Cicada Summer

by Maureen Leurck

  “When I woke, they placed her in my arms. She was wrapped in a white hospital blanket, with a tiny fist against her cheek. She had light blond hair and the chubbiest cheeks I had ever seen.” She looked out the window, and I could see her eyes were shining with tears. “And then, she was gone.” She turned back to me and lowered her gaze to the table. “Another nurse came in, took her from my arms, and handed me some papers and a pen. Not exactly an even exchange.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t imagine.”

  If I closed my eyes and concentrated, I could still feel the weight of Abby on my chest right after she was born. We didn’t know if we were having a boy or a girl, but all along I had suspected a boy. I had secretly even bought a couple of blue pajamas, in anticipation of his arrival. Matt, however, was certain we were having a girl. We’d even placed a bet on it: Whoever was right would get final approval on the name. I was so sure the baby was a boy that I agreed to the ridiculous terms—came up with them, in fact.

  When I heard a nurse shout that the baby was a girl, I shook my head and told them to check again. Of course, I could see for myself, and she was unmistakably a girl. As they placed her on my chest and began to rub her so she would cry, I looked at Matt, stunned.

  “You were right,” I said.

  He smiled and leaned down and kissed me, but his eyes never left Abby. I remember putting my hands on her back as the nurses warmed her. She was crying, that squirrelly, staccato newborn cry, but as soon as I touched her, she looked up and we locked eyes. She immediately stopped wailing. I felt a jolt of electricity run through my body that I would first brush off as the effects of the epidural, but later I would realize was because it felt like I was meeting someone whom I had known my whole life.

  It was both the most grounding and surreal moment of my life, and I felt a deep sadness that Elsie didn’t get to experience it.

  She continued, “Well, it’s very sad now, but at the time, I thought I was doing the right thing. It was more than difficult to hand her over, but it was what we had decided, and it was what I was supposed to do.”

  “Yes, but couldn’t you have told them no, if you had wanted to?” I said before I could stop myself.

  Her mouth twisted into a wry smile. “I was trying to be a good girl. To do what my parents wanted. I had disappointed them by becoming pregnant, and David was already gone. I wasn’t to tell anyone about my pregnancy, or the baby. My mother told me I could get my life back on track if I went through with the adoption.” She slowly looked around her kitchen, and then down at her hands. “If this was what she meant by ‘on track.’ ”

  “I know what you mean.” So many people said to me that once the divorce was complete, that my life could go on. That I would truly Find My Way, that there was a better plan, that everything happened for a reason. And I tried to believe them. I wanted to believe them, more than anything. That there was some divine, all-encompassing plan for my life and I just couldn’t see it quite yet. That I was too close to the Monet of a disaster in my life, and that it could only be appreciated if I took a few steps back and gazed at it from a distance like everyone else.

  And yet, it seemed that the further away I got from the painting of my past, the less it seemed to make sense, and the more every decision seemed murky.

  She shook her hand, and the diamond tennis bracelet slid down her wrist and sparkled in the light. “Harold gave me this, years ago. See, we tried to have children of our own. I wasn’t given a choice to keep my baby the first time, and I so desperately wanted the chance to prove—even just to myself—that I could be a mother. A good mother.” She adjusted the bracelet on her wrist and then sighed quietly. “But it never happened. I couldn’t become pregnant, even after we tried for years. After we had given up, the next Christmas, Harold gave me this bracelet in an effort to cheer me up. Of course, it didn’t.” She smiled slightly. “But I haven’t taken it off since.”

  “Oh, Elsie.” I didn’t know what else to say. I knew that I likely wouldn’t have any more children, but I had Abby by my side. She was enough, and I was grateful.

  I put my hand over Elsie’s and squeezed. She placed a hand on top of mine, and we sat on her porch, listening to the sounds of the lake in the distance, and the boats humming across the water.

