At twenty-four, she had made a successful career out of painting murals, and had triumphantly tangled up her personal life. She had been dating Lawrence for many months, and they had discovered an intensity within each other that Megan had never before experienced—but had looked forward to. She may have even felt some kind of love for Lawrence—yet she had known she wasn’t waiting to become his wife, which was why her reaction to the call from Jack Townsend had surprised her. Jack’s desire to spend the weekend together, “ To see what might be,” enticed and confused her. She didn’t know how to react to her own flittering heartbeat, or what to do with the excitement that grew within her as he revealed his plans. Having remained constant in each other’s lives since childhood, years of camaraderie had taken place without a single meaningful kiss. Why now? Their history together had been just enough to tantalize her.
Megan had tried to think of Jack in that way. She had imagined his golden hair and finely-toned muscular body, his loose jeans hanging off of his perfect hips, his luscious chest muscles pressing against a slightly snug t-shirt, and Birkenstocks barely covering his strong, tanned feet. A chill had run down her spine while heat had found its way up her chest and settled in her cheeks. This is silly, she had thought. I’ll probably feel like he’s my brother when we’re together. It’ll be awkward. Eventually Jack’s pleading wore her down, “It’s only two short days,” he said.
“But we were together all the time through college, Jack. Wouldn’t something have happened between us then? I don’t know.” Megan’s hand covered her heart, which beat a little faster with every excuse she devised, challenging her own desires.
“We were distracted in college, Meg. I have to know. Every date I go on leads me back to you. Every face I see, I’m looking for your smile. Every time i—”
“Okay, okay,” she cut him off with a quiet laugh and a silent blush, “I get it, Jack. I think I sort of know, too. I think that might be what’s always happened with me, too. I am comfortable with you. I know you will always be there.”
They spent a wonderful weekend knocking around Provincetown, enjoying the arts and the ease of being together. They climbed to the top of the Pilgrim’s Tower, where Jack covered Megan’s eyes as they passed each window because the height of the tower scared her. They ate too much ice cream and laughed as they had as children. They sat side by side, sated and happy, on a park bench watching the tide roll out behind the Provincetown Theater. What they hadn’t done was share any sensual intimacy. It hadn’t seemed to be a conscious thought by either party. In the evening, within the confines of their quiet motel room, Megan fell asleep in Jack’s arms while they watched Young Frankenstein.
Saturday moved seamlessly into Sunday. Megan shopped at Shop Therapy and Freak Street, buying Jack a cool hippie hoodie and picking up a few cotton skirts and the patchwork hippie bag for herself. Jack bought cheap silver Yin and Yang necklaces, presenting the Yin to Megan, “For what might be,” and keeping the Yang for himself.
As the sun fell from the sky, casting a purplish glow from above, they took a lazy drive into orleans, eventually finding themselves eating cheese and crackers on nauset Beach and making their way to the bottom of a bottle of White Zinfandel. Megan lay on her back, counting the stars and trying to ignore the growing pull in her center. She gazed at Jack, who leaned on his side, his head propped up in his large hand. He looked back at her sensually, expectantly.
Silently, they reached for each other. Their lips molded together with the ease of years of practice, although it was only their first real kiss. Jack’s hands slid under Megan’s blouse and a tingling sensation shot through her stomach and ran down her limbs to the ends of her toes. A soft moan escaped her lips. Her hands snuck under Jack’s shirt. She became lost in his smell, his taste, the feel of his tongue in her mouth. She clawed at his muscular back. Under the cover of the night sky, they slipped out of their clothes and into each other. The waves played off the sand like a musical. Megan felt as though Jack somehow already knew every inch of her skin, yet at the same time, guiltily, her mind drifted to Lawrence.
Megan ran her right hand along the chain that now hung around her neck, and fingered the Yin necklace, pushing the memories aside. With her left, she swiped at the tears that fell down her cheeks. She then laid both hands across her emaciated stomach, trying to remember the feel of her swollen, pregnant belly, and the overwhelming emotions which had grown within her heart for her unborn child. She’d never forget the day when she finally gave birth: the excitement, the fear, and the exhaustion—the shock of Holly going into early labor while she recovered from her own delivery, the happiness of rooming in with Holly and the babies—and the sadness when Alissa Mae, Holly’s baby, had died.
