by Kay Bratt
Sadie had wanted to send her mother packing before Lauren discovered for herself that she wasn’t appreciated by her grandmother. Lauren was going to have to face discrimination and bigotry her whole life, and Sadie wasn’t about to let her feel it from her own family.
In this, Tom wouldn’t budge. By then, Sadie’s brother had started to separate himself from his family, cutting ties as he pursued new interests. He rarely ever called Sadie’s mother, and Tom had felt sorry for her, saying that they couldn’t just turn her away.
So she’d stayed. And Sadie had simmered.
Then, little by little, Lauren’s personality had drawn her in, until one evening Sadie had gone to check and see if Lauren was asleep yet and hadn’t found her in the bed where she’d left her.
It had scared Sadie. She’d headed back down the hall from where she’d come and passed the closed door of the guest room, where her mother slept. She’d paused when she’d heard a giggle, then quietly peeked in.
Lauren had been snuggled under her grandmother’s arm, her teddy beside her and a book in her hand. Jacob’s book. The one about the owl. Tom had rescued it from the attic, despite Sadie’s protests.
And like her brother, Lauren had loved the little book. Tom had read it to her each night before bed, a familiar routine now. She hadn’t been able to read yet, but she’d been telling the story as though she could. Her tiny little mouth had moved quickly—that was how well she’d memorized it—and as Lauren narrated, Sadie had met her mother’s eyes.
Everything had been in that moment.
Unshed tears had glittered. And behind them Sadie had seen an unspoken apology. And regret.
From that moment on, Lauren had had a grandmother.
But Sadie still hadn’t forgiven her mother for making their wait even harder.
Now she thought of the parallels of their lives. Her mother had never really been the same since Sadie’s father had died. They’d been together thirty-seven years. A lifetime. And now soon, like her mother, Sadie would be living a solitary and probably lonesome existence, depending on the calls or occasional visits from her daughter to make her feel as though she still mattered to someone.
Imagining life without Tom made her ache. Though they rarely talked these days, she always knew he was there. Stable. Strong. Consistent.
Sadie knew that some women looked forward to divorce and saw it as a new chance at life. She didn’t feel that way. The thought of being single didn’t bring about even a twinge of anticipation. Saying goodbye to Tom would be like ripping her heart out. Or at least what was left of it.
Living alone would be weird too. Would she be like her mother and develop hard-to-deal-with tendencies? Would they be warranted? And would Lauren show her patience and mercy?
Karma. Sadie didn’t like to think about it too much, but she pledged to call her mom when she got home. Maybe invite her out for a weekend before everything got started and her life fell apart. Possibly even extend an olive branch.
It had been a long time coming.
CHAPTER SIX
Sadie adjusted, shifting her weight to a different direction. Her backside was sore from sitting on the fallen tree. Conversation had stopped, both of them becoming more miserable by the moment. It was cold, and she tried to hide the occasional shiver. She imagined Lauren and Cooper sitting in front of the television, their legs entwined as they held the long stems of fragile glasses. Sadie had a feeling that Lauren was probably drinking more wine than she did these days. And definitely getting more male company too.
“What are you thinking about?” Lauren said, breaking into her hurricane of thoughts.
Sadie shrugged. “Just about how much you’ve grown up.”
Lauren laughed. “I’ll be twenty in three months. You’re going to have to accept it sometime. Not a big deal.”
“You seem so much more mature every time I see you.”
“Well, I’m learning a lot up here. I really like California.”
Sadie would never want Lauren to stay in California, even if only for school. She suspected that young people who moved to California lost their focus, turned into nature-loving hippies, and embraced weird philosophies. She needed to get Lauren home.
“It’s nice, but don’t you think it’s expensive to get by here?” She played it cool.
“That’s for sure,” Lauren said. “I can’t even go out and buy a decent lunch for less than twenty bucks. It’s crazy. But Cooper and I cook a lot of meals at home, and that’s fun too. That reminds me: Do you want a cracker? I think I have some in the bottom of my bag.”