  CHAPTER 20

  After we left Elsie, Abby and I went home, and I started to make a gourmet meal of spaghetti and frozen meatballs. She helped me break the angel hair pasta in half and drop it into the boiling water. I started to reach for a glass jar of sauce in the pantry, but stopped. I eyed a can of crushed tomatoes and glanced over at the counter at a bulb of garlic.

  “Ab, today we’re going to do something special. We’re going to make the sauce from scratch.” I said as I opened the can of tomatoes.

  “From scratch?” Her nose wrinkled, and she leaned away from the can. “What?”

  “Yup. Trust me, it’ll taste so much better.” I pulled a clove of garlic away from the bulb, crushed it under my knife, and began to mince it, rocking the tip of my knife back and forth over the cutting board. The rhythm under my fingers took me back a few years, when I used to cook all of our dinners from scratch, back when I would keep an eye on the clock, counting down the minutes until Matt got home. Abby would be playing at my feet, pots and pans and wooden spoons surrounding the kitchen island like an obstacle course.

  I sautéed the garlic in some shimmering olive oil for a moment, careful not to let it turn brown and bitter, before I emptied the can of crushed tomatoes into the pan. I brought it up to a boil and then turned the heat down to let it simmer. I threw in some salt, oregano, and a pinch of sugar and gave it a quick stir.

  “It smells weird,” Abby said as she sniffed the air. “Like sweaty feet.”

  “That’s the garlic,” I said. I put a hand on her shoulder. “If you don’t like it, I’ll make you the jarred stuff, but you have to at least try it.”

  She gave me a dubious look and sniffed at the pan again.

  “So, Ab. Are you excited for your graduation next week?” Abby’s kindergarten graduation had come up so quickly on the calendar, I barely had time to process the idea that I would soon have a first grader.

  “Yup. Daddy said that we are going to have a big party with an ice cream cake afterward. Doesn’t that sound yummy, Mom? It’s my favorite!” She clapped her hands together.

  “That sounds wonderful. I’m sure it’ll be yummy, just like you say,” I said lightly as I stirred the angel hair pasta. Matt had Abby that evening, although we would both be at the graduation ceremony at her school. After, he would take her back to his house, and I would go home alone so I wouldn’t infringe on his time with her. Attending the ceremony was my small consolation, I supposed.

  After dinner, complete with my apparently yucky sauce and the jarred stuff that Abby insisted upon, I put her to bed. I sat and opened my computer, trying to forget about whatever party Matt had planned for after Abby’s graduation. I clicked on MLS listings and recently sold properties, as I did every day. I quickly scanned the list, each listing familiar.

  But my finger hovered over my keyboard when I saw a date of 1902 on a recently sold listing in nearby Elkhorn. My heartbeat quickening, I clicked through the pictures of the Queen Anne–style house with a wide front porch with ornate swoops and overhanging eaves. A round tower jutted out of the center of the house, and patterned wood shingles on the roof resembled fish scales.

  The inside had been lovingly restored. Every room was freshly painted, and the kitchen was just modern enough to ensure a sale with stainless-steel appliances and butcher-block countertops, but not so modern that it seemed out of place. A wood-burning fireplace with original brick and tile was in the sitting room. It had exquisite molding in the family room, and an original claw-foot tub in the master bathroom. It was a perfect blend of old and new.

  And the sale price was $505,000.

  I checked the real estate history and saw that
the house had been under contract just a week after going on sale, and it had closed in less than thirty days. The buyer must have been highly motivated, and it was possible there were multiple offers with a closing so quick.

  I sat back quickly in my chair, doing the math in my head. My house had one more bedroom; it would certainly sell for more. If it sold anywhere near as fast, and I could avoid a couple of mortgage payments, I would make more than I had ever dreamed on the house. And with the repairs from the water damage coming along quickly, no one would ever imagine that there had been a flood in the house.

