Dancing with the Sun

by Kay Bratt

  It was a dead end.

  The creek had led to a waterfall. The problem was it rushed right over the edge of a precipice, with steep granite cliffs on either side. Cliffs that would be impossible to traverse.

  This time Sadie couldn’t hide it. Her entire body slumped from the defeat.

  She turned to Lauren. “This is it. We can’t go any farther. Unless we turn back.”

  Neither of them spoke for a minute. Sadie knew Lauren was thinking the same thing she was. There was no way they were going to turn around and go back up the terrain they’d just come from. Lauren would never make it with her ankle in the shape it was.

  “What have we done?” Lauren asked. She chose a grassy spot free of ants and sat down, her weight making a thud that sounded as though all the air had been sucked out of her. Sadie hated to see the expression that now crept across her face.

  “We’ll be okay, Lauren. We can camp out here tonight and let your ankle rest. Then in the morning we’ll decide what to do,” Sadie said, breaking the silence. She didn’t mention their hunger. Or the fact that they were both depleted and exhausted.

  “I can’t do another night out here,” Lauren said.

  “You can, and you will. You’ve already proved how tough you are.”

  Lauren let out a long sigh of frustration. “Cooper must be frantic now. We always talk before we go to sleep.”

  “And your dad,” Sadie said. “He would’ve tried to call me when you didn’t answer his bedtime text. But they won’t know where to even begin to figure out where we are.”

  “We should’ve stayed put to begin with anyway,” Lauren said. “I mean, except for the bear and everything.”

  “Yeah, there is that,” Sadie said. “Hopefully we’ve left him way behind, and he’s lost his taste for meat and has gone back to scouting the woods for nuts and berries.”

  They talked of the bear, but Sadie’s mind was already in fast-forward as she looked around to find the best place to make shelter and start a fire. And then the first stomach cramp hit her.

  It was going to be a long night.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Sadie moved closer to Lauren, bridging the gap between their two bodies so no heat would be lost. From their advantage at the top of the falls, they watched the sunset together, sitting close as they admired the brilliant colors spreading across the tips of the trees, a magnificent show of nature and another solemn moment of bonding as they settled in for the night.

  Lauren was too quiet. Her mood felt as dark as the sky above them.

  Emotionally, Sadie had nothing left either. Her hunger threatened to devour her, the pain a hollow ache that refused to subside. She’d failed Lauren, who was cold and hungry too. They’d looked for more dandelions. And pine nuts. Nothing had turned up. She had even explored the tall grass at the edges of the creek and tried to catch just one of the tiny minnows that darted in and out in their frenzy to escape.

  Her hands and her body throbbed, making her agonizingly slow. She never even got close to one of the slick little creatures.

  Their luck had run out all around, it seemed.

  At least they had shelter again. It wasn’t much, but she and Lauren had put together a small lean-to, this time against the side of a large slab of granite, using the same technique as their first shelter. And they had fire, depending once again on the left-behind lighter for the flame and the shards of pine heart to build the flames stronger and more quickly.

  “I’m going to lay down,” Lauren said, leaving a cold place beside Sadie as she retreated to the shelter and crawled inside.

  Sadie wasn’t ready to sleep. She sat at the fire and watched for intruders. They’d been lucky so far—only one dangerous wildlife encounter in a park full of predators was somewhat of a miracle in her opinion—but who knew what could be watching. Stalking and waiting.

  She looked up and marveled at the stars. It had been too many years to count since she’d really appreciated a night sky. Tom loved to stargaze and knew the names of every constellation. He’d been teaching her and Jacob too. Sadie only remembered the Big Dipper, and now she wished she’d been a better student.

  Soon even the birds quieted, leaving only the waterfall as their soundtrack and the fire their comfort, one tiny bit of mercy as the wilderness had stripped away the last of her reserves. It was only a few hours after dark when it whipped her dignity out of her—punishment for drinking the unpotable water swift and merciless.

  First she only held her stomach and tried to talk herself through the pain. It was dark out there. Too dark. And she couldn’t soil their camping area.

