“Look up? Those directions sound like they’re from Wonderland,” said Gabriella, eyes round as teacups.
“Curiouser and curiouser,” Eve exclaimed, delighted, as she slipped the twine necklace and the ace of diamonds over her head and took off on the adventure.
“I hope Doris hasn’t been eating too many wild mushrooms up here,” Annie joked as she followed, noticing with a perverse pleasure that she got the ace of hearts and not the ace of spades. “It’s been a long time since I took that kind of trip.”
Midge and Gabriella started singing “White Rabbit” from Jefferson Airplane as they took up the rear.
At the end of six paces they came to an enormous, ancient maple tree with limbs that stretched far into the sky and over the lake. A ladder perched against the broad trunk led to a sprawling tree house made of fresh cut lumber. Doris peeked out from a small window lined with blue gingham curtains.
“Curtains,” muttered Midge with affection. “Only Doris!”
“Come on up!” she called, then made a face and pointed to the wooden sign nailed over the doorway. Printed in bold, childlike letters were the words: No Boys Allowed.
“Is it safe?” Gabriella asked, scrunching her lips with doubt. Midge and Eve looked up with equal consternation written on their faces.
“Oh, don’t be such babies,” Annie chided them, reaching for the ladder.
“Annie, are you sure?”
“Sure I’m sure.” Annie’s face was flushed with pleasure and her old spark was back in her eyes. “Doris, what fun! This is so cool. A tree house! I always wanted a tree house when I was a kid.”
“So did I,” called back Doris, stretching out a hand to guide Annie safely in. “I built this one myself.”
“No kidding?” Annie’s eyes gleamed with respect. “Good for you!”
Doris’s chest rose with pride.
As Eve climbed rung after rung she felt a light-headedness, as though she were going deeper and deeper into the rabbit hole. Up and down were all mixed up here beyond the looking glass. She felt Doris’s firm grip on her arm as she guided her inside the tree house. Crawling in on all fours, she cautiously tested the wood’s firmness and checked out the nails and supports. It was a charming and secure fort, built squarely on a broad base of mighty limbs. Even the planks of wood at the ceiling were lovingly painted sky-blue with fluffy white clouds. She smiled and joined the others sitting cross-legged, knee to knee, around the snowy white linen tablecloth.
It was a tea party they’d never forget. Doris served fragrant Darjeeling tea in dainty china teacups, tiny watercress and cream cheese sandwiches, and flaky, buttery scones dotted with currants. They continued on with their stories, beginning with amusing vignettes of their children, then gradually moving on to the tales of their own childhood. By the time the tea leaves lay cold in empty cups, the stories grew more ribald as they traveled back to those earlier days, acting more like children than they did as children. They laughed so hard they clutched their sides and tears pooled in their eyes as they confessed secrets they swore they’d never reveal. The first adolescence, they all agreed, was mere fodder for this glorious second one!
Their past, present and future blended together in their stories. They talked on and on as they moved from the tree house to the cottage to eat dinner, then talked some more as they put on warm jackets and bug spray and headed back down to the lakeside. They carried with them bottles of wine, a pack of matches and a bag of marshmallows. And more stories. It was as if they’d all been bottled up like vintage champagne just waiting for someone to uncork them and allow the bubbles to erupt.
The night fell around them, thick and heavy as a blanket. Overhead the stars shone with a brilliance only seen in the country. As Doris lit the prepared logs in a circle of large white rocks, Eve began singing old songs. Knowing the words, the others joined in, flirting with harmony and leaning on each other’s shoulders. The sun, swimming, laughter, wine and countless stories played together in their minds until their thoughts were as filmy as the Milky Way. At last their stories wound down, fully played out, the finale punctuated by wide-mouthed yawns. They sat in a chummy peace around the campfire while their drowsy comments seemed to float in the air.
“Thank you, Doris, for this wonderful day,” Eve said.
“And for all you’ve done,” added Gabriella. “You thought of everything.”
