“Oh, Fred Larson is finally making good on his threat?” I asked, but I really wanted to scream at Bryce. Why did it take the dissolution of his family for him to finally take time away from the office? If he could have spared two weeks when we were married … I didn’t want to think about it. The world of could have and should have was a breach to my sanity.
“Yes, Fred is going, but I think his wife’s health was the clincher in the deal.”
“Is Molly sick?”
“MS. She’s had it for years, but she’s going downhill fast. It doesn’t look good.”
I scanned the games for Sam. Only disaster could separate these men from their work: disease, divorce, death. Why did these high-powered, goal-obsessed men fail to find life where it really existed, in the bounds of their relationships? Family lawyers. Did they even know what constituted a family, or were they all jaded beyond care? My thoughts drifted back to July Fourth when I sat on the boat with Travis, each of us unveiling our marriages for the other to see. Travis and Liz had quit their jobs just to spend more time with each other. To me, the idea of working with Bryce was absurd. We had barely enjoyed each other’s company in moments of recreation.
Was that true? Was I being fair? I looked back across the table at Bryce. Here we were at a family restaurant at our son’s request. Maybe fun wasn’t a word to describe our outing, but I could almost pretend that we didn’t mind sitting across from each other in a spirit of codependence. In fact, I realized that I chose to be here at this moment with Bryce. And that choice empowered me.
Sam joined us when the pizza arrived. He was talkative. He wanted to inform me of his summer activities. Bryce nodded with pride and filled in the finer points of Sam’s exploits when Sam’s telling became too hurried. I stayed present in my lunch with Sam and Bryce. Not once during dinner did I look over my shoulder for the ghost of Travis sitting in the far booth. This is where the story of my summer had truly begun. Looking back on this moment, I would see the season fading here as well.
Though I wasn’t mindful of the way my life would play out from this moment, I did have the realization that no matter how we compartmentalized our relationship, Bryce would never belong solely to my past. Bryce would come for Sam’s birthday bearing presents. Then a month later, I would drive Sam to Michigan to deliver him for Thanksgiving. There would be school plays and graduations. Someday, maybe at Sam’s wedding, Bryce would kiss me on my cheek, and say, “Our marriage didn’t work out, but look at this wonderful kid we raised.” And I would nod my agreement and say that our journey together had been worthwhile.
LATER THAT NIGHT, after Sam was asleep under the stars of his new room, I found Bryce sitting on the swing on the front porch.
I sat down beside him.
“I’m going to turn in early tonight. Do you need anything?” I asked.
“No, I got everything I need. I’m going to sit out here for a little while.”
“No problem. Just lock the door when you come in. I am going to try to wake up early tomorrow and log in a few hours of studio time, if you don’t mind.”
“No, that’s fine. Maybe I’ll take Sam to the grocery store and pick up a few things for you.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
“I just ran out of deodorant and need to get to Wal-Mart anyway.”
“Okay,” I conceded. “I have a list started on the—”
“Fridge. I know, I saw it.”
And with that bit of information, I left Bryce to contemplate the Pennsylvania night. I had my own thoughts to attend to, specifically a story I needed to scrutinize. While the husband who wasn’t a husband sat on the porch swing of a grandmother who wasn’t a grandmother, I picked up Nonna’s letter to uncover my own identity.
June 12, 1991
It was easier for me to relate the tragedies of Lena’s life to you than my own. Even after fifty years, I draw a sharp breath at the remembrance of Christmas 1942. Holidays were a trying time for many families. Lena and I journeyed with you to my parents’ house. It was perhaps too early to be traveling with such a young baby, but I was homesick and lonesome for my family over the holidays. If my parents found it strange that Lena was not staying with her own family, they said nothing. They were planning to help us move to the farm a month later.
My mother and father were so pleased to be grandparents. Lena and I took you to a Lutheran Christmas Eve service, not to relate the miracle of Christ’s birth with our own new experience, but to pray for the servicemen. The minister read Charlie’s name aloud, and I pressed my palm to your chest as if together, we were prayer hands.
