A Sweet Life-kindle

by Andre, Bella

  She studied him for a long moment, seeing a boy who was growing up, a boy who still needed his mother. “I love you, you know,” she reminded him.

  “Yeah,” he said, then flashed her a smile. “Me, too.” They started walking slowly down the trail together.

  Chapter Eight

  Miranda was on the porch swing, intermittently dozing and reading a book, enjoying the warmth of the Indian summer sun. Jacob had taken Andrew fishing, and though she couldn’t see them, she could hear the sounds of their laughter carrying across the water. Down by the dock, Valerie was checking the rigging of the catboat, singing along with the tunes coming from her iPod.

  It was a moment of supreme contentment for Miranda, something she’d rarely felt this past year, but a feeling that crept up on her frequently here at Willow Lake. She loved the slow, dreamy rhythm of their days, the delicious simplicity of having nothing to do.

  It was their fourth day at Camp Kioga, and things were going better than she’d expected. The shock of being deprived of phone, TV and computers had worn off. In fact, they’d amazed themselves with their own inventiveness.

  None of them could deny the charm of sitting around the fire in the evening, playing Parcheesi or Scrabble. Yesterday, Andrew had found a book of ghost stories, and Jacob had treated them to a spooky reading of a tale by Edgar Allan Poe. With each passing hour, it seemed, they were acclimating to the place and to each other. It was a magical time, remarkably undisturbed.

  Miranda wasn’t idle, though. Whether she carried it out or not, she had made a plan for herself when she got back to Seattle. She wanted to pursue the partnership with Lucy. The prospect of doing something so risky and entrepreneurial was frightening. But after surviving the past year, she was intimately familiar with risk and fright, and nothing could daunt her anymore. Nothing, she thought, except presenting her idea to Jacob.

  “Ready,” Valerie called out from the dock. “I think I’ve got all the rigging done.”

  Miranda set aside her book and headed down to join her daughter. “I have a confession to make,” she said as they pushed the catboat away from the dock. The little wooden sailboat thumped against the pilings and listed in the water while Miranda pushed at the tiller.

  “What’s that?” Valerie asked. She leaned back to study the single gaff-rigged sail. The boat inched forward, the sail hanging slack.

  “I have no idea what I’m doing,” Miranda said.

  Valerie twisted around to look at her, clumsy in the bulky life jacket. “Now you tell me. You mean you don’t know how to sail this thing?”

  “In theory, I do. I was on the high-school sailing team, but we used Lasers. This is just a bit different. We’ll figure it out, though.” Miranda injected a cheerful note into her voice. “There’s a nice breeze. It should be enough.”

  The catboat was beamy, with a shallow draft and centerboard. The wind was adequate for a sail this size. How hard could it be?

  “Hey, Mom.” Valerie swiveled back around. “It’s working.” She was right. The wind took the sail, and Miranda showed her how to control it with the main sheet. “You watch the sail,” she said. “Stay as close to the wind as possible.”

  “Does it matter?”

  “It does if we want to get anywhere and back before dark.” They were a good team, considering their lack of experience. They got the little boat up into the wind, and Valerie gave a little shriek of delight as they heeled. “Now what?” she cried. “We’re going to go over.”

  “No, we’re not,” Miranda assured her. “Just sit up on the side, there, to counterbalance the weight.”

  “Sit where?” Valerie asked.

  “Wherever the boat sails best.”

  She leaned out over the edge, whooping excitedly as the boat scudded along on a gust. It was thrilling to Miranda to see her daughter so carefree for a change. Caught up in the moment, Valerie dropped her surly persona and yelled with delight. “This is awesome,” she said. “I had no idea you knew how to do this.”

  “I know how to do lots of things,” Miranda pointed out. “Are your arms getting tired?”

  “Totally. I’m about to lose it.” “Hang on, and we’ll jibe.”

  They executed the maneuver and practiced some others, scudding back and forth on the lake. Miranda loved the feel of the wind ruffling through her short hair, the golden warmth of the sun on her face, the sound of her daughter’s laughter on the wind. “This,” Miranda declared, “is as close to a perfect afternoon as I’ve ever had.” She grinned at Valerie. “I need more days like this, days when I can forget I was ever sick.”