“It’s been such a short time but I feel so refreshed,” Midge said on a sigh. “Like I’ve been up here for weeks.”
“It’s the mental distance,” Doris said. “A separation from the everyday. I needed a lot more time than all of you to rid myself of the Furies, but I did, and my mind is my own again.”
“Let’s do this every year,” Gabriella suggested suddenly, leaning forward into the light of the fire to stick a marshmallow on the end of her stick. “Doris, I hereby volunteer your adorable cottage!”
“I’d love that,” Doris replied. “I was hoping you’d all feel that way. This can be our first annual equinox Book Club meeting. We won’t read a book. We’ll just tell our own private stories.”
“Those are the best, anyway.”
“As long as they have happy endings.”
“Maybe not always happy, but satisfying.”
“Yeah, that’s good enough in real life.”
“I don’t want to go home tomorrow.”
“Careful. Retreats can be dangerous. You never want to go back to the real world,” Doris said wistfully. “But sooner or later winter comes with all that snow and ice and it gets pretty lonely cut off from the outside.”
“Sounds like you’ve given this some thought,” Midge said in a gentle voice.
“I have,” Doris replied in kind. “I’ve spent a long summer up here. That’s a lot of time to spend alone. I don’t want to be alone anymore. I miss my children. My life.” She paused. “I’ve decided to divorce R.J.”
“Are you sure?” Annie asked after the initial rush of comments of surprise.
“Yes, as sure as I can be of anything in life. I’m not the same person I was when I left, I know that. I don’t know what to expect, how things will be. When I sit and think about it I only get apprehensive and edgy and that’s no help. So I’m going to pack up the cottage and go back home. When I get there I’ll just have to take it one day at a time.”
“So will we all,” Eve said. “I’m not the same person I was when Tom was alive, or than I was early this summer when I moved into my condo and got a job. And I won’t be the same person next year when we meet around this campfire. My story will change, and so will yours. We’ll just go on changing, making a new set of choices, then living them out. That’s what life is anyway, just a long string of choices.”
“Well, I certainly hope we all keep evolving,” Midge said. “Consider the alternative.”
Doris moved toward the fire to stoke the embers. Sparks shot into the air like fireflies.
“Let’s all tell one more story,” she said, settling back in her chair. “Of a sort. Tomorrow we’re all going home. Summer is over and I’m wondering... What are you all going to do when you get home? What are your plans? Now that my babies are grown, I’ve got time to think about what I want to do with the rest of my life. I’m going back to school. I never graduated from college and I always felt bad about that. So I figured that was a good start.”
“Good for you,” Eve exclaimed, understanding that particular awakening fully.
“My mother is staying in Chicago permanently,” Midge announced with a sigh of resignation. “But she’s not the same woman I grew up with. She’s more frail. I think she needs me now more than I need her and that, ladies, is a strange set of affairs for us. In fact, I think we’ve both mellowed.”
“Well, I’ve got some good news,” announced Gabriella. “Fernando is going for a final intervie
w at a job he really wants. I’ve got my fingers, legs, arms and eyes crossed and I’ve lit every candle at Ascension Church. If he gets it, and he thinks he will, I’m going to cut back my hours. Spend more time with my family. I want my kitchen back!”
After the commiserating chuckles there was a heavy silence. Everyone was waiting for Annie to speak. She took her time, but when she did, her voice was soft yet steady.
“I suppose now’s as good a time as any to tell you,” she began. She poked a stick in the fire, staring at the flames. “Everything is up in the air right now. I didn’t mention it to you, Doris, but John has left R.J.’s firm. He’s looking at firms all around the country now...but we both know it will be hard for me to leave Chicago. Not only because of my law practice, but you guys are the only real family I have. It will be really hard for me not to have you nearby, especially now.” Emotion shook her voice so she paused to regain control. Her face settled and she tossed the stick into the fire with a jaunty flip of her wrist.
