“Leona!” she called after the teenager, who already had one hand on the door. “Just call your mom first, okay? She loves you so much. I don’t know if you know this, but you’re her whole world. She talks about you all the time.” And she might not always be there. Like my mom. Gone so early, too young. Gone before I could even truly appreciate all that she was.
“I bet she does.” Leona made a face and yanked the door open.
As if on cue, Taylor suddenly reappeared, carrying a half-eaten sub sandwich. Kelsey reprimanded her for leaving the desk unattended without telling anyone and hurried back to the kennels to finish her earlier task. As she took care of the other ten dogs, walking and playing with them, refilling their water bowls, and cleaning out their cages, she couldn’t help remembering how selfish and ungrateful she had acted as a teenager and young adult, even after her parents had taken her back in to live with them at the age of twenty-four—right before her mom passed away.
Unlike Melanie, who had graduated as class valedictorian and immediately started at the University of Wisconsin as a declared biology major, her whole life reading like the perfect curriculum vitae, Kelsey had been a lot more aimless post-high school. She loved animals, but she knew she wasn’t smart enough—or tough enough emotionally—to become a veterinarian. She loved talking to people and reading novels and baking cookies, but she didn’t see how any of those skills could translate into a career that could support her. So she’d stayed on at her high school job, working at a grocery store bakery, getting up at an ungodly hour five mornings a week to bake bread, buns, and croissants. And she’d continued to live with her parents until her dad had asked her to either chip in more with the household chores or start paying rent, at which point she’d decided to move in with her then boyfriend, Eamon, a college student and aspiring filmmaker. Kelsey had quit her job at the bakery and started waiting tables at a steakhouse so she could have more compatible hours with his nocturnal lifestyle. She’d been so in love with him and his adorable Irish accent that she’d actually picked out names for their future children: Patrick and Cassidy. But their relationship had lasted less than a year.
Next she’d moved in with a high school friend, Ingrid, but struggled to pay the rent and her share of the food and utilities with her measly tips—she was an atrocious waitress, always forgetting who had ordered what and neglecting to stop by to ask if anyone needed refills or more ketchup, sometimes even failing to bring the bill. Eventually she’d asked her mom if she could come live at home for a while and help out around the house as her dad had previously suggested. They agreed. For a while, it was a tremendous relief to be back at home, sleeping in her cozy bedroom and eating her mom’s meals, which always included healthy side dishes and were eaten on china plates. But after only a month of that, Kelsey grew mopey and thankless again, waiting to be asked to do her chores, annoyed when her parents treated her like a child. She was especially bitter when Melanie, the golden child and perfect daughter, came home from graduate school with her fiancé, Ben. Her sister’s life was clipping along at an impressive pace, while Kelsey’s remained stagnant.
It was shortly after one of these visits, in early May, that Kelsey and her mom had had a fight. Her mom had been vexed that Kelsey hadn’t loaded the dishwasher the night before, as she’d been asked to, after their celebratory going-away dinner for Melanie. Melanie had won some kind of biology award or fellowship, a regular occurrence for her. The dishes were still stacked in the sink, where her dad had left them, crusted over, and would need to be soaked and washed by hand.
“I don’t know why you asked me to do it instead of Melanie,” Kelsey said. “She was here all weekend and hardly lifted a finger, but I had to wash her bedding and dust her room and do the dishes.” She stopped herself from adding, “That’s so unfair,” because she knew it sounded juvenile.
“Melanie was only here for two days,” her mom said, putting the drain stopper in place and turning the faucet on. She tested the water temperature with her fingertips. “We hardly see her, and she runs herself ragged during the semester. It’s nice for her to get a little break every once in a while. Besides, she did help out. She made us those delicious pancakes yesterday morning.”
“But she didn’t do the dishes,” Kelsey grumbled before remembering that Ben had rinsed off the plates and cutlery. “I’m sorry I forgot last night. But you know, I could use a little break every once in a while too.”