  “I’m glad, Mom. Really.”

  “So how about you? How are you liking our vacation?” Miranda asked. It was a daring move, she knew. She was giving Valerie an opening to list a whole litany of complaints. “It’s all right,” Valerie said, surprising her. “I had no idea Dad was so cutthroat at horseshoes.”

  “Or that Andrew knows words like shirk and that you can add an S to naked and get something totally different,” Miranda added, referring to last night’s game of Scrabble.

  “The important thing is, Dad lost,” Valerie reminded her. “That means he has to fix dinner tonight, start to finish.”

  It wasn’t such a hardship. This past year, Jacob had done more than his share of the cooking, and so had the kids. “We should head back,” Miranda said. “Give ourselves time to clean up.”

  It took some maneuvering, but they managed to bring the boat around to the dock. The afternoon had turned hot, a reminder that it was the height of Indian summer. Once they got the boat tied up, Miranda took off her sandals. “You know what I feel like doing?”

  “What?”

  “Jumping in the water.” “But it’s—”

  Miranda didn’t wait to be talked out of it. She peeled off her life jacket and jumped off the end of the dock into the crystal-clear water. It was so cold, it felt as if her body was going into shock. She bobbed to the surface, her legs working like eggbeaters. Because of the cording in her arm, she couldn’t swim, but managed to stay afloat by kicking. “Feels great,” she lied.

  “You’re insane,” Valerie said.

  “Come on in. You know you want to.”

  “Insane,” Valerie repeated, falling forward into the lake, as if she’d been shot. Seconds later, she came straight up out of the water, her mouth working like a fish’s. “Omigod,” she gasped. “This is the coldest water I’ve ever felt.”

  “Swim around a little,” Miranda suggested through chattering teeth. “You’ll get used to it.”

  “Your lips are turning blue,” Valerie pointed out after a while.

  “Your makeup’s all washed off,” Miranda said. Without the thick mascara, blood-colored lipstick and gel-spiked hair, Valerie looked like herself again.

  They lasted maybe five more minutes, then raced for shore. Gasping and shivering, they lay side by side on the dock and waited for the sun to warm them up. Miranda looked up at the sky, seeing pictures in the clouds. “This is what I call a gift moment,” she told Valerie.

  “What’s that?”

  “A really great moment you don’t go looking for but it happens anyway. I just like being here with you, feeling the sun on my face.”

  Valerie was quiet for a minute. Then she said, “I like it too, Mom.”

  “Andrew and I had a good talk the other day, when we hiked up to Meerskill Falls,” Miranda said. “I thought maybe you and I could do the same.”

  “We talk all the time, Mom.” “I know, but—”

  “Look, you got sick and now you’re better and I’m good with that, okay? Do we really need to analyze it to death?”

  “That’s why we came here.”

  “Great. Go ahead, then. Analyze me.”

  Miranda hesitated. “You know what? You’re right. We can just enjoy being together.”

  Valerie gave a soft, knowing laugh. “You want to talk about it. You know you do.”

  Miranda chuckled. “Busted.”
<
br />   Valerie was quiet for several moments. Finally, she started to speak. “Okay. I never told you this before, but you getting cancer—Mom, I’m sorry, but it made me feel like a freak, okay? And breast cancer. The same thing Grandma died of. God, do you know how many ‘helpful’ people came up to me to say they’re sorry for me, they’re praying for me, because my risk for getting the same disease is now, like, ten times higher than normal?”

  Miranda turned on her side to look at Valerie. “Who said that?”

  “People who called themselves my friends. So I figured, who needs friends, anyway?”

  Oh, God. Miranda’s heart sank as she pictured Valerie suffering at school, turning her back on her friends and hiding her pain. “Baby, I wish you’d told me—”

  “I’m sorry, okay?” Valerie’s anger bubbled up quickly. She sat upright, drew her knees to her chest and glowered out at the lake. “I’m sorry I’m not the kind of daughter you want.” “You know the only kind of daughter I want is one who’s happy being who she is. And I’m sorry, too. I’m sorry that it’s true—you are at a higher risk. But that doesn’t mean you have to be miserable, worrying about something that is probably never going to happen. All it means is that you and I both need to take extra care of ourselves. Why do you think I started getting mammograms at thirty-five?” “It’s scary, Mom. I can’t be brave like you.”