Megan realized that there was a certain fear when one brought life into the world, and a completely different type of fear when one prepared to die. She wiped the tears and the memories away and took a deep breath. She held her Winnie-the-Pooh stuffed bear against her chest, resting her head upon its worn fur. She thought of all the nights that Pooh made her feel safe, as if she weren’t alone. She’d slept with the bear every night of her life, with rare exception: the nights with Lawrence, the night Olivia was conceived, the night Olivia was born, and of course the night of each of her birthdays when they held their rituals. She carefully placed the bear into her hippie bag and thought, After fourteen and a half years, this ten-dollar bag has many secrets woven into the seams.
She opened her wicker bedside cabinet and withdrew her meditation candles and incense, which she placed gently in the bag on top of the bear. Megan walked slowly across her room toward her closet, stopping at the doorway and turning again to survey her room. The plush blankets, textured wall hangings, and earthy tones comforted her. She turned and walked to the back of the closet, stood on her tiptoes and reached up, confirming its existence. The sides of her mahogany chest were smooth on her fingertips. She sighed as tears found their way, once again, to her eyes, and pain shot up through her bones. She reached behind her sweaters and grabbed her pink, lime, and tan chenille scarf, also from Provincetown, and wound it gently around her neck. She slipped on her favorite thick brown sweater, slung her bag over her shoulder, and walked with purpose toward her elegantly carved, cherry-wood bureau, which she had acquired by swapping one of her canvases of the eastham Windmill during one of her summers vending at the Wellfleet Flea Market.
She made no effort to conceal the tears that streaked her cheeks. Deep inside her top right bureau drawer was a photo of Olivia sleeping when she was three years old. She remembered how Olivia had said she wanted to be a princess, and how she had taken careful measures to set up the house perfectly for her.
Megan had put up streamers and set candles in every nook and cranny, draped a red cloth down the stairs and into the living room, and made a tiara out of cardboard, fake jewels, and feathers, painted it white, and set it on Olivia’s nightstand. She had bought Olivia a princess dress, the kind little girls wear on Halloween, and little gold sparkly dress shoes, which she had placed next to the tiara. When Olivia had awakened on that special morning, her world had been transformed. She had become Princess Olivia Taylor, ruler of girl Land, and her mother had been dubbed her Lady in Waiting, available to satisfy her every whim.
They had eaten chocolate chip cookies for breakfast, marshmallows with chocolate sauce dribbled on them for snacks, and had surrounded themselves with peanut butter bananas and marshmallow fluff for lunch. Princess Olivia had demanded, in her tender little voice, to dine on spaghetti and marshmallows for dinner, complete with chocolate sauce. After that magical day, Princess Olivia’s love of chocolate and marshmallows had withered out, as had her little bucket of energy. Megan had snapped the picture of Olivia when she had pooped out on the couch at seven o’clock in her princess dress, her shoes strewn on the floor, and her tiara toppled crooked on her head.
Megan tucked the photo inside her bra and picked up a framed photo from the top of her bureau, the one of
her, Peter, Holly, and Jack standing in front of the Women’s nest. Four young, beautiful people, arm-in-arm, full of life and free of disease stared back at Megan. She ran her finger along each of her friend’s faces. She tucked the photo next to the Princess picture and close to her heart.
Megan sat in the window seat of her bedroom and looked out the window. Holly and Olivia gathered twigs for the bonfire, while Peter organized the pit. She watched the leaves blow in the gentle breeze, the tall pines bent with age, and she wished she didn’t have to leave such a beautiful earth. Her gaze turned toward the sound of laughter, and she smiled as she watched Olivia’s lips curl up, just at the edges, as she joked with Holly. A laugh escaped Megan’s lips at the sight of Peter, hands on hips, pointing to sticks and trying to focus Olivia and Holly, which Megan knew was a losing battle. Peter’s desperate attempts to make the sticks stay upright, like a teepee, were comical. Megan covered her mouth. God, I’ll miss them. She giggled when Olivia walked right into Holly and toppled them over, tumbling both to the ground in fits of laughter. Those were the images she wanted to take with her, the images of life as it unfolded, and the images of her daughter surrounded by her friends, safe and loved.