  Go away, she begged the cramps, but soon they screamed back at her to be released.

  Sadie didn’t want to, but she left Lauren sleeping in the shelter to seek somewhere private away from camp.

  Her flashlight had only the lowest dim beam left, but she used it and carefully made her way into a grove of trees. She could feel her eyes widen as she tried to make out every dark shape, jumping once when she mistook a large rock for an animal. She went to it and, using it as a brace, chose it as the spot to relieve herself.

  Considering she’d only drank a small amount of the creek water, it was amazing how much there was to come out. She felt feverish and weak, her body wracked with spasms.

  She was there too long, her legs numb and back aching as she squatted in the dark, scared and sick. Finally, she felt empty and hobbled back to camp, her fingers laced in front of her aching stomach. She crawled in beside Lauren, craving the warmth of another.

  Lauren stirred but didn’t wake.

  Now she was spent. And filthy. Whatever had been in the water hadn’t hit Lauren yet, and Sadie bargained with the man above. She’d take double the cramps, nausea, and diarrhea if that meant her daughter would be left alone.

  Sadie couldn’t sleep and she worried. This will be our last night here, she thought. We will be rescued tomorrow—letting it be a silent mantra in her head. She had to get her daughter out of there before another nightfall. Every once in a while she looked up and caught the glint of yellow eyes through the branches that were their roof, a sign he was still there, their uninvited guardian having caught up with them again.

  She was glad the owl couldn’t see her. She would not acknowledge him or give credence to the suspicion that was starting to settle over her. Though admittedly, she couldn’t stop thinking about him.

  Lauren stirred, then turned over, groaning as she tried to get comfortable.

  “Why won’t you paint anymore?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

  The question stunned Sadie. She hadn’t thought about that part of her life in years. It was a subject best left untouched.

  “How did you know I used to paint?”

  “Dad told me,” Lauren said. “He said you have a real gift.”

  Sadie didn’t reply. She bristled knowing that Tom and Lauren had been talking about her, discussing her as though she were some specimen to dissect and catalog. Sadie felt exposed, one of her secrets now displayed and soiled. Her anger sparked at Tom before she pushed it down, saving it for later, when she could tell him how betrayed she felt. Lauren waited for her response, and Sadie had a feeling her daughter wasn’t going to be brushed off.

  Painting. A luxury from long ago.

  Sadie thought back to the very last piece she’d worked on. She could still see it in her mind, knew every stroke and line she’d created. But she’d left it unfinished.

  Forgotten.

  Almost, but not quite.

  When she’d first started it, she’d dragged the canvas back and forth on several of their visits to Lake Burton, finessing it more than usual to try to capture the reflection of the water filtering through the tall trees, lightening the profile of Jacob’s young face, working slowly as she created just the right twinkle in his eyes. Admittedly, she could’ve finished it many times, but she took so much joy in bringing it out, letting Jacob watch as she brought his likeness to life. He
looked at her as though she held some magical gift because of what she could do with a pencil and a paintbrush. It was then that she had his most rapt attention, and she hadn’t wanted it to be done.

  And it wasn’t.

  After the accident, she’d bundled that canvas and pushed it to the very back of the closet in Jacob’s room, unable to look at it but not willing to throw it away. Some afternoons right afterward, when the pain was the heaviest and threatened to envelop her, Sadie had crawled in there and huddled, her arms wrapped around her legs, and she sat next to Jacob, hidden beneath the cloth. Silent and hot tears had made tracks down her face as she’d ranted at God for taking her son, then chastised herself for not being there in that moment when Jacob had needed her the most.

  She never unwrapped the canvas during her visits to the closet. She couldn’t bear to look at his face, but she hadn’t wanted him to be in there alone. Had Tom told Lauren about the painting too? Her breath quickened, and she wished suddenly that she’d hidden it better.

  “Mom?” Lauren pushed back against her, nudging her back to the present.

  Sadie swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat. She felt a rush of guilt that Jacob’s likeness was still there, hidden in the dark and gathering dust. Abandoned.

