by Claire Adams
I held up both hands in defeat. "We're just here to have dinner and see how you are."
"Nonsense. You're just here to badger me about my treatments." Alice wrapped her arms around me and walked me back to the front of her yurt. "And I love you for it."
"So you'll forgive me for interfering?"
Alice watched my father and Corsica pick their way through the grass back to us. "Only if you listen to your father. He's trying to make amends."
"Without his checkbook?" I snorted.
Her bare foot crushed the arch of mine. "Stop being so stubborn. You're just like him. I can't believe he hasn't told you that he's in A.A."
"What?"
Alice breezed away from me and called out. "Lovely stew simmering, isn't it? We'll have it for dinner with some nice, fresh bread."
"Not unless you follow it up with a ten day course of antibiotics," my father said. "I know there's a resort nearby that has a five-star restaurant."
My mother flapped down the hill like a bird to argue with my father. I was mesmerized by their amused smiles as they fired clever reasons and defenses at each other. I wanted to resist it, but there was something so comforting in watching my parents get along with each other.
Corsica stepped aside and gave my mother a nervous glance. Then, she stumbled in her black heeled sandals as she climbed up the slope to join me. "I overheard there's a bus depot not far from here. I'll fake some roommate emergency."
I shook my head and laughed. "No one's going to buy that."
"So, why are they buying that we're a couple?" Corsica pinned me with a desperate look.
I didn't have an answer for her, and, even if I did, it would have been lost in the blue sky of her gaze. I held out my hand and chuckled when she slipped into my arms.
"Thanks for making me look good," I said.
"Are you sure it's working?" Corsica batted my overgrown beard away from her cheek. "I think your mother hates me."
"I told you, Alice has a way of seeing right through people."
"Yeah, well, it doesn't take the power of special sight for me to see I'm not welcome here." Corsica straightened her shoulders under my arm. "Besides, it looks like Mr. Templeton will be a good enough distraction. What's the story with those two, anyway?"
"A long one," I said.
"Let me guess. They were high school sweethearts, but you still don't like seeing anyone flirting with your mother."
I nudged Corsica with my hip. "I dare you to come to dinner and ask my mother what she was like in high school."
"See? I knew she didn't want me here. You're just teasing me."
I brushed back her hair and leaned down. My breath tickled the softly scented skin along her neck. "No. This is teasing you."
Corsica shivered as I pressed a light kiss on her fragrant skin. "What are you doing?"
"I don't know. I like you."
She shrugged then tipped her chin up. "Sorry. Doesn't matter if you like me. You came to see your mother, and she most certainly does not like me."
I glanced up to see my mother watching us. Alice hid her smile when I caught her and then tossed her wild, dark hair. "I suppose our little princess up there needs a place with linen napkins, otherwise she'll faint."
"Perhaps somewhere with a piano," my father added.
Alice's ears perked up. "Is she musical? Well, then, that settles it. We're staying here. There are no better acoustics anywhere than the canyon."
"What is she saying? What's happening?" Corsica clung to my side.
My father took my mother's arm and helped her up the hill. Her face was flush with the effort, but she waved away everyone's concern. "Don't worry, princess, I'm sure those good manners will shield you from actually enjoying yourself."
Corsica straightened up with sudden defiance, tossed her hair, and smiled. "Stew around a campfire sounds lovely, Mrs. Brightwater. Thank you."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Corsica - 7
"Before we head down the hill for dinner, just let me grab my shawl," Alice said.
I turned with Penn's mother towards the yurt and smiled. "You have a beautiful home," I said.
Alice Brightwater snorted. "You know, dear, it's easy to hear when someone's thoughts and words don't match up."
I tried again. "How could I not think this is beautiful?" I gestured to the large swathes of bold fabrics, the layers of patterns, and the doorway curtain made of gauzy scarves.
"Because you still see it as a tent." Penn's mother sighed as he gave her a look. "I suppose I could let you see inside. Maybe that will change your mind."