“Once I get the all-clear from Dr. Gibson, I’m taking an extended leave from work and John’s taking me on the road. He’s really psyched. Every day he buys me something new for the trip. When he brings it home, his eyes are lit up like a cub scout. I’ve got polar fleece everything and space-age liners so my fingers and tootsies don’t get cold, my own Swiss Army knife with more gadgets than I know what to do with, and a first-aid kit that makes my makeup bag look huge. He goes nuts for all those little navigational and camping tools, the teenier the better. He fondles this state-of-the-art pocket-size radio like it’s a woman.” She snorted and shook her head. “It’s neat to see him so excited again. We’re just gonna head west, see the sites, stop when we want to, take loads of pictures like all the other tourists and...” She raked her hair back from her head and shrugged. “I want to see my parents,” she said in a brutally honest tone. Then, as if flicking on a safety switch she added, “But if we come back chanting mantras and wearing beads, don’t be surprised!”
With renewed enthusiasm the women began offering suggestions for Annie’s trip. No one needed to discuss the uncertainties of a cancer survival because it was already understood between them. Only time would tell.
Doris glanced over her shoulder to see Eve sitting pensive and still in her chair, her small hands tucked between her knees, staring up at the Milky Way. Of all of them, Eve could lapse into isolation the easiest. She’d unknowingly drift as far from the group as the stars overhead.
“Eve, what about you?” asked Doris, gently calling her back. “What are your plans when you return home?”
Eve blinked and lowered her gaze to face Doris. Doubt streaked across her features as swiftly as a falling star. The rest of the women hushed, curious to hear her answer.
She was silent a moment, then said, “I was just thinking about that. I don’t have any, not really. I’ve had so many changes in my life, I don’t think I want to make any more plans quite yet. I’m hoping for a little status quo.”
“But Eve, change is a part of life,” Midge said. “It’s as inevitable as the changing of seasons. And,” she added, striving for levity, “the changing of our bodies.”
“I have an idea,” Gabriella suggested with a lilt in her voice. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a small spiral pad of paper and said, “It’s a game we used to play as children. I think it would be good for us right now. Everyone has to write down one wish for themselves on a piece of paper. Come on, Midge,” she whined when Midge rolled her eyes. “Stop being such a curmudgeon. You’ll enjoy it.”
She ripped pieces of paper off and handed one to each woman. As the pen went around the circle, the women thought in silence, taking the game to heart. When everyone had written their wish on the paper, Gabriella told them to crumple the paper into a ball.
“Now you make the wish in your mind. Then you toss the paper ball into the fire, like this.” Gabriella closed her eyes and leaned nearer the fire. Her long dark hair blended with the night like a veil and her face glowed over the red kindling flames. As she silently made her wish, her lips moved and her brow creased in fervent thought. They all leaned near, sucked into the heightened suspense of the moment.
“Look at us,” Midge murmured sotto voce. “We’re like a coven of witches bent over the fire chanting a spell.”
“I like to think of us as wise women,” Eve countered with a smirk.
Gabriella’s lips twitched but she stayed in character. Opening her eyes, she tossed the tiny ball into the fire with a dramatic flair.
The paper caught flame instantly and curled, sending sparks into the air. They all leaned back with a collective sigh.
“See? Isn’t that fun? Now, who’s next?” Gabriella asked.
One by one they tossed their paper balls into the fire and watched their wishes rise to the heavens as small sparks of flame.
Eve’s glance moved from one face to the next. Her friends encircled the fire, each face flushed with heat and hope. Such was the nature of wishes and dreams, she thought to herself. A wish upon a star, a penny tossed into a fountain, the chasing of a rainbow—all such wishes were small acts of faith that anything was possible.
Suddenly the fire crackled and the log’s center exploded with a ripping crash, sending a plume of countless fiery sparks into the black sky. Everyone leaned back and gasped, “Oooh,” as they watched the impressive shower of scarlet rise high to mingle with stars.