  “I’m here,” Sadie finally said.

  “I’m sorry if it hurts you to talk about it, but I’ve always wished I had artistic talent. Not every person is born with a gift like that, and I think it’s a shame you just gave it up.”

  “Well, it didn’t make me happy anymore,” Sadie said, hoping that would be enough to end the topic.

  She honestly didn’t know whether the statement was true. After Jacob, she’d never touched a paintbrush again. And painting wasn’t the only thing she’d given up. She’d also stopped listening to her favorite music and hadn’t read a single page of any novel in years. Basically she’d stopped pursuing anything that could bring her happiness.

  “When will it be enough penance, Mom?” Lauren said, her voice low and quiet.

  This was a new direction of conversation for Sadie and Lauren, and it was definitely not comfortable. Sadie didn’t answer.

  Lauren sighed. “A lot has changed in my life recently, and it’s led me to think more about you. And Dad. What will happen when you no longer have me as your personal project?”

  “Lauren,” Sadie scolded. “You are not my personal project. You’re my daughter. I want to see you succeed.”

  “I know. But I need to do some of it on my own, or it’ll mean nothing.”

  That stung. But a tiny part of what Lauren said rang true. Sadie had spent so many years organizing Lauren’s school activities, other interests, and even friendships that perhaps it had started to feel like a project. At least maybe to Lauren. To Sadie it was more like a diversion.

  Now it was all winding down. Along with her marriage.

  “So what you’re saying is you don’t need me anymore,” Sadie said, fighting to keep her voice strong.

  Lauren turned, then put her arms around Sadie, pulling her close in an unusual feeling of role reversal.

  “I will always need you, Mom. Always,” Lauren whispered. “What I’m saying is that you need to start living again.”

  Sadie took a deep breath and forced her voice to sound light. Things were getting too deep emotionally, and they didn’t need that on top of everything else they were dealing with. “I’m here, aren’t I? This is the most living I’ve done in years, and I have to say I don’t like it. Hunger, thirst, and murderous bears? I think this officially constitutes living, Lauren.”

  Lauren let out a hoarse chuckle. “You know what I mean. You haven’t been living for yourself. I’m going to be gone soon, and then what? I don’t want to worry about you anymore.”

  Sadie struggled into an upright position. “Since when have you been worrying about me? I’m fine, Lauren. You know I’m always fine.”

  Lauren turned over, and Sadie was glad it was dark. They could exchange words, but expressions would be hidden.

  When Lauren spoke, there was no laughter in her voice. “You mean you want us to believe you’re always fine. Do you think that Dad and I don’t know how unhappy you are? How lonely? You’ve been playacting for years, and you aren’t as good at it as you think.”

  Sadie was stunned.

  “I told Dad I was going to talk to you about this, and he begged me not to. Demanded even that I leave you alone and let you work it out for yourself. But I’m not going to, Mom. You’ve had a lot of time, and you’re still in the same rut, so I’m going to tell you what I really think for once in my life, and this time you’re going to listen.”

  Sadie couldn’t think of a single thing to say. She’d never heard Lauren so adamant or so intense before. There was going to be no stopping whatever it was she had on her mind.

  Lauren wiggled to a sitting position. “You’re doing Jacob an injustice,” she said, reaching for Sadie’s hand. “You have to stop grieving him,” Lauren said, the finality in her voice giving her statement even more impact.

  Six little words that packed a hell of a punch.

  Sadie stiffened. She had prayed Lauren wasn’t going to go there. She breathed deep, then deeper still, leaning back so that her tears didn’t fall on Lauren’s neck.

  “If every time you think of him, you either cry or shut down, then his legacy is pain. Or sorrow. Don’t you see that? It’s time to celebrate his life, Mom,” Lauren said, letting it all out at once as though unleashing thoughts that had been weighing on her.

  Sadie didn’t want to continue this conversation. She’d never allowed Lauren into her tornado of grief before, and she had no intention of doing it now. Her daughter had only seen her as strong and competent—ready to take on the world. As long as Sadie kept the lid on the subject, she could maintain her composure. Always.