“Couldn’t we all?” Her mom squirted some dish soap into the water and looked up. Her face was pink from the rising steam, and she had slight frown lines around her mouth and eyes. She was dressed in the pale-blue sweater set and tan slacks she would wear later to her job at the elementary school.
Kelsey knew she should offer to take over and do the dishes, but something stopped her. Perhaps it was those frown lines and the exasperated look in her mom’s eyes. She hadn’t seen that look on her face all weekend when Melanie was around. But since it was just the two of them, it was back. Kelsey wished her mom would look at her the way she looked at Melanie, with delight and anticipation, as if she couldn’t wait to see what amazing act her older daughter would perform next—honors, awards, recognition for her research, soon marriage, and eventually grandchildren. Meanwhile, her younger daughter was too lazy and incompetent to even load the dishwasher.
“You wish I were more like Melanie,” Kelsey stated. It was a sore spot in their relationship, a debate they’d had many times in her twenty-four years of life and one that never got any better, no matter how much her mom denied it, because Kelsey knew it was true. “You wish I’d gone to college. You wish I’d get a real job and find a nice guy like Ben to date. You wish I didn’t leave old take-out containers in the fridge and toothpaste spatter on the mirrors.”
Her mom smiled tiredly at that last accusation. She pushed a curl out of her eyes with the back of her hand. “Kels-Bels, all I wish is that you’d be happy. Because it’s very clear to me that you’re not right now. So you need to find what makes you happy, no matter what that is.” She started dropping silverware into the hot, soapy water. “Believe me. I would be the last person on this earth to force you to be something you’re not.”
It was the same worn-out advice Kelsey had heard from her mom since her adolescent years. Find what makes you happy, no matter what that is. So she’d devoured good books and swum on the varsity team and volunteered at the animal shelter and learned to knit and dated cute boys and went dancing and baked banana nut muffins, and it was a lot of fun, but none of it seemed like a calling, like what her sister had: a clear purpose and vocation. So instead of taking her mom’s advice to heart and seeing all the love and kindness wrapped up in it, she dismissed it as avoidance of the true issue, that things would be a lot easier for her parents if she were more like Melanie. They wouldn’t have to worry so much, and they wouldn’t have an adult daughter living with them, failing to do the tiniest tasks asked of her.
“You know what would make me happy?” she asked, swinging her purse over her shoulder. “If Melanie didn’t visit every single month to rub my nose in her perfect life.”
Her mom’s face fell, the subtle lines becoming deeper, more pronounced wrinkles. She looked like she was going to say something but thought better of it. Instead, she shook her head and continued stacking plates in the sink. So Kelsey hurried out of the house to go to her hair appointment without even saying goodbye.
When she’d gotten back two hours later, her mom’s car was still parked in the garage, which was unusual because her mom typically would’ve left for her afternoon sessions with her reading students by then. The dishes were arranged neatly in the rack next to the sink, and everything in the house was tidy and quiet—too quiet. An ominous feeling settled over Kelsey like a stormy sky.
“Mom?” she called, walking toward the living room. Her mom was never late for work. She rarely called in sick, and she’d seemed fine that morning. Maybe it was a half day for teacher conferences. But her mom had bee
n dressed in work attire that morning. “Mom?” She expected to hear a reply from the bathroom or somewhere upstairs, but the quiet was intense and oppressive.
The door to her dad’s office was ajar. Everyone called it “Dad’s office,” although it was supposedly a shared workspace. Both her mom and dad’s books were in there, and they each had a desk and file cabinet. But while her dad spent most of his nights and weekends poring over notes and preparing cases at his desk, her mom only flitted in and out to grab student worksheets and stickers occasionally, so it became “Dad’s office.”
“Mom?”
Her mom’s desk had a couple of brightly colored readers stacked on top of it, but her school bag was tipped over on the floor near the desk. A few pens and a roll of tape had fallen out. And something else was there on the Oriental rug too.
Kelsey choked back a sob. “Mom!”
She stumbled forward and fell to her knees. Her mom was lying curled on her side in the fetal position, with her brown curls covering her face. Kelsey frantically swept the hair aside. Her mom’s forehead was cool to the touch. Her lips were a blue gray. “Oh God, Mom. What happened?” She tried to remember what to do next. Check for a pulse? Give her breaths? Call 911?