I stepped inside the yurt behind her and covered my surprise with a small cough. The round room made of framing covered with canvas was hidden behind thick tapestries. Sumptuous rugs covered the dirt floor with large pillows scattered in place of furniture. Moroccan lamps hung from the ceiling and glowed with the flickering light of candles. A sleeping loft added space as well as it created hidden storage.
"This is wonderful," I breathed.
"But you wouldn't want to stay here," Alice said.
I crossed my arms. "Maybe I would if I felt welcome."
That sharp retort earned me a smile, and Alice patted my arm as she swept past me. For a woman sick with breast cancer, she moved gracefully. I could see the frail bend of her shoulders before she pulled on the shawl and the sight squeezed my heart with hard memories.
Alice's sharp eyes were on mine. "You will be welcome when you stop hiding. Your thoughts and your words should be one."
I wasn't about to share my painful memories. It always felt like losing my mother all over again. So, I didn't say anything, I just pushed aside the scarves and stepped back outside.
There was already a small knot of people around the large campfire when we walked down the hill. Before we reached the quietly chattering group, Penn hooked my elbow and pulled me aside.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"Yes," I lied. "I just don't think your mother likes me. She doesn't want me here."
Penn shook his head. "That's not true. Alice loves everyone. She's just pushing you. She wants you to open up."
I saw the curiosity all over his face and felt cold. My backstory only ever elicited pity and once people pitied me, they never saw me as anything else.
I brushed my hair back over my shoulders then twisted it into a tight bun. I didn't want pity. I wanted to be my own person and make my own way in the world. That meant leaving the past where it was and not digging it up every time someone was curious.
"Are you sure your mother's not just a bully?" I asked.
Penn laughed. "No. I'm certain she's a bully. Don't let her get to you. I'm living proof that you can survive without following Alice Brightwater's advice to the letter."
"What about Xavier? Does he follow her advice?"
"Looks like it," Penn muttered. He watched the billionaire settle his mother onto a log strewn with blankets. Xavier then took a seat on the soft dirt in front of her.
"They look happy together," I ventured.
Penn pulled a sour face. "Who knew that was even possible."
"What? That two people could make each other happy?" He slipped his hand into mine as squeezed as he pulled me into the circle. "Actually, I think I'm starting to figure that out."
"Billions of dollars at Mama Brightwater's feet," a camper was laughing to his companion.
All around the circle were comments about Xavier's suit and his shiny shoes. For a crowd that had been camping under the stars for an untold amount of time, they were certainly up to date on the latest tabloid headlines.
"Is it true that you appropriated a Native American tradition in order to make your conference calls more efficient?" another camper asked Xavier directly.
The tension around the circle was palpable, to everyone except Xavier Templeton. He laughed, "No. Though, funny enough, that article made some good points and now we might try it in the future."
Penn's employer took every jab, ev
ery attempt at an accusation, and every curious question in stride. I watched him with awe and wished I could learn his easy, unruffled responses to people. He loved the attention, even when the comments turned personal.
"You're trying to heal your shattered past," a dreamy woman in a blue dress told Xavier.
He nodded, not at all put off or defensive. "And, I'm not so foolish to try to do it on my own. Anymore. I've joined Alcoholics Anonymous."
The group was stunned by his openness, and then pleased. They showed it by nodding and moving on to other topics of conversation. Even as Xavier Templeton complained about the texture of the stew, pointed out the inefficiencies of the camp, and gently mocked their lifestyle, he was accepted.
I, on the other hand, was ignored. Too much an outsider to even be acknowledged. A few campers caught me choking down my stew. I felt their whispers more than their eyes assessing my outfit. The green sundress had seemed like a good idea this morning, but now it felt too prim and tailored.
The biggest problem was I liked the dinner. The food might have been too rustic for me, but the atmosphere was magical. All those faces glowing in the light of the campfire. I loved how the eclectic group debated and teased as they all sat together. As the conversations flowed around me, I daydreamed about what it would be like to live there. I could just give up everything and keep this peaceful feeling all the time.