  But Lauren was going there.

  Sadie prayed again. Please, Lauren, don’t talk about it. Please.

  Lauren sighed. “I’d like to see you begin to celebrate the time you had with him. You should be able to remember each and every moment he brought you joy. But instead you’re still moving in the dark, holding on to the pain.”

  She was right. Sadie had purposely declined to move into a better place of light and laughter, choosing instead to pretend during the days and move into the shadows during the night to nurse her agony and embrace her guilt. She’d thought of her pain as belonging solely to her. She’d hoarded it like her own secret possession, not realizing how much it had affected not only Tom but also Lauren.

  A vision of sunflowers came to her, their bronzed faces upturned as they reached for the light and danced with the sun, pursuing what made them healthy and happy. Something Sadie had refused to do. She’d allowed sorrow to be her constant companion, telling herself she couldn’t take a step forward without it by her side. Logic told her that the human spirit was not meant to be suppressed—steeped in grief. But she also knew that only the strongest could recover from the loss of a child. Others would carry the burden for as long as they could and then, when their affairs were in order—or the rest of their children raised and on their own—they’d give in and finally allow it to snuff out the light and crush them.

  As it was doing to her.

  Now, the walls that Sadie had spent years erecting and maintaining began to crumble. Here, in the quiet wilderness, cold and hungry, guarded by their solemn owl and wrapped in the arms of her daughter, Sadie bowed her head, and the sobs came. From deep within her the grief welled up and, like a tsunami, threatened to overcome her and drown out her very breath.

  “It’s okay to cry, Mom,” Lauren said, putting her arms around her and tightening them as she rocked Sadie back and forth, soothing her. “Let it out. Please, just let it out.”

  And Sadie did. She didn’t want to—Lord, how she didn’t want to show such weakness in front of Lauren—but there was no stopping it now. She thought of Jacob, could almost feel his hot breath on her cheek as she remembe
red the last time he’d hugged her, his excitement palpable in his anticipation to go with Tom to the lake.

  “Love you, Mom,” he’d thundered into her ear, before letting go and bounding out the door.

  Instead of guarding him against tragedy, Sadie had sent him off, even looked forward to them leaving, welcoming the quiet hours to come. She’d wanted time to herself to pursue her own pleasures. It shamed her now, acknowledging how much she’d relished the time alone with her easel and paints. If not for her selfishness, her child would still be there.

  “We’ll be back in the morning,” Tom had said as he bent and kissed her forehead.

  But he’d lied. Only one of them had returned. In all reality, she’d lost them both. Jacob had been taken from her, but she’d voluntarily given Tom up.

  Her soul howled in regret. No longer was she seeing Jacob. Now her mind filled with the broken expression Tom had worn as he’d told her the most devastating news of her existence. Then again as she’d shunned him, refusing his touch day after day, long night after torturous night.

  She hadn’t wanted his comfort then. She hadn’t deserved it. She’d wanted to punish herself for not protecting her son, and somewhere, deep inside, she knew the easiest way to do it was to also give up the only thing she had left.

  Tom’s love.

  But now she saw she’d also punished him, ignoring the monumental guilt she knew he carried himself. How easily it would’ve been to take it from him—absolve him of responsibility. But she hadn’t.

  What sort of twisted human being did that make her?

  “Mom, it’s okay,” Lauren murmured.

  But it wasn’t. Suddenly Sadie saw things clearly. Tom had done everything in his power to help her through her anguish, to hold their marriage together, but she’d only rejected his efforts, choosing instead to pretend that she needed no one. That she could overcome the grief by ignoring it and shutting everyone out.

  She was instantly filled with the deepest regret she’d ever felt in her life. If Tom had stopped loving her, she knew now that it was her own fault. If he’d found another, she couldn’t blame him. She’d driven him away. The loss of Jacob was huge. But now she knew it wasn’t the only loss that sad day at the lake.