She settled for yanking her dad’s phone to the floor to call for an ambulance while she pressed her fingers against the side of her mom’s neck—no pulse—and listened to her chest—no heartbeat. How long has she been out? Did she have a heart attack? A stroke? The paramedics would know a way to revive her. But even as she gave her address to the emergency operator and described the situation, she knew it was too late. Her mom’s arms and legs looked splotchy, like they were covered in a red rash. Her skin was abnormally cool, as if all her warmth and life had fled. She called her dad at work and Melanie, who had just returned to Madison. She didn’t know what she said to them, if she was coherent at all, just that something was very wrong with Mom and they needed to come quickly.
Then Kelsey lay down beside her mom, cradling her cold body. She stroked her mom’s hair and told her that everything would be all right, that she was sorry she wasn’t Melanie, because with all her scientific training and her take-charge attitude, Melanie certainly would’ve known what to do. But at least she, Kelsey, was there with her now and wouldn’t leave her side. She was sorry she had left at all. Why did I go to that stupid hair appointment, anyway? She was sorry she hadn’t been there to do CPR and call 911 immediately when her mom fell, sorry she hadn’t hugged her mom goodbye and said, “Don’t worry about me. I’ll find a way to be happy. You and Dad make me happy. I love you both so much.”
“Kelsey?” Taylor’s voice broke into her sorrowful recollection. The receptionist was standing at the end of the kennel hallway.
“What?” Kelsey blotted hastily at her eyes with her sleeve.
“You have a phone call.” Taylor danced anxiously from foot to foot, like she might dart off at any second. “I didn’t want to leave the desk unattended, but I wanted to let you know...”
“Thanks,” Kelsey said sharply. “You can go back up front. I’ll pick up the extension back here. Line one?” She tried to smile, but her lips and cheeks felt numb. Even though it had been four years since her mom had died of an unexpected pulmonary embolism, the memory of her awful discovery that day was still enough to dredge up all her feelings of horror, guilt, and an unbearable, engulfing loss that still had the power to suck her under like a riptide.
“Line two,” Taylor clarified and scurried away.
Kelsey took a few deep, cleansing, yoga-style breaths—in through the nose, out through the mouth—before picking up the phone. “Green Valley Pet Lodge. This is Kelsey.” She hoped it wasn’t Pepsi’s owner, who had been calling all week with ridiculous instructions about the dog’s diet, exercise regimen, and bowel schedule.
But it wasn’t a client. It was Melanie. “I’m so sorry to bug you at work, but you weren’t answering your cell phone!” she exclaimed in mock chastisement. “Kelsey, you are not going to believe it! I found something amazing in the house! Something you absolutely need to see and right away. It has to do with Mom. When’s the soonest you can come out?”
Chapter Six
When Kelsey arrived at the lake house on Sunday afternoon, with Sprocket in tow—it was her one stipulation since Melanie wanted her to spend the night—her sister was sitting on the porch steps, waiting for her. Melanie dropped the magazine she’d been reading and stood up, following Kelsey’s car’s progression down the driveway with her eyes. Kelsey had hardly freed herself from her seat belt when Melanie poked her head through the passenger-side window.
“Do you need any help carrying your stuff in?” she asked, her face half-hidden by the car’s sagging roof lining. “Is this Sprocket? Oh, he’s so darling and scruffy! He reminds me of Toto from The Wizard of Oz.”
In the back seat, Sprocket started his frantic wiggling dance, pawing at the doors and whining to be let out. “Thanks,” Kelsey said. “I’ll take care of him if you wouldn’t mind getting my bag out of the trunk.” She wondered if one week alone at Lake Indigo had driven her sister stir-crazy and made her desperate for companionship. She opened one of the back-seat doors, and Sprocket launched himself into his new territory. He raced around the yard, lifting his leg and marking every tree in sight until coming to a rest at Melanie’s feet, eager for admiration.