The day after Christmas, when our bodies were sluggish from excesses, the doorbell rang. We weren’t expecting anybody, but I knew who it was.
“No,” I said when my father and Lena started for the door. I handed the baby to my mother and opened it myself.
I pitied the man on the other side of the door. He was a uniformed stranger who went around telling women that their sons and husbands were dead. I invited him in for coffee and old Christmas cake. I comforted him for the terrible job he had to do. Did he have more calls to make? We gave him bread and wine to take to the next houses, but I didn’t imagine he took those loaves to the front stoop with him. The bread was dark, the wine red. They made for a black communion.
I do not remember the transition into 1943. When did the calendar change? At the funeral, someone gave me a flag. Charlie’s parents and sisters were there. I had met them once. They didn’t often leave the dairy farm. They had little interest in the baby. Could they sense you were not of their blood? “We have nobody named Judy in our family.” I tried to embrace Charlie’s mother, the other Mrs. Graybill, but she just looked begrudgingly at the flag. I should have given it to her.
All of Charlie’s letters came back to me unopened. He had not received a one. He did not know I was pregnant, and had not been victim to my ruse when I was no longer expecting. He never knew about the baby named Judy. Then I cried, because maybe it was he, not I, who was holding our firstborn. I burned them then, lest Lena think our device was for naught. I wanted to save her from that stain.
Oh Judy, without you and Lena, I would have become powder, dry and crumbled and useless as chalk dust. Maybe you didn’t revive me. Maybe it was hatred that watered me in those dry days, hatred for a man named Hank Littlehail.
The stories came back to me with wounded soldiers or from their girlfriends or mothers. Hank Littlehail had been negligent with explosives. He was supposed to create a pass to build a road. Charlie was the supervising engineer on the project. He realized that Hank had done shoddy work, so Charlie went to do a field check. Hank followed after him to steer him away from the unfinished portion of the job. No witness is sure why the explosives discharged. The two men were down the road from where the actual blast took place, but Charlie must have seen the blast first. He pushed Hank Littlehail into a ditch and was rocketed on top of him. Charlie did not die instantly, though like Hank, he was knocked unconscious. The rest of the men in their patrol saw the explosion, but they were unable to reach the men for another hour. Hank lost his right leg; he came home in the crusty, crimson uniform of a hero. My husband wore a star-spangled burial shroud. You, Judy, wore your little white baptismal sweater. You were innocent in all of this bloodshed. I wore black, not of nuns, but of widows and thieves.
I CLOSED THE NOTEBOOKS and tried to sleep, but my mind was restless. The more I tried to relax, the more agitated my thoughts became. Around midnight, I heard Bryce climb the stairs and enter the room next door. The moon, newly risen, shone brightly through my window, and I feared its coming would amplify my current state of sleeplessness. I could hear Bryce shuffling through his suitcases and the whisper of fabric brushing skin. The moon completely illuminated the room on that side of the house: I assumed Bryce hadn’t turned on any of the ancient lamps in the room.
I listened in the lunar-lit dark for sounds of his breathing, but heard nothing. How strange it was that p
laster walls and oak doors with cut crystal knobs now separated me from the man who until recently had slept beside me in our queen-size bed. The proximity of him to me made the division seem more contrived than it had been when we were displaced by several states. Before yesterday, geography had been our barrier. Now the obstacle was selection.
♦ 48 ♦
FOR THE NEXT TWO DAYS, I watched Bryce move through my home. He moved with the grace of someone who belonged there, and it irritated me to watch the fluency in his actions. Sam, although oblivious to the undercurrent, seemed happier than I could remember. And it was easier for all of us to exist under the spell of late summer than to dismiss the illusion. Travis had not called once since Sam had been home, but when I unlocked the barn, I noticed that he had dropped off a couple of garden tools. He must have appeared while Bryce and I were at the lake, taking Sam for a swim. I was sure Travis would have noticed the car with Michigan plates. I had tried to call him, but his service answered, and I didn’t know what to say, so I had hung up. Travis had caller ID; he would know I had tried to reach him.
