by Robyn Carr
They’d been together for twenty-two years. They’d had arguments here and there, power struggles over how to raise Eric or how the money should be spent, and conflicting political ideas. They managed well for two people with demanding careers and a child they were devoted to; they made such an exceptional team they were the envy of many long-married friends. The subject of their own marriage hardly ever came up.
Then Charley’s world turned on its ear. She had not been prepared for the network to pull her show without warning. She had no backup plan. At almost the same moment Megan was undergoing radical chemo to precede a bone marrow transplant. The doctors gave her a fifty-fifty chance of surviving the cancer, which had spread, and the chemo had already nearly wiped her out. Charley was not prepared to lose another sister.
And she was not prepared to have no career. Her career was her identity; she was proud of it. She had been successful.
“Sounds like a good time for us to get married,” Michael said.
She was stunned. “What, in your twisted mind, makes you think this is a good time for me?” she asked, gobsmacked. “And what, pray, do you think marriage will do to make it good?”
He frowned at her. “You’re not working. You don’t have anything else going on. You said you weren’t prepared to dive into the job search immediately, that you needed a rest and time to think, which is a very good decision. I’m going to Cambridge in the fall for one semester. You should come with me.”
“So you’re going to rescue me?” she asked.
“I hadn’t thought of it exactly like that, but wouldn’t it take some of the stress off you?”
“Very sensitive, Michael,” she said. “My job loss and my dying sister make it a convenient time for you to drag me to England for six months. How perfectly relaxing.”
“If you’re going to be irrational, I withdraw my offer.”
“You needn’t withdraw it,” she said. “I decline the very romantic proposal.”
“You want romance, Charley? Here’s the romance of it! My father died when he was fifty-seven. I’m fifty-four. I’m perfectly comfortable with our relationship except for one thing—Eric. No, that’s not all—there are several things actually. If my fate is similar, I’d like to leave a widow, not a girlfriend. I’d like to bypass inheritance issues. Hell, if I’m sick in a hospital I don’t want you to be denied being at my bedside because you’re not my wife.”
“Who’s going to bar my way? Our son? Your mother, who adores me? Your sister, who wants to be my best friend? Girlfriend! After twenty-two years and a son!”
“You know you’re more than a girlfriend,” he said.
“But apparently you don’t!”
“I didn’t think it mattered, being unmarried,” he said. “Lately it’s started to matter to me. I love you. You love me. I’d like a legal commitment. I want there to be no doubt how we feel about each other.”
“I didn’t think there was any doubt,” she said. “Apparently you have some doubts if you suddenly need to legalize things.”
“It’s not doubt,” he said. “It’s the feeling that something is missing. As I get older that feeling gets stronger.”
“And so you decided that this moment, when I’m crushed by suddenly being fired and terrified that my sister could die...this would be the best moment for me to make a decision like this?”
“We could have an extended honeymoon in England,” he said.
“While you work? What is it you expect me to do while you’re working?”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t be bored. Look, this isn’t just for us but also for Eric. For Eric’s children. But I don’t want to push you into making a commitment you don’t feel.”
“Eric is eighteen,” she rallied. “We have, if nothing else, a common-law marriage.”
“Common-law?” he shouted back. “Is that good enough for you? Because it’s not good enough for me!”
Of course the argument escalated from there as all of the frustration and fear and disappointment poured out of her.
It ended with her saying she needed to go see Megan and him saying, “Maybe that’s a good idea.”
She told herself their relationship wasn’t falling apart. They bickered but also said “I love you” a lot. She didn’t leave Palo Alto angry, but she did leave worried and confused. Why did he doubt her now after all these years? And why, for God’s sake, was she refusing to legally marry him? He’d been the only man in her life for twenty-two years! What was wrong with them?
Maybe with time apart she’d figure that out.
* * *
Charley had been in Minneapolis with Megan and John for a few days, watching as her sister grew a little stronger every day. She’d seen Eric right before she left and had talked to him since she’d arrived. He was a freshman at Stanford, where his tuition was free, one of the perks of having a professor father. He didn’t live with his father, however. He agreed to Stanford but he was ready for a little independence. He was in a dorm but he’d pledged a fraternity and in a couple of years he’d live in a frat house, something that made Charley shudder. But she completely understood.
She called Michael. “How are you? I miss you,” she said.
“I like the sound of that,” he said.
“Are you walking? It sounds like you’re walking...”
“To my car. I’m done for the day but I have to go back for a department meeting tonight.”
“Have you seen Eric?” she asked.
Michael laughed. “He sees me as little as possible. I have to make an appointment. He texts me. I think he does that to keep me from trying to find him and actually talk to him. He’s getting decent grades so I guess he’s all right.”
“I probably talk to him more than you do,” she said. “I responded to one of his texts and told him that was not going to scratch my mother-itch—I had to hear the sound of his voice. So he calls. He’s placating us.”
“More like playing us. He’s keeping us out of his business,” Michael said. “He’s building his own life.”