Then, I remembered the last time I had walked away from an entire life. Even the warm glow of the campfire was not enough to ward off the chill I felt.
"Uncomfortable?" Alice asked me from across the circle.
All eyes were on me. "Dinner was delicious. Thank you," I said.
Alice shook her head. "Those perfect manners, they really are a detestable shield."
I forced myself to try again. "I'm enjoying myself. Your camp is very, ah, magical."
Penn stepped in before his mother could pounce. "It takes some getting used to and everyone here knows it."
Alice would not be put off. "What word did you really mean, Corsica?"
"Magical," I repeated. "The fire glow on the leaves, the hints of stars. It's very peaceful, and I like it."
"What aren't you saying?" Alice asked. "It's dirty? It's strange? You don't know why anyone in their right mind would trade the luxury of a hotel for the hard ground and the woods?"
I stood up, my eyes riveted on Alice. "Stop judging me by the way I look and dress. I've camped before, and I love camping. I spent my childhood camping and hunting and fishing. I could live out here for a week and be nothing but happy if you weren't harassing me."
"There you are," Alice said with a smile. "Hello, Corsica."
Irritation gripped me. "You were testing me?" I snapped.
Penn gently pulled me back into my seat. "Not a test. Alice just demands a high level of honesty."
The irritation turned to fear, so I was relieved when the camper on my other side spoke up. "Sometimes the clothes you wear are lies. They can cover up who you really are."
Another man across the fire agreed. "Clothes are status symbols and because of that, people often choose ones in order to project an image that is not really theirs."
"Like me?" Xavier asked. He gave me a sympathetic wink.
Alice laughed. "Oh, no. You don't get off that easy. Your clothes have always been one of the most revealing things about you."
"Good. I was beginning to think my tailor was slipping," Xavier said.
The campers laughed, and I hoped the conversation was over. Then, Alice glanced at me again. "Sometimes clothes and images are like armor. They keep us safe from letting people see too much."
"And here I thought you were making fun of me for wearing a little sundress in the woods," I snapped.
Alice appreciated my retort and picked up a light quilt. The campers passed it around the circle until Penn helped settle it around my shoulders. I was angry and defensive, but had to admit the quilt was as comforting as a hug. I wrapped it around me and kept my eyes on the ground.
It was impossible not to hear the truth in Alice Brightwater's words, even though it hurt. I did choose my clothes specifically to project an image of affluence and privilege. Most people in college had not thought twice about whether or not I belonged there. My style had gotten me jobs and promotions, things that my past might have jeopardized. I had very good reasons for the image I projected, and, Alice was right, it was like armor. Even if they weren’t designer labeled.
"There, now she looks just like every other one of you dirty hippies," Xavier said.
Again the campers chuckled at his light tone, but Alice shook her head. "How can you not want to see more, know more about her?"
"Some people like their privacy, Alice. You forget that she's a guest, not one of your disciples."
Penn slipped an arm around my waist. "It's all okay. They don't mean any harm."
I looked up at him and blinked hard. "I don't want you to think I'm a liar."
He leaned close so no one else can hear. "You're not a liar. We just don't know each other that well. Yet."
"Shh," I whispered. "Isn't the whole point to pretend like we do?"
"Exactly, and thank you for doing that." He kissed the top of my head and then cleared his throat. "Isn't it about time you start lecturing me on my tattoos, Mother?"
Alice rolled her eyes. "Yes, please, why don't you tell the circle how well your tattoos have changed who you are?"
Penn chuckled. "They changed how people looked at me, and that was what I wanted. Like you said, some people's images are like armor. Well, these tattoos are my shield."
"You can't hide who you really are," his mother said.
I ran a hand over the intricate tattoos on his arm. "I don't think they're a shield. They are such a part of you that sometimes I hardly even see them."
That confession startled Penn almost as much as me. "I thought you didn't like them."