Sam was taking his afternoon nap when Bryce sat next to me at the kitchen table. I looked up from my sketchbook. Bryce had a serious expression on his face.
“You’re leaving?” I asked.
“I’d like to stay one more day if that’s okay.”
“Why?”
“Bobbi, look, this isn’t easy for me. I need to talk to you about the divorce.”
“What is it?” Oh my God, he’s going to renege on the custody agreement. My heart lurched and fluttered arhythmically.
“It was so hasty. I don’t…”
“I thought that was the way you wanted it. Your girlfriend being pregnant—”
“You knew about that?”
I flashed him a hardened look. “Do you think I am an idiot?”
“No. That’s not the point.” Bryce looked down at his folded hands.
“What is the point?”
He sighed and then straightened. “The baby wasn’t mine. I threw our marriage away over a bunch of lies.”
“And you just found out?”
“No, I’ve known since before you came to sign the divorce papers.”
I exhaled, long and slow, as if to rid myself of months of toxins. I did not know what to say to him.
“I couldn’t tell you when you came. You were so agreeable and honest when we looked over the contracts, and I felt so small, like I was never worthy of being your husband.” He paused to arrange his thoughts. “Then these last weeks with Sam. I can’t tell you. I knew when he left that I wouldn’t just miss him, I would miss us. These last couple of days were a test for me. It isn’t over, Bobbi, at least not for me. I see what we can be together. You have showed so much strength and integrity through this whole mess. I would be a fool to walk away from our marriage.”
“Bryce, you already did walk away from our marriage.” My voice was cold and even.
He looked up and into my eyes. I did not turn away from his gaze. I had to be strong. Bryce took my hands in his. “Bobbi, I want us to stay married and work out our problems. I am willing to admit what I did was wrong.” He paused before his final summation. “I will do whatever work it takes. I just need to know if you can find it in your heart to meet me halfway on this.”
The breeze from the open door turned the pages in my sketchbook, and I pulled away from Bryce’s grasp. I placed both hands on the book and gave it my weight. Little Flower, give me power, Little Flower, give me power. Little Flower, give me power.
Down the street a lawn mower sounded its gravelly call. I did not look up. I could not. I was using all of my energy to keep my book closed.
“I’ve shocked you, I know.” Bryce stood up. “I don’t expect you to jump at the chance to take me back, but if I know soon that you’ll think about it, I can call the courthouse and stop the paperwork from going through. At least think about it for Sam’s sake.”
Bryce walked out of the room before I could answer. No. You can’t do this to me.
♦ 49 ♦
THE ATMOSPHERE AT THE dinner table was strained, but polite. We passed food across the table with such cordiality that even Jules seemed bewildered. Even when Sam spilled his juice, we each jumped up and said, “I’ll take care of it,” while our son marveled at his good fortune in not being reprimanded. After dinner, I asked Bryce to watch Sam for a little while. I told them both that I was going to sketch at the lake, but I did not even bother to take my supplies with me. After the bombshell that Bryce had dropped on me that afternoon, he would conclude I was using this outing to sort out my emotions.
The night was breezy. I had seen on the news that a tropical storm was dancing on a southern coastline and flirting with the northern weather. I had grabbed my favorite fisherman’s sweater from a trunk of fall clothes that was, as yet, unpacked. Now with the wind scattering the leaves, I wrapped the sweater tightly around my body. I suspected that my chill had less to do with the breeze and more to do with my state of mind.
I tried to think about Bryce and his offer, but as soon as I lost sight of the house, I forgot about his plea. Instead I thought about the other revelation, that Travis and I were cousins.
I love Travis. I love him. I repeated the mantra over and over.
I summoned the image of my lover to my mind. The dimple next to his burnished eyes. His full lips, soft in comparison to his strong, rough hands. The way his hands matched mine, callus for callus. I walked steadily toward the lake. My gait was determined, as though I dared the sky to rain on me. The more I thought about Travis, the more I felt his presence. I could conjure him, I knew—not just in my mind.
