bar. Once he was done with that, he would return to their room to read. He slept in his own bed. 

There was a castle in front of the bar. It was made of plaster, dyed a shade of pink by Eloise’s grandmother. She had set the frame for the structure with wire, shaped it into the outline of a grand castle, then covered it with layers upon layers of plaster. While the last layer was still wet, she had put tiles all around the castle. The windows were left open, and light would shine through them at different times of the day and cast shadows on the flowers underneath; the light danced with the reflection of the tiles, and Eloise used to imagine dancing with them in that light. The castle was huge when she was a little girl; it would be much smaller now. She imagined watching a caterpillar squirm through the doorway and reaching in after it and now doubted that her hand would ever fit through the opening. 

Eloise then remembered that she would never find the answer, as she would never see the castle again. The Silver Bridge Resort had closed eight years prior; after fifty years, her grandmother’s lease was up and the electric company wanted the land back. All fourteen cabins, the bar, and the family’s home were torn down in one day. The youngest son was there to watch, and held his mother’s hand as they tore down his sisters’ bedroom. 

The sign on the road proclaimed that Lake Holcombe was five miles away. Eloise noted that the miles pass quickly when they all look the same, row after row of soybeans or corn. Sometimes there were fir tree farms, and once Eloise had spotted a black bear on the side of the highway. Other than that, the miles blurred into one another, and soon Eloise was only five miles from her destination. At the sign she decided to turn right and take the longer way in order to pass the site where the bar had once stood. 

After crossing the Silver Bridge, Eloise arrived at the old resort. Plants had grown over the entire lot; it looked as though nothing had stood there for fifty years. Saplings were beginning to spring up. A poplar tree grew directly where the sisters’ bed had been, where the youngest son had read forty years ago. Eloise stood in the place where the castle once stood. There was one small tile in the dirt, beneath the brush under her feet. Eloise never would have seen it had it not been for the glint of light that bounced off. She picked it up and placed it in the pocket of her pants, returned to the car. 

Eloise then drove through the unincorporated territory that was Holcombe. She passed the gas station, the Methodist Church, the bait shop that doubled as a bar, and then she was back on the highway. After about half a mile, Eloise slowed down, flipped on her turn signal, and turned into the cemetery. 

The time was 7:46, the air brisk but not cold, still traces of humidity that would build until the sky burst in thunderstorms that night. The sky now was clear and bright. Eloise parked the car and stepped out, looked at the graves of strangers as she perched the jars of coffee on the hood of the car. They were still filled with ice and sweat began to drip from them as the sun shone.

Eloise took one jar of coffee in each hand, took a deep breath. She walked over to the grave which lacked a headstone. She sat down next to it, admired the flowers placed above. Her aunt had put them there. She made sure to come a few times a month in the summer, when it was right on the way to the cabin at the lake. In the winter there were no flowers to be placed. Her aunt placed a statue of the Virgin Mary, which Eloise liked. The Divine Mother. She remained through the winter. 

Eloise set the jars of iced coffee down beside her. The grass was damp and soft. Eloise took off each of the lids and took a sip from the darker cup with less sugar. She took the sugary jar and gently poured coffee on to the grave which lacked a headstone. She hoped that it was sweet enough. She wanted her mother to be able to taste it, appreciate the sickly sweet coffee that she had loved in life. She continued to pour the coffee little by little. She imagined her mother drinking it in their kitchen at home, laughing as she stirred her straw. Eloise cursed herself for forgetting the straw. 

The coffee eventually ran out. Eloise touched the grave which lacked a headstone, felt how the grass was newer than where she was sitting. She took the tile out of the pocket of her jeans and placed it at the foot of the statue, all for the mother divine. Eloise lay her head down next to the grave with no marker, away from the poured coffee, and felt for a connection. She felt the damp grass on her skin, felt the way her chest pushed into the earth as she breathed. She breathed and felt a rattle in her chest and knew it was time to leave. She touched the grave which lacked a headstone once more, letting the patch of earth know that she would be back soon. As she backed out of the dirt road, back onto the highway, she glanced toward the Virgin Mother, then toward the miles blurring together. She pushed forward, toward the fir trees.