“Hello, Sprocket. Aren’t you a cutie? Do you shake?” She stooped down to his level but redirected her question to Kelsey. “Does he shake?”
“We’re working on it.” As a rescue dog with a rough past, Sprocket hadn’t learned the usual repertoire of tricks that most puppies picked up. In fact, Kelsey was mostly just impressed—and grateful—when he didn’t have accidents inside the house or attack her throw pillows. He was also a champion at fetch if someone didn’t mind tossing a slimy ball until their arm cramped up.
Melanie strode toward the house, Kelsey’s duffel bouncing on her shoulder and Sprocket hot on her heels. “Just wait until you see what a difference the new paint job made in the living room. It’s so much lighter and airier, just like the old days. Remind me—do you like salmon? The fish, not the color. Dern’s—I mean Lamson’s—had it on sale, so I picked up a couple of filets I thought we could grill for dinner. But if not, I also have chicken breast.”
Kelsey had to trot, both physically and mentally, to keep up with her sister. “Salmon sounds good. Damn! I just realized I left the chocolate chip cookies I made this morning on my kitchen counter.”
“Oh, too bad.” Melanie nudged the front door open with her hip, and Sprocket skittered inside ahead of her. “Well, that’s okay because I have fresh strawberry shortcake for dessert. Dad’s favorite, remember?” She unceremoniously dumped Kelsey’s bag on the couch and whirled around. “So. About this thing I discovered. I don’t know how to explain it, so I thought it would probably be best just to show you—”
“Sounds good. Can I just use the bathroom first and get my stuff stashed in my room?” Kelsey stepped around her to retrieve the duffel. She wanted to hang up the green dress before it got too wrinkled. The car ride had made her sore, tired, and kind of cranky, and she couldn’t fathom what had gotten Melanie so fired up. On the phone, she’d described it as something of their mom’s, something astonishing and almost inconceivable. Embarrassingly, Kelsey’s mind had leapt to something sex related: lingerie, a sex tape, or old love notes or photos, all things she really didn’t want to connect to her mom. But she figured prudish Melanie would’ve acted more aghast, were that the case.
“Fine. Just let me know when you’re ready. You’re really not going to believe this...” Melanie called after her.
Kelsey reached the top of the steps and stopped outside her old room, Sprocket colliding with her legs. The afternoon sunlight was beating down through the open window—the only one upstairs without a lake view—and already, the room felt hot and stuffy. Melanie had pulled out a pink-and-purple quilt for the rickety twin-size bed, and a va
se of bluish-purple hydrangeas sat on the nightstand. Pretty, Kelsey thought. But otherwise the room looked like a prison cell, with bare floors and walls and no other furniture. She drifted next door to her sister’s room, where another, larger bouquet of hydrangeas graced the desk. The sunlight was less glaring in there, and a refreshing breeze was drifting in off the lake. Melanie had somehow maneuvered an upholstered wingback chair from downstairs into one corner of the room. But best of all was the Tree of Life tapestry, which gave the room depth, warmth, and character.
Kelsey frowned and continued down the hallway to what had been her parents’ bedroom. It was the largest of the three rooms, with a triple bank of windows that directly overlooked the lake and a luxurious four-poster queen-size bed. She remembered her mom lying alone in that bed, wearing her favorite gray nightgown and reading glasses, her forehead wrinkled in deep concentration as she read. When Kelsey had come in to hug her good night, it always took her mom a few minutes to extract herself from the world of her book and realize Kelsey was there. But then she would smile, give Kelsey a quick squeeze, and murmur, “Love you, honey. Sweet dreams.” Her focus would be back on the book, her thoughts private and inaccessible again, before Kelsey had even left the room.
She dropped her overnight bag on the four-poster bed. Who says I have to stay in my old tiny bedroom when this one’s available? It didn’t make sense for her to sweat and toss and turn when she could be sprawled out coolly and peacefully. She doubted her mom would have minded, and her dad wasn’t there and probably wouldn’t ever be there again before the sale of the house. Only Melanie would care, but her sister could deal with it. She hung up the dress in her parents’ closet then used the bathroom.
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