  Miranda sat up, propped her hands behind her. “Oh, baby. You have been so incredibly brave this whole year. So have Andrew and your dad. I wish you’d think about something, Valerie. This girl, the one you’ve been for the past year—is this who you really are?”

  Valerie pushed a hand through her damp, artificially black hair. “I have no idea. All I know is that, after you got sick, it felt stupid to go to pep rallies and football games.”

  “But having friends isn’t stupid. Your friends are the ones you lean on when the going gets tough. Hey, if it wasn’t for my friend Sophie, we never would have had the chance to come here.” She paused, studying her daughter’s profile, so innocent-looking without the makeup. “Don’t you miss them, Val?”

  Her daughter nodded slowly. “I was horrible to them. To Megan and Lyssa, and especially to Pete. I just didn’t want them around. I hated everyone, hated the world, because they were all normal while my life was falling apart.”

  Miranda winced. “I blame my cancer for a lot of things, and you’re allowed to do that, too. Up to a point. Sweetie, it was your first year of high school. I wanted to be there for you so badly. But this happened, and I wasn’t there for you, and we both have to forgive ourselves and each other and move on.”

  “I have moved on.”

  Miranda brushed a damp lock of hair off Valerie’s forehead. “I think you ran away.”

  Valerie surprised her by nodding in agreement. “I think you’re right.”

  Miranda chuckled. “All right, now I’m speechless. You’re agreeing with me?”

  Valerie dropped her head down into her folded arms. “I miss them,” she said. “I wish we could go back to being friends. But how do I just start over with them?”

  Miranda slid her arms around her daughter. “Ah, honey. You’d be amazed to see how forgiving people can be. That part is easy.”

  “Sure.”

  “Have you given Pete an answer about the Homecoming dance yet?”

  “I, um, I couldn’t really figure out how to tell him no.” “Because you didn’t really want to tell him no,” Miranda said.

  Valerie looked over at her, grinned. “You think you’re so smart.”

  Chapter Nine

  “I can’t believe we have to go home tomorrow,” Andrew said, following Jacob out onto the sunny front porch of the cottage. “I bet no one would notice if we stayed an extra week.”

  Miranda and Valerie were sitting on the porch steps, painting a little scene on an oar to commemorate their stay at Willow Lake. It was a long-standing tradition at Camp Kioga to paint an oar, and there was a display of them in the main lodge, some of them dating back to the 1930s. Miranda and Valerie had created a rustic lake scene, depicting themselves in the catboat. Under it, they made a banner that read Thank You from the Sweeney Family.

  Miranda put aside her paintbrush. She sensed that the moment had arrived to tell her family what she’d been thinking about. “All week long,” she said, “I’ve been asking myself who I was before I got cancer. And you know, I was okay, because I have a family I adore. But one thing being that sick taught me was the importance of time. I spent every single weekday at a job I didn’t like. And you know, the way you spend your day is the way you spend your life. I don’t want to do that anymore. Now I wake up each morning, and I tell myself, ‘Don’t waste this day.’ It’s really changed my perspective.”

  “We thought you liked your job, Mom,” Valerie pointed out.

  “It wasn’t like I was being tortured,” Miranda said. “I worked with good people. The job was predictable, secure. Then I got cancer and I figured out that you can surround yourself with all the security in the world, and crazy things still happen to you. Like cancer. When we get home, I want to make a change. Because in all the shuffle and planning, I forgot to do something very crucial. I forgot to follow my dream.” She looked at Jacob. “I sometimes wonder if you did that, too.”

  “Nope,” he said immediately. “I never think that.” “Come on, I know you. Your dream was never commissioned sales.”