Eve’s face tingled and her heart raced as she stared with amazement at the glowing fire. That had to be a sign! On her slip of paper she’d wished for Tom to somehow guide her in her next step. She’d asked for some sign—and he’d sent one. Eve brought her palms to her warm cheeks and felt her heart rise up in thanks. Her journey from that fateful day last June to this moment was still ongoing. Tom had left her alone so suddenly. It had taken all this time, and the help of her friends and good books, for her to reconcile that. And yet, her soul couldn’t rest until she said goodbye to her husband.
Eve had a plan. She knew what it was she had to do when she went home.
* * *
It was a frigid November night. The stars shone crisp, like ice shards in the sky. In the distance, mighty Lake Michigan roared and crashed like a velvety fist against the breakwater of granite boulders. Everyone could feel the icy spray against their cheeks as they curled collars around their necks and faced the water. The trees lining the park had finished their season of green and celebration and had long since dropped their autumn finery. They stood, stripped and bare, in somber gray—an honor guard for this requiem.
Eve spotted the orange flare wave from some eight-hundred feet farther down Lake Michigan’s shore, a signal that everyone should come together. An anticipatory hush settled over them. The time was drawing near. They gathered close to form a tight circle on the grassy slope near the beach. Everyone was here tonight: Annie and John, Midge, Susan and Edith, Gabriella, Fernando, and her four children, Doris and Bobby Jr., Sarah and Bronte stood together, arms linked.
She stood flanked by the two men in her life. Finney, on her left, stood as tall as she. On her right was Paul, a silent sentinel keeping a respectful distance. She wanted him here tonight, for her.
Suddenly the silence was rent with a percussive whomp. Eve felt her throat tighten as she followed the silent ascent of a faint orange glow shooting skyward. There followed the burst of a symmetric flower, a sphere of sparkling stars that shot out across the northern sky. The glowing gold spray changed to delicate streamers that draped to the ground in the shape of a weeping willow.
Tears flowed down her cheeks as she observed the wondrous twinkling of gold dust that seemed to hang in the sky forever, knowing that Tom’s ashes were now mingling with the stars.
She felt Finney’s arms tighten around her waist, saw his face illuminated in the glow of the firework, a face so like his father’s. Bronte came to her sid
e to join them, wrapping her long arms around both of them, locking them together as a family while Tom’s ashes sprinkled down into the welcoming water of the lake.
“Goodbye, Tom,” Eve said at last, knowing in her heart that she was heard.
Then she wiped her eyes, kissed her children’s cheeks, called out to her friends, and taking Paul’s hand, headed for home.
Epilogue
All stories come to an end. That moment when we sigh and close the book, perhaps sit back in our chair and rest our palm over the cover, is met with quixotic emotions. On the one hand, we’re satisfied if the author successfully tied up loose ends, turned a memorable phrase and rewarded the hero’s moral choice with his heart’s desire. Yet we’re also saddened that the adventure is over.
Sometimes when we see that we only have a few pages left we slow down, savoring each word, staving off the inevitable. The characters we’ve come to know and love are no longer part of our lives. This can leave us with a certain longing. Perhaps we’ll open the book again and skim through it, searching out favorite passages to kindle again those powerful emotions. But the passion is never stirred quite as strong the second time around.
So it is with life. We rush through the days that we’re given, eager to engage in the conflicts and passions, to push through and conquer and see how it all ends. When suddenly the end is in sight, we’re surprised. We stall, frantically savoring each moment. The sun shines brighter, the smiles appear more tender and we listen for words of love with an urgency that would be poignant if it were not so heartbreaking.
So it was with me after Tom’s death. In retrospect, I look at myself and my friends and I think that some of us are offered early warnings. The death of a loved one, a serious illness, the struggle of a marriage, or the despair of loneliness—as tragic as these events are, they serve to box us in as clearly as any clever plot structure, forcing us to make a choice.
I choose to live. Each day to the hilt. I want to hug my children close, kiss my lover passionately, attack my work, relish my books, and laugh heartily or blubber like a baby with my friends.
The Book Club Page 36