The rain came in fat drops, slowly at first, then quickly. The gray sky dotted the sidewalk like a pointillist gone mad. I continued to walk away from shelter and toward the cumulative spill of the lake. The lake was everything to me. The waters pulled me by some force I had not known existed before this summer. I had tried to name this force in the past. Now that the names tripped on my tongue, my ability to believe wasn’t contaminated by the left-brain labels. I wasn’t thinking about what I needed to do or who I was. I just followed my imperative. With an elemental urgency, I started to run.
I knew before I turned the corner. I could feel his presence. My eyes flashed on the white truck at the water’s edge. A mere confirmation. The parking lot was nearly empty. With the rain coming, the last few boats were coming into dock, but Travis was lowering his boat into the water.
Travis was part of me. The blood that we shared didn’t separate us. It bound us together in a secret knot. I wouldn’t even have to tell him. When he saw me, his shoulders straightened. I waved, and Travis waved back. I slowed my run, now, toying with him. Travis wound the rope around a post at the dock, and watched my approach.
I reached up and pulled his face to mine.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said, wiping the wet strands of hair away from my face. “I’d almost given up hope.”
I looked at him without speaking. My eyes darted back and forth across his face. I didn’t find longing in his expression, but concern. He doesn’t need to know the whole truth. I will carry that burden.
Travis cleared his throat, but his voice was still husky. “He’s still here.”
I nodded.
“How long do we have before he alerts the guard?” Travis asked.
“It’s not like that.” But I did not know what it was like. I didn’t want to talk about Bryce.
Travis took a step backward, trying to distance himself in case I was here with bad news.
“Well, I’m taking her out. Are you coming?”
Again I nodded, though I wasn’t sure of everything that my agreement had implied. Suspiciously I looked through the rain to his boat. It was the first time I had ever noticed the black letters on the bow of the craft.
“Tan-gin-ika?”
“Tan-gin-ee-ka,” he corrected, accenting the long e sound. “It’s African for Goddess of
the Lake.”
I was bewildered. I had never revealed to Travis how I used to worship Mary and God in these waters, how I now worshipped the lake itself. How could he possibly know of my sodden faith? “Why have I never noticed the name before?”
“I’ve had the idea to name her Tanginika for a while. I finally got around to doing it. The former owner named her Bessie 2 after his cat. We kept that name because Elizabeth’s dad called her Bessie when she was small.”
“I seem to recall Bessie, now that you mention it.”
“I thought it was about time for a change. That, and I had to keep myself busy these last—”
“Ssh.” I cut him off before he could finish his sentence. I trailed his lower lip with my finger, and then kissed the spot my finger had traced. I didn’t want to talk.
“Let me pull the truck into the lot. I’ll meet you back here.”
The rain slowed to a steady, but not bothersome, shower. Travis returned in a minute, and he helped me board the craft. The motor started on the first try, and Travis veered the boat away from the harbor. His was the only vessel heading out into the waters. When we were a good distance from the dock, Travis increased speed over the bumpy water. I didn’t ask where we were going; I didn’t care.
The wind and rain hit like pellets on my cheeks. The pelting marked me, but I kept my face high. I needed to feel the pain of the moment. It freed me from my emotions, and kept me firmly in the present. This moment, with this man, on this lake.
It was too noisy to yell, so Travis motioned for me to sit nearer to him. I did, and he ran a warm hand over my legs, covered in gooseflesh.
“I have a blanket around here somewhere,” he shouted.
He reached behind me and pulled a plaid blanket from the storage locker.
I wrapped the length of it around my legs. I didn’t want to talk to Travis about anything. As long as the boat was roaring I didn’t have to, but that wasn’t what Travis had in mind. He slowed the boat and stopped the motor. All at once, we leaned into each other. The rain had stopped stinging my face, but Travis, with his bearded kiss, rubbed my skin deliciously raw. We continued our rough embrace as the sky around us deepened. The boat rocked and drifted, but we didn’t pay any attention.
Summers at Blue Lake Page 23