  “Maybe so, but you asked about my dream. And that’s always been you, Miranda. You and the kids. This family. Us. And that’s why I’m so happy to have our life on any terms. All the rest—the work, the traffic, the bills—it’s nothing but details. That’s what being at this cottage has reminded me. I’m going back to the same old thing but I’m different. I’m glad I had a chance to remember the things that are important to me.”

  By the time he finished speaking, Miranda was staring at him with tears of joy running down her face. “I love you, Jacob. When you talk like that, it reminds me just how much.” “Whoa,” said Valerie. “Way to go, Dad.” They high-fived each other.

  “Now, wait a minute.” Miranda dabbed at her cheeks. “I hope this isn’t your very charming way of saying I should be thankful for what I have and go back to the same old thing. I meant what I said,” she insisted. “I want to make a change.”

  Jacob regarded her with apprehension. “Can you be more specific?”

  “I can be very specific.” She felt her heart speed up as she told them about Lucy’s café and her idea of joining her friend. It was the kind of excitement she’d felt when she was on the verge of realizing a longed-for goal—going to college, marrying Jacob, having her children. This was something she hadn’t felt in a very long time. “I know what I’m asking,” she said to Jacob. “I know it might not be the best thing for us right now, financially. But—”

  “But nothing,” he said. “I can’t believe you never told us this before.”

  “I thought you’d tell me it was a terrible idea, financial suicide.”

  “Maybe you should check with me before you decide what I think.”

  LATER ON, JACOB INVITED Miranda to come with him on a sunset paddle on the lake in the two-person kayak. The evening promised to be absolutely beautiful. There were only a few high, torn clouds in the sky, and the lowering sun turned the lake to a vast sheet of gold.

  The hush of nature surrounded them—a light breeze in the high branches of the maples and willows, the lonely cry of a loon, the quiet dipping of their paddles into the still water. The lake gave all the colors and sounds a special clarity. Nature had its own special healing power, Miranda reflected. Each day they spent here she felt stronger, closer to her family.

  “I’m so glad we made this trip,” she said over her shoulder to Jacob.

  “So am I. It’s been good for all of us. I’ve finally stopped dreaming work dreams at night.”

  “I didn’t know you had work dreams.” “Nightmares. Workmares, I guess you’d call them. Classic stu
ff—I’m late for a meeting, or I show up without my pants on, or I get lost.”

  “You never told me that. We used to tell each other all our dreams, good or bad. When did we stop?”

  “When mine got boring because they were all about work,” he said.

  “Maybe we ought to start telling each other again.”

  They rowed toward the windward side of a small island in the middle of the lake. According to the hand-drawn map in the cottage, it was called Spruce Island.

  “The people who own this camp—the Bellamys—were married on this island more than fifty years ago,” Miranda told her husband. “Last summer, they came back to re-enact the wedding for their fiftieth anniversary.”

  “Let’s go check it out,” he said. They paddled to the shallows and brought the kayak ashore on the sloping beach. Everything on the island was tiny and intriguing, a whole world in miniature. There was a path leading to a garden gazebo, now overgrown with roses and dahlias gone to seed. It was marked with a commemorative plaque that read, Charles Bellamy and Jane Gordon were married here August 26, 1956. Renewed their vows here August 26, 2006.

  “They’ve been married fifty years,” Miranda said. “Imagine that.” To her surprise, she saw a dark flash of anger in his eyes. “Jacob?”

  He made a visible effort to smile. “I just want you to get old, Miranda. That’s all I want. I try to be happy for people like the Bellamys, but it’s damn hard sometimes.”

  “I know,” she said, slipping her arms around him. “I know.”

  “I wish I’d been better for you when you were sick,” he said, his voice low with emotion.

  “Jacob—”

  “No, let me finish. I wish we’d spent more days like this. But I was just so scared. The cancer took over our lives, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t fight it. So instead, I focused on something simple—my work. I shouldn’t have done that. I should have been there for you more, instead of burying myself in work. It’s no excuse, but the truth is, I was freaking terrified, Miranda, at the idea of facing life without you, and at how much that would hurt. And so I…I stepped back, bracing for a blow. As if, by pulling away before you were even gone, maybe I wouldn’t miss you so much.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “I’m a freaking idiot. I should be shot.”