“Michael, I miss you, but I’m staying here awhile. Meg is getting stronger. That doesn’t necessarily mean she’s out of the woods, but it’s such a relief. She’s eating. She’s up and about. Reading. She doesn’t have a lot of energy but it’s better than none.”
“I’m glad to hear she’s feeling better,” he said.
“She wants to go to the lake house for the summer,” Charley said. “I’m going to drive up there, see how it looks, maybe do some repairs, see if I can get it ready. And I can’t let her go alone.”
Michael was quiet for a moment. She heard his car door open, then close. “I understand.” Something in his voice said he was disappointed, that he’d rather they spend the summer working out whatever was wrong with them, not being apart.
“I’m going to take care of things like that, then I’ll come home to visit, to spend some quality time with you. I can put someone else in charge. Maybe John can take some time off. So, give me a little time to get the lake house straightened out, then we’ll talk about your schedule. When you have a little time for me...”
“I’ll make time for you,” he said. “I miss you, too. I even miss fighting with you.”
“We don’t fight much,” she said. “Do we?”
“We’ve been fighting too much. Just about that M word. I think you have a deep psychological fuckup that makes you scared of it and you should seek help.”
She laughed in spite of herself. “You’re probably right. Add that to all my deep psychological fuckups. But I’m going to see you before too long. I’m really no good without you. You’re my rock. I love you.”
He let out his breath. “That was nice to hear,” he said. “I love you, too.”
What is wrong with me? she asked herself. Why not just agree to
marry him, go to England with him, settle in as a wife, adjust to that new title? It wasn’t as though she’d give him up at the point of a gun. Then why not just marry him if that’s what he wanted?
Because right now she felt very vulnerable and dependent. She didn’t feel whole. Michael hadn’t exactly said, “Since you have nothing better to do, we might as well get married,” but his presentation left her feeling worthless. And who was going to feel sorry for her? She had twelve years of extremely well-compensated success. People said she should take a year off, clear out the cobwebs, rest and relax.
She felt anything but relaxed. She was stuck with time off because she was canceled and because of Megan’s illness, but it didn’t feel good. It didn’t make her feel strong the way her talk show had. She wanted to feel sturdy and confident again. Marriage after all these years wasn’t going to do that for her. Turning her into a wife instead of a television star didn’t make her feel stronger; it made her feel even more vulnerable. She wanted to feel equal again.
* * *
Charley went to the hospital to see Dr. John Crane, Megan’s husband, rather than waiting to talk to him when he got home in the evening. She wanted him to speak frankly with Megan not present. She asked him if he could arrange his schedule to look after Meg for a few days if she wasn’t available. John said it was fine; he could be there earlier in the evening and leave later in the morning. He would adjust his schedule to make dinner in the evenings, breakfast in the morning before he went to work, and he would check on her at least once during the day.
“You’re such a good team,” Charley said. “A couple of years ago when you were separated briefly, you seemed to be as much in love as ever. If you don’t mind my asking, what happened?”
“Love was never the problem,” John said. “We’ll talk about it someday. Right now I just want to get her through the next few weeks. Are you going back to California to see Michael and Eric?”
“No, actually. I’m going up to the lake house to see what needs to be done to make it habitable. Meg wants to spend the summer there.”
John’s face split into a huge grin. “So she finally found someone who would take that on. Why am I surprised that it’s you?”
“Maybe because if I was still working it wouldn’t be. Or if Eric were younger, or many variables. But I’m available and want to see Meg through this recovery. Maybe you should tell me right now—how much care should I plan on for her recovery? Could this get worse?”
“It could, but it shouldn’t right now. She doesn’t need around-the-clock nursing care. But at the moment she’s too weak and tires too easily to look after herself for any length of time. She can’t cook, do her own laundry or clean the house, but she’ll probably continue to get stronger. At least for now.”
“And then?” Charley asked.
“And then stronger still unless...” He shrugged. “Look, the reality is, it could go either way. Quite a while ago she said no more chemo, that it took too great a toll and she wanted to enjoy what time she had left. This last round, prepping her for the transplant was the hardest yet. Four years, Charley. She’s had enough.” He hung his head slightly, then raised it again. “And that’s why. That’s the separation, right there.”
“Huh?” she said, confused.
“The separation. Our disagreement was all about treatment. I bet you didn’t expect that, did you?”
“Wait,” she said. “I didn’t know you didn’t agree on the course of treatment...”
“She doesn’t want you to know, Charley. Meg didn’t want treatment. I wanted her to do anything and everything. I admit I wouldn’t have done it, either, if I was facing stage-four metastatic cancer but I wanted her to. I couldn’t let go. I wanted anything that might give her a chance and I would have taken miracles.”
“But she’s been in remission a couple of times!” Charley said.