As an afterthought, she decided to give herself in death what she wouldn’t allow herself in life. She padded across the plush carpet and kneeled by her bed. She reached deep under her bed and withdrew a small wooden box. Smiling, she laid her hand across the top of the box. After a moment, she lifted the lid and fingered through its contents. She knew just what she was looking for. She found her treasure, folded, and resting upon the rough bottom of the box. She withdrew it with shaking hands, and unfolded it with her delicate fingertips, careful not to rip the fine paper. She read the words under the newspaper photo, “Mr. Lawrence Childs Donates $1 Million to the Center for Missing Children”. She gazed into his electrifying eyes, which seemed to jump off the page, and put the article against her cheek. Megan closed her eyes and took a deep breath, relishing the smell of the stale newspaper. She had never before questioned her desire not to be married, and now, assumed fate had led her on this path. She wanted to wish things could have been different. She wanted to wish she could have allowed him deeper into her world. A part of her wanted to wonder what her life would have been like had she not gotten pregnant— but her mind did not travel in that direction. She had lived the life she had created—and the life she had loved. As much as she thought she should feel the need to revisit her decisions, that need was not there, and something about that lack of wonder made her happy. She gently folded the article against itself, kissed the outside of the folds, and tucked it into her clothing, next to the two photos.
A pang of guilt speared through her as she acknowledged what she had done. It had been over four weeks since she had taken her medication, allowing her body to quickly deteriorate and sparing her daughter and friends months of pain while they watched her die. That was what she wanted. That was how she was choosing to go.
Megan reached into the vase on her windowsill, the one that Olivia had made out of clay for her when she was seven, with hand-painted, uneven, tiny red and blue flowers painted on the sides. She felt the familiar shapes of the many pills she was supposed to be taking, sifted through them, and cringed, as if they had little thorns. She sorted through each pill until she found the forty Percocet, the ones that would allow her to leave this life as she knew it and enter into the next. Her heart pounded in her chest as she rolled them around in her palm, rubbing a few between her index finger and thumb. She looked at the horded pills, so little yet so lethal. She was glad that she had had the presence of mind to keep them after her initial surgery. Her doctor had never flinched when she had asked for more, a month later. Her head jerked up as a shriek broke through the air.
Olivia and Holly chased each other around the yard between the tall pine trees and the house. Just as Olivia caught up to Holly, she doubled back and Olivia was once again left trailing behind. Peter blocked off one side of the yard, his long arms outstretched as if he could cover the entire span. Holly positioned herself to stand guard at the other side, arms firmly crossed. They beamed with delight. Olivia hovered in the center, like a child caught in a game of Red Rover.
Megan put the pills in her skirt pocket and took her meditation CDs from the shelf, which she’d fashioned from a piece of driftwood she’d found near Cockel Cove in Chatham. As her tears subsided, she slung the bag over her shoulder and walked to her doorway. She stopped, turned around, and took one last look at her bedroom. She headed down the hallway, but could not bring herself to take her last look into Olivia’s bedroom. Instead, she made her way slowly down the stairs, toward the shrieks and cries of happiness.
“Mom! Help me!” Olivia yelled as she chased Holly in circles around the bonfire pit.
“She’s fine, Meggie! She’s just being a brat!” Holly yelled.
Megan lifted her eyes toward Peter. “What is going on?” she laughed, which seemed to take much of her energy. “Holly said she could outrun Livi any day,” Peter motioned with his hands as if he were putting out a display of fine art, “so Holly slapped Livi on the behind and took off.”
“Sorry, Liv. I don’t think I’ll be much help!” Megan’s voice was soft, too breathy, and quickly caught her daughter’s attention.
Olivia ran to her mother’s side. “Mom, are you okay? Do you need to sit down?” Her hands felt warm and large on Megan’s own.