Sadie’s radar went up, the invisible antenna waving erratically.
“No, I don’t want a cracker. What do you mean you and Cooper cooking? Is he living with you in there?” she asked.
“What? No—God, Mom. I can’t say anything, or you get all paranoid about me and Cooper. He’s got his own room, but it doesn’t have a kitchenette like mine. We do a lot of meals at my place. But he’s not living there. Chill out.” She stood and walked to the end of the log, staring out at the rain that was now falling much more lightly.
Sadie watched Lauren, noticing the familiar way her shoulders stiffened when she was mad. Sadie would have to watch how she talked about Cooper. Sometimes it was said that if a mother tried too hard to break up her child’s relationship with a boyfriend, it would actually make it stronger. She fumbled for something else to talk about that had nothing to do with Cooper.
“Do you know what today is?” she finally asked, sure that her daughter had not remembered.
“Of course I do,” Lauren said, turning around.
Sadie was taken aback. “You do?”
Lauren returned to her seat. “Mom, do you really think I wouldn’t have this date marked in my memory forever? It’s the day we became a family—the day you and Dad came to take me home.”
Sadie’s eyes filled up with tears. Lauren had remembered.
“Stop. Do not make me cry,” Lauren said, laughing through her own tears. “I knew you’d do something today. I thought I’d get flowers or something since I’m so far away. I didn’t expect you to actually arrive. I just wish Dad could’ve come too.”
Sadie didn’t say anything. It wasn’t the right moment to tell her that she and Tom might not be making any more trips together.
“It’s hard to believe that I had a life before becoming your daughter,” Lauren said. “Now that I’m getting older, I’ve started thinking about it more and more.”
“That’s inevitable, Lauren. We’ve talked about this, remember? And when you have your own children, you might be hit even harder with the emotions of your experience. When you look into the eyes of your child and are so filled with pride and love, you’ll wonder how your birth parents could’ve ever parted with you. But you need to remember that it was probably out of their love for you. They wanted you to have a better life.”
Lauren looked down, her expression unreadable. It pained Sadie that she couldn’t take that hurt away.
“I know. You’ve always said that. But I still wonder. And I’m thankful that you and Dad came for me,” Lauren said. “I’m sorry I brought it up. This is supposed to be the day we celebrate us as a family—not think about them.”
“Oh, Lauren,” Sadie said, putting an arm around her shoulder. “Don’t ever apologize for what you’re feeling. I don’t want us to have any secrets.”
But they did have secrets. And their family dynamic was shifting. She’d thought losing her first child would be the last big change she’d ever have to face, but she’d been wrong. The new direction would be hard for all of them, but they’d get through it and hopefully settle into a new normal.
“Well, what I’m feeling right now is that I got us into a frigging mess,” Lauren said, sighing loudly.
A hoot sounded, and Sadie looked up right into the eyes of a gray owl that sat on a limb, staring down and locking eyes with her, expression grim. It looked like a warning.
It sent a shive
r right through her.
Though Sadie had explained to Tom that owls were associated with wisdom, death, and magic, he’d never been dissuaded from his fascination with them. When Jacob had been old enough to understand, Tom had encouraged him to join in his interest.
Like father, like son, Jacob had embraced the love of owls too. Sadie had given in, even painting a huge tree on his bedroom wall, an owl perched majestically on the highest limb. When Jacob was four, he’d claimed he wanted to be an owl. They’d thought he’d outgrow his interest with the gallant raptors, but over the years, it had only grown stronger. Soon most of his bedroom walls had been covered with photographs of the winged creatures, some with frogs, mice, or snakes dangling from their pointy beaks.
But Sadie didn’t want to think about Jacob. She’d shut out his memory the day she’d opened the door to Lauren. That had been the only way she could move forward and be the mother she wanted to be. The mother Lauren needed her to be. Strong. Protective. Able.