“Only for it to come back harder and force her into more torture. She didn’t want me to make medical decisions for her if she was unable to do it herself and I’m afraid I brought that on myself. But we made our peace with it—I won’t do that to her anymore. I’ve given her my word—it’s up to her. I’ll support her. She says this is the last time, and if that’s what she wants, so be it.” He was quiet for a moment. “Because, no matter what, I love her.”
* * *
Charley had wondered why John and Megan had been arguing so much, especially when Megan was undergoing chemotherapy and radiation. Then she wondered why John was still around so much if they were supposed to be separated and talking divorce. That was two years ago. Now it all made sense—John wanted Meg to accept radical and even experimental treatment while Megan was saying, “It’s not just a waste of time. It’s also making me so sick.”
Charley knew from her research into various talk show guests that it wasn’t always the case with cancer treatment. In fact, most forms of breast cancer were easily treatable and highly survivable. Megan just got herself a rare and aggressive form. And Charley, like John, had always thought, That means you just fight harder.
But she knew how much Meg had suffered. And fought. If she wanted this to be her last battle, that was her decision. And Charley vowed to honor it.
It begged the question—did Meg want to go to the lake to rest and recover? Or to die in the last place they were a family?
* * *
As she drove to the lake house, Charley thought back to all those summers when her family made the same drive. They spent every summer at the house on Lake Waseka. A cabin or house on a lake was almost an institution in Minnesota, the Land of 10,000 Lakes. Lake property was handed down through the generations and people who didn’t have a home or cabin had a piece of property they could park a fifth wheel or Airstream on for weekends or vacations. But the Berkeys had a very nice house because Charley’s grandfather was a superior court judge. The judge started sending his wife and two daughters to the lake for the summer when his daughters, Josephine and Louise, were nine and ten years old. He’d drive up from the Twin Cities on some weekends and for two weeks in August. Lou and Jo continued the tradition of summer at the lake after they were married and had daughters of their own.
Charley, her sisters and her cousins lived for summer. They looked forward to it all year, started shopping in April and packing in the middle of May. The very day after school let out, off they went, north to Lake Waseka, a two-hour drive. Two moms and six kids packed into Louise’s car—first a station wagon and later, as the kids grew, a van. There was no law about seat belts back then—they were merely recommended. The Hempstead girls usually piled into the back on top of each other. They’d take enough luggage to get through a week or two, stacked on top of the car in a luggage rack, and on the weekend Charley’s father would bring the rest, thoughtfully packed boxes of linens, clothes, towels, toys and any other items they didn’t want to live without for three months.
It was always so meticulously planned.
The judge and Grandma Berkey stopped going to the lake house by the time there were four granddaughters, being overwhelmed by the noise and clutter of small children. And soon there were six—all little girls—and it was more than the grandparents could take, so they started renting a cabin at the lodge across the lake for their occasional weekends.
Six girls, each born one year after the other. Three for Louise, three for Jo. It seemed perfectly choreographed—Louise, the oldest sister, had Charlene and the following year Jo had Hope. Next Lou had Megan; a year later Jo gave birth to Krista. Then there was a little slip and when Krista was only a year old Jo gave birth to Beverly, who came so fast she was actually born at the lake house. Not to be outdone, Louise then had Mary Verna, who they called Bunny. And then they stopped. Six girls, sisters and cousins, in six years. Stairstep, tow-haired girls, bonded by blood and family and not just a little DNA because sisters Lou and Jo had married brothers Car
l and Roy.
The Hempstead girls appeared to have charmed lives and they were happy and carefree during summer. Life back in the Twin Cities the rest of the year had its challenges, like all families. Particularly for Jo and Roy; they struggled with money and issues brought on by that struggle. But summers were different. The lake was a magic place. A haven. All of the problems they might have had through the school year drifted away. Until the summer of ’89. That summer everything changed. Charley and Megan’s little sister, Bunny, the youngest of the six girls, Louise’s baby, drowned accidentally. She was only twelve. Louise, grief-stricken and half-mad with the pain of losing a child, insisted the lake house be closed up. For good.
Charley found that at first sight the house was worn but presentable. She knew her mother paid a local family to keep an eye on the place over the years. The grass was cut and the hedges trimmed. But it was clearly in need of some attention. It was a roomy place—three bedrooms downstairs, two small rooms upstairs in the loft with dormers, two full baths and a half bath in the master. Plus, there was living space over the boathouse and the wide, deep porch was screened. The screen was torn and sagging and there wasn’t any outdoor furniture anymore.
She pried open a porch window. Meg was right; it opened easily. Upon getting inside it became obvious she hadn’t been the first one to do that. The place was heaped with trash and the beds downstairs looked used. Stained. There were, of course, no linens. But all that aside, she was wildly optimistic—the damage was all cosmetic. She would need new furniture and new appliances. The porch would have to be rescreened. Everything would need a serious scrubbing and fresh paint. There should be new toilets and maybe new tubs.
But first, she’d call an electrician to make sure the wiring was safe. And she’d have to hire someone who would clean the place out and make a trip or two to the dump.