“No, honey, I’m fine. I’m just winded, that’s all,” Megan said. She mustered up all of her energy to give them a good show. “Come on,” she smiled, “let’s do this right!” She turned to her daughter, not knowing how to tell her that this was when she needed to go inside, that it was her mother’s time.
She didn’t have to say a word as Olivia read her face and stormed toward the house.
Megan felt overwhelmed with guilt. She closed her eyes in an effort to gather her strength. I need this time with them. Olivia will be fine. Struck by the smell of the evening—sea breeze, burning wood, and the crispness of the night air— Megan could not shake the feeling that Olivia needed to be by her side. She stood alone by the bonfire, and noticed that Peter and Holly had, in fact, done a great job of setting the sticks and rocks just right. Frustrated and confused, Megan sat back on her haunches and buried her face in her hands. She was unable to get her mind to settle on what was right and what was wrong. Death loomed in the night before her, and yet she was just throwing away the pieces of her life so that she could spend the next few hours enjoying her friends alone. She remained there, hunched over, the fire warming her, her head spinning, until she could no longer stand the thoughts racing through her mind. She stood abruptly, wobbled, and put her arms out to steady herself.
The rustling of leaves, snapping of twigs, hushed voices, and giggles drew her gaze toward the forest, where Peter and Holly were gathering more wood.
“Damn woods, you know all I can think about are the ticks and snakes,” Peter’s voice was tethered and annoyed.
“Come on, Peter. It’s only nature. Suck it up! Pretend you are on a scavenger hunt,” Holly said, “Or that you’re reliving the night with Tim Mate in college! You guys hit the woods, and I didn’t hear any complaining back then!”
They both laughed so hard that Holly tripped over a log, landing on Peter’s ankle and tumbling him to the ground. It was silent for just a second, until Holly overflowed with laughter.
“Damn, Peter! Watch your ankles!”
The laughter continued. A noise, like footsteps on leaves, came from behind the big oak tree on the side of the house.
“Guys! Did you hear that?” Megan wondered if they could hear her own loud whisper. She turned to see them righting themselves and brushing off leaves.
“Only thing I heard was my big ass landing on the ground,” Holly joked.
“We all heard that,” Peter said.
“No, I felt it!” Holly laughed so hard she fell down again.
The sounds of fee
t running through the woods made them all turn toward the oak.
“What the h—” Holly ran toward the sound.
“Careful,” Megan said quickly, “It could be a bobcat, or a dog, or something—”
“Oh yeah, like bobcats laugh! I heard a laugh!” Holly was already deep in the woods, feet beating a path towards the laughter that had become unmistakable. “Gotcha!” She dove for the feet she saw just around the bend and grabbed a familiar, slim ankle, sending Olivia face first into a pile of rotten leaves.
“Thanks, Holly! What the hell was that for?” Olivia fumed. Her black sweater and faded low rise jeans were covered in leaves.
“It’s for eavesdropping. What will your mother think?”
“I don’t really care what she thinks! I wanted to see what you were doing in your…your….club!” At fourteen, Olivia was tall and slender, but at that moment she was beautiful only to those who could see past her teenage angst.
“Well, you didn’t have to spy, you little rat. All you had to do was ask.” Holly reached out and grabbed Olivia’s velvety hand, effortlessly pulling her to her feet. “Come on, let’s find your mama and see what’s what.”
With a long sigh, Olivia answered, “Okay, but you know she’ll just be mad. She doesn’t want me at the bonfire tonight.” Olivia folder her arms across her chest and huffed, “I already asked her, Holly, don’t you remember?”
“Young lady, you don’t know your mama like I know your mama. She doesn’t have a truly mad bone in her body. Well, maybe a mad, like crazy-loco, bone, but not a real true I’m-mad-at-you bone—at least not one that lasts very long.” She took a deep breath, “Let’s just see what we can do.” Holly rested her arm protectively around Olivia’s shoulder, and couldn’t help but wonder how Megan could possibly not want Olivia near her at all times, given her circumstances.
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