  The seeds of optimism watered by the comparable sale sent a shiver down my spine as I pictured handing the keys over to an eager family, walking away from the closing table with a check that meant I could pay off all my debt and still have money left over to invest in another historic house. I pictured five years down the road, when I would be known as the woman who took on old houses, saving them and renewing their beauty. Maybe I could even, someday, be able to hire out for all the work I usually did myself on a house, and not arrive home each night covered in dirt, dust, floor stain, and wallpaper glue.

  Maybe this really was just the beginning.

  * * *

  The next morning, Abby and I arrived at the house, and I proudly shoved a For Sale Coming Soon sign in the front yard. It sank deeply into the soft ground, still saturated from the late May rains. I had done that only once before, since sometimes it could serve to kill the excitement by the time the house actually came on the market. But this time, I was confident it would only serve to build buzz for the house. Historic houses, renovated correctly, were a rare bird, and if there were people who lost out on the house in Elkhorn, they might want to quickly scoop up my house.

  My optimism was boosted by a dream that I’d had the night before. The house was full of light and smelled like roses in the front rooms, with kids’ toys in the back family room and a kitchen that smelled like warm chocolate-chip cookies. In my dream, the occupants were faceless shapes, but they moved around the house in their everyday lives, unaware that I was checking on them, making sure they were happy. They had bought the house in a bidding war, writing a letter to me complete with family pictures, to prove how much they loved the house and what I had done.

  The final product taunted me—the oak gleaming with lemon oil, the front porch painted a pristine white, a porch swing slowly drifting in the breeze as it held a mother and her children, a fat, lazy dog sleeping on the steps in the summer heat, the hydrangeas lifted toward the sun and battling each other for light while the buzz of insects sounded in the trees overhead. A lazy, perfect summer morning, when everything seemed muted and watercolored, like the first few moments after waking up from a dream.

  As I gave the Coming Soon sign one more shove into the ground, Elsie waved from her front porch. She wore a bright purple satin robe that was tied around her tiny waist and matching slippers on her feet, but her makeup was perfect. I wondered if she slept with a full face of rouge, or if she put it on while she was still lying in bed.

  “Good for you.” She pointed to the sign. “I saw some people driving slowly by the house last night, pointing to it, and nodding quickly.” Her eyes sparkled. “I think people are talking about it around town.”

  “From your lips . . .” I trailed off with a smile.

  “From my lips, nothing. That house is going to be the life of the neighborhood again, all because of you,” she said. “I just hope whoever buys it is half as wonderful as you and Abby.”

  I turned back, hands on hips, and stared up at the house. The outside was still a mess, and the inside was moving slowly, but the fact that people were already thinking about it coming up for sale was a great sign. It meant that they understood its potential, just as I did.

  In that moment, I knew. I knew that someone was going to buy the house, and someone was going to pay what it was truly worth. And someone was going to live there, and love it just as much as I already did. I let the optimism wash over me, and prayed it would remain until the very last moments at the closing table.

  CHAPTER 21

  The kindergartners were lined up, shoulder to shoulder, white paper graduation caps proudly on their heads as the parents tapped away at their phones, recording the entire presentation. Abby was in the front row, in a yellow and white gingham dress that had been mine when I was little. Her two blond braids stuck out from the graduation cap, white bows at the tops. She swayed back and forth as she sang a song about leaving school, the skirt gently swishing against her knees.

  I kept my phone trained on her, thankful that I had gotten there early and snagged a seat in the front row, so I didn’t have the offending head of another parent in the video. Matt and his parents weren’t so lucky. Fifteen minutes after I had arrived, I heard Susan whisper, “I told you we were going to be late.” I had smiled and turned around, giving her a quick wave. She rolled her eyes and held up her hands in an exasperated manner, pointing to Matt’s dad, Denny, as the culprit.

  Denny lifted a thick hand in greeting, his booming voice carrying across the auditorium. “Good to see you, Alex!”

  I laughed, but my smile faded when I saw the two figures behind them: Matt and Julia. I gave them a quick nod, and they returned the gesture before they sat down and disappeared in between the rows of parents. I willed myself not to turn around again as we waited for the ceremony to begin.