She looked up at the owl one last time. “We need to go,” she said. “Time to make like a baby and head out.”
Lauren turned and smiled, her optimism returned. She was like Tom that way—if she had one strand of hope to hold on to in any situation, she grabbed it with all she had.
They started out again. Before long, Sadie realized that she should’ve been enjoying the early part of the walk much more because now, after the rain, it was miserable. With increasingly stiffening joints and sore muscles, she followed Lauren, slogging through wet vegetation and over puddles, stepping across miniature rivers of rain runoff and hopping from rock to rock when needed, trying not to think about how uncomfortable it was with her soaked clothing sticking to her skin and her sneakers making sucking noises with every step.
Lauren, however, was trying to make the best of it even as she led Sadie through and around trees, trying to find evidence of the trail—any trail, for that matter—that might lead them back to Olmsted or even to the lake, where they could get back on track.
“I swear, Mom, tonight I’m going to take you to this little restaurant that Cooper and I found, and I’ll ask for the table in front of the fireplace,” she said. “We’ll eat heavy comfort food and be warm and cozy, and this will all be just a faded memory. Then we can celebrate what this day is about. Maybe really have some wine.” She looked over at Sadie and gave her a playful wink.
“Who’s going to pay for this fantastic cozy dinner?” Sadie asked.
“I can pay,” Lauren said.
Sadie would never let her pay for anything, and Lauren knew that, but they always played the game. Even when shopping, Sadie usually warned her she was on a limited budget and the extras would come out of Lauren’s own pocket, but at the cash register she never had the heart to stick to it. Sadie knew it wasn’t helping her learn responsibility, but she liked to spoil her.
Just like the Timberland boots that she now wore. Finally, Sadie was glad they’d made that purchase, as she hoped her daughter’s feet were warm and dry, even if her own felt like saturated fruit attached to her legs.
“We have to figure out where we are,” Sadie said. Thus far nothing looked familiar since they’d left their resting spot. Sadie hadn’t seen a single sign with arrows or a marked tree, and if there had been a path before the rain, it wasn’t looking like one now.
“I know we can’t have gone far from Olmsted,” Lauren said. “We were only out here, what, half an hour before the rain came? So maybe a mile?”
Sadie had no idea how far one could hike in half an hour. She never hiked! She held her tongue, not wanting to push Lauren into a mood. They just needed to keep walking.
Lauren stopped. “Let’s check my phone again.” She unzipped her bag and pulled her phone from it, clicking it on and glancing at it. She turned it toward Sadie. The surface looked like it had been painted blue with watercolors.
“It’s waterlogged,” Sadie said, shaking her head.
“I can’t believe this crap,” Lauren said, throwing her head back as though cursing at the sky.
“It’ll dry out. Don’t worry about it. Turn it back off, and put it away. It needs more time. And why don’t you go ahead and put that jacket on?” she said, pointing at the piece of purple material that was poking out of the bag. “I think the rain is stopping.”
Lauren tugged on the fabric, then pushed the bag into Sadie’s arms. She maneuvered the jacket over her head, then adjusted the sleeves. “Oh my God. That feels so much better.”
“I’m glad you’re warm,” Sadie said. As for her, even the sweater she’d tied around her middle was wet, so there’d be no relief until she could peel herself out of all her clothes and climb into a bath and then a set of warm pajamas.
Lauren put her hands in the jacket pocket, and her eyes widened. She pulled out a crumpled plastic baggie that held what was obviously a handful of loose marijuana. “Whoops. He forgot something,” she said, holding it up.
“Figures. I knew he was bad news. You need to get rid of that, Lauren. The last thing you need is a drug charge to ruin your spotless record. Toss it.”
“That’s probably not even enough to roll more than a couple joints. But wait,” Lauren said, peering closer into the baggie. She turned it to the side, shaking it a bit. “Look, he left his lighter in there too. That might come in handy. Thank goodness for kindness-spreading hippies, huh, Mom?”