"I hardly even see them anymore." I was amazed, but it was true.
Alice smiled at us then cleared her throat. "So, Corsica, you are starting to see Penn for who he really is underneath his image. When are you going to offer him the same? Why do you hide behind your dresses? Why do you style your hair after the movie stars and models? Why do you insist on wearing clothes like that when you'd really be more comfortable in something else?"
"Are you really comfortable in the suits you wear?" I asked Xavier in a plea for help.
This time he nodded his head. "I am comfortable in my suits. I know it seems strange, but this is how I feel most like myself."
I was jealous. Even sitting on the packed dirt at the edge of a campfire, Xavier Templeton looked impeccable in his gray, tailored suit. It didn't stop him from lounging against Alice's knee, and, he was right, he looked perfectly comfortable. My sundress pinched at the fitted waist and I felt like I couldn't take a deep breath.
Still, I had to defend myself and my choices. I needed to keep my armor in place. I stood up and shed the heavenly quilt. "I've earned these dresses, and I'm proud of them. I came from nothing; I never had anything, not even a proper name. So, I think it's perfectly normal for me to want everything."
"Your name?" Penn asked.
"Corsica," I snapped. "It's not a name, it's just a place. Corsica, South Dakota. Just a nothing place where I had nothing."
Alice was beside me, her thin hands pulling me into a fierce embrace. "But you kept your name. That means there is something there."
I tried to pull away from her, the hot tears embarrassing me.
Penn stood up. "Mother, I think that's enough."
"What emptiness are you trying to fill?" Alice asked, ignoring his interruption. "You've been trying and trying, but nothing's working. You must be exhausted."
It was all there, spilling over in my uncontrollable tears. My mother's illness, my father's drinking. The lonely, little, two-bedroom house on the edge of town. The broken shutters, the overgrown yard littered with rusted car parts. My mother's sweet singing as
she hung up the laundry. Those long summer days way back when I believed that nothing would ever mar the beautiful blue sky or the happiness I felt.
I pushed it all back and blinked hard. Alice Brightwater was nothing but a wisp in my arms. I could feel how cancer was eating away at her strength. I knew how it could chip away at a person until they were nothing but a husk, then nothing but a memory.
I took her shoulders and pushed her back. "Stop using me as a shield," I snapped. The tears stopped and I felt a swell of frightened anger. "We're here to talk about you, about how to help you get well. You need to be considering other treatment options. You have to fight this, and to do that, you have to use every weapon modern medicine has for you."
Alice's brown eyes held mine in a long stare, but I did not look away. Then, I saw the same golden flecks glow to life that Penn had in his eyes. "Maybe it was a good thing that Penn brought you along. Good for him, but hard for you?"
I shied away from the question I knew she was asking. "I know the treatments often seem worse than the cancer, but you need to try. Your son is here to ask you to try. That's what this conversation should be about."
"My son should know better," Alice said.
The campers were drifting away to light smaller fires near their tents. A small team cleared the dishes and headed to the creek, while a smaller circle formed under an oak tree to sing songs. It was a peaceful and dreamy backdrop for a hard conversation.
I tried to step back so Penn and Xavier could take over, but Penn's arm was locked around my waist again.
Alice looked at them and sighed. "How about we take this conversation inside my home? I think I might need some herbal tea."
"I'm sorry," I whispered to Penn as we walked behind Alice and Xavier. "I didn't mean to explode like that."
He shook his head and kept his arm around my waist. "I'm glad you did. And, I think that Corsica is a beautiful name, no matter where it came from."
For a moment, my entire past was on the tip of my tongue, then Penn swept open the curtain of scarves and we were ensconced in Alice's cozy yurt.
She wasted no time in shutting down the conversation about her cancer treatment. "I am a healer. I heal people's thoughts and their bodies. Why would I set that aside when it comes to me personally? How can you ask me to wither away in a hospital, rather than staying here and doing what I love until I die?"