  After the songs were finished, it was time for the kids to receive their diplomas. I waited patiently for the P section, and tears sprang to my eyes as the teacher called, “Abby Proctor.” She proudly walked across the stage, her arms at her sides, and accepted her diploma. She turned and flashed me a brilliant smile. I could hear Denny behind me, whistling and clapping, and the video on my phone shook as I laughed. I could always count on him to outdo all of us in the celebration department.

  When it was over, I rushed forward and scooped Abby up. “Let me see that diploma.” I read the words, not nearly believing that she was old enough to be finished with kindergarten, that she would be a first grader in the fall.

  “You were the prettiest one on that stage,” Denny said as his group came up from the back.

  Abby giggled as Susan kissed the top of her head. “Shhh,” Susan said to Denny. “Don’t make the other kids feel bad.” She turned back to Abby. “But you definitely were.” She and Abby shared a smile, and I turned toward Matt and Julia. They stood on the periphery, looking uncomfortable. I took a step back, letting them walk forward. Matt gave her a hug and a kiss, and Julia presented her with a bouquet of pink roses.

  “These are for you,” Julia said. “I know how much you like pink.”

  Abby beamed and accepted the flowers. “They’re so pretty,” she said as she leaned forward and inhaled. “Daddy, did you get the cake I wanted?”

  “Of course,” Matt said. “Ice cream cake, just like you asked.”

  I shifted uncomfortably, remembering the party that Abby had told me about. I stepped aside as another family began gathering for a family photo. Mom, Dad, siblings, grandparents, and everyone all gathered around the graduate as the person taking the photo worried if they were all going to fit in the frame.

  “Alex, why don’t you come to the party?” Susan whispered as she touched my elbow.

  I shook my head. “Oh, no. Thank you, but no.” A twinge of jealousy ran down my spine as I watched Julia stroke Abby’s hair and twist the end of the braids I had carefully worked on that morning.

  “It’s just us, at our house.” Susan gestured toward Denny. “Please, come. It would be so nice for Abby if we were all there.”

  “For Abby?” I said quickly. She smiled, knowing full well that she was attacking my Achilles’ heel. For the baby. For Abby. For my granddaughter.

  “Yeah, c’mon,” Denny said loudly. “Come hang out with us. You’re the only one who will sit and drink a beer with me.”

  And with that declaration, I was locked in.

  * * *


  Being at Denny and Susan’s house was like being in a time warp. I hadn’t been there since the divorce, but the house looked and smelled the exact same. The white and green afghan was still on the couch, topped by their cat, Moses. Susan still proudly displayed a million tiny knickknacks in her china cabinet. Denny still had a plaque next to the television of his prize fish from the Delavan Lake Fishing Derby in 1995.

  I don’t know why I expected any of it to be different just because everything in my life had changed. It was equal parts comforting and disturbing to see that life had continued to go on for them. Comforting to know that there were some places that still existed exactly as I had remembered them, since so much else had changed. Disturbing for that exact reason. It was as though their lives weren’t at all ruffled by everything that had dynamited mine.

  Denny tossed me a beer almost immediately after I walked in the door, and I was grateful to have something to do with my hands other than shove them into my pockets again. Then, he went outside to the garage to have a cigarette. Suddenly, I wished I smoked. Back in college, when I used to smoke socially, it always gave me something to do at parties. If there was a lull in the conversation, or if I wasn’t quite ready to enter the function, I could stand outside and have a cigarette, like a mental time-out.

  “So, Alex, I heard you’re working on a new house?” Julia said as she gripped a white wine spritzer.

  “Oh. Yes. It’s a historic property, close to town,” I said as I shifted and took a long sip of my beer.

  “That’s awesome. Tell me about it,” she said brightly.

  I paused, studying her face for sincerity. Her eyes were wide, and her brilliantly white smile didn’t fade. Confused, I told her about the house, and all the problems, and what I still had to do. I noticed Matt lurking in the kitchen next to us, slowly pulling out plates and plastic silverware for dinner.