Sadie rolled her eyes and returned the backpack to Lauren. She was out of patience and didn’t feel like joking. And how would Lauren know how much pot was needed to roll a joint?
She wasn’t even going to ask. “I doubt we’ll need that. Let’s just keep moving,” she said. “Let me lead for a while.”
Lauren moved over, holding her hands up in submission as she let Sadie pass, the baggie dangling from one in a gesture of insolence before she unzipped her backpack and dropped it in.
Sadie straightened to her full height and feigned confidence. So far Lauren had only gotten them lost. It was time to change it up. Sadie had no idea which way to go, but she hoped instinct would kick in and help her lead them out of there.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Sadie gathered her senses and made the logical summation that if the rain was running down the landscape—and it was—then they needed to head up the landscape in order to reach Olmsted. Lauren didn’t argue, and her sudden quietness alarmed Sadie, but she didn’t have time to baby her. They must have gone much farther than they’d thought. By her estimation, they’d been in the woods more than two hours, and that meant they’d have to hurry up to get out before nightfall.
After finding themselves several times blocked in by groves or thickets too dense to push through, they’d turned a few times, but other than that, she worked hard to maintain a somewhat straight path.
Gone was the magic of the forest, and in its place was a silent sense of foreboding.
Their inability to find a marked trail was beyond Sadie’s comprehension. She felt as though they’d stepped off the planet of reality into some unknown alternate universe. It just didn’t make sense that they could’ve gotten so lost in such a small amount of time and such a short distance.
But she kept going because they had to be near a trail or other hikers or something.
Lauren no longer stopped to point out recognizable plants or flowers, her interest most likely buried beneath her growing concern.
Or her annoyance at her mother, Sadie thought but didn’t really care. Her daughter could be mad, or she could be lost—she hoped it wouldn’t be both.
They kept moving. Sometimes the ground was flatter in places, and she was unsure if they were still going up, and when they found themselves unexpectedly popping out of a grove of trees and into a clearing, she was surprised.
“We definitely didn’t come by here on the way down,” she said, pausing to catch her breath. She reached down and pulled a random twig from her shoe, where it had been stabbing her heel. The sneakers were just about worthless, and she fought the urg
e to rip them off and toss them. If she ever got out of there, the shoes wouldn’t see the light of another sunrise.
“No, we didn’t,” Lauren agreed, her tone laced with sarcasm.
Sadie turned to her, throwing her hands in the air.
“Are you really going to have an attitude here? Now? Don’t you think we need to work together to get out of this mess?”
“Oh,” Lauren said, raising her eyebrows. “I didn’t know we were working together, Mom. I thought I was following you, and you were going to fix everything, like you always do.”
Sadie was taken aback. It had been a long time since her daughter had acted like a sullen teenager, and there couldn’t be a worse time for Lauren’s younger self to come stomping back into the picture.
“Listen,” she said, keeping her voice calm and unargumentative. “I’m sorry if you’re upset that I’m taking charge. I’m just really worried right now. Maybe I’m not myself.”
“No, you’re always like this,” Lauren whispered. “No matter how hard I try to be perfect, it’s never enough. You always have to step in and take the reins to get me on track again.”
“Lauren! That’s not true. And I have never expected you to be perfect. You can’t say that.”
“Why not?” Lauren said. “It’s the truth. No, you didn’t ever say it out loud, but I’ve always known I was competing against something—or someone—I couldn’t see.”
Sadie shook her head, silently denying. Lauren’s words were like a knife straight to her heart. She’d tried so hard to give her daughter a happy childhood. She thought she had succeeded, and now, on top of everything else, Lauren was shattering that fantasy.
“I’m trying here, Lauren. That’s all I can do. I’m sure you wish that it was your dad here instead of me,” Sadie said, finally putting words to the thought that had plagued her since they’d gotten lost.