“So? What brings my girls to Michigan unannounced?”
Lauren and Arden stared at each other.
“Okay, what gives, girls?” Lolly asked, hands on hips. “Going somewhere on a whim—even to the bathroom—is so unlike you, Arden.”
Lauren couldn’t help herself: She began to laugh, so hard in fact, she had to double over, until her face was near the sidewalk outside Dolly’s.
“Thanks, you both,” Arden said. “Really appreciate it.”
“Spill the beans, or no one gets any fudge.”
“Mom! Talk! Now!” Lauren said, suddenly very serious. “There’s chocolate at stake!”
“Well … let’s just say Lauren and I needed a road trip.”
Lolly looked at her daughter with great skepticism. “That’ll do for now,” she said. “I’m just happy to see you both again.”
Lolly paused, and opened her mouth to speak, but her cheeks quivered, and Arden could tell her mother was either ready to cry or to tell them something. Instead, she simply chirped, “Now … who wants candy?”
What is she holding back? Arden wondered.
Lauren took off for the fudge shop. Through the window, Lolly and Arden watched Lauren nab a little white sack and run through Dolly’s like a kid in a candy store. The brick walls of Dolly’s were lined with uneven wooden shelves and rickety tables covered with red gingham tablecloths and little red baskets overflowing with chocolate and sweets. Lauren grabbed all flavors of homemade saltwater taffy and licorice, before nabbing turtles and a mound of maple fudge. Without slowing, she headed toward the ice cream counter in the back of the shop, where high school kids in white smocks dispensed a rainbow of flavors.
“I bet she gets a triple scoop of Superman, Blue Moon, and Birthday Cake,” Lolly said, her eyes twinkling as she watched her granddaughter. “I knew it! That’s my Lorna.”
Lorna? Arden wondered. Again?
Arden turned to look at her mother, waiting for her to catch her error. But Lolly only continued to smile and admire her granddaughter. Arden thought of the card she had received from her mother with the charm, containing the same mistake, and was about to say something when Lauren reappeared carrying a bag stuffed with sweets and a triple scoop ice cream cone.
“I’m glad to see you haven’t changed,” Lolly said, as her granddaughter licked the cone, the ice cream already beginning to trickle down her arm in the surprisingly strong May sunshine.
Lolly smiled at her granddaughter, and Lauren placed her head on her grandma’s shoulder, sighing.
“My beautiful baby girl,” Lolly whispered. “I’ve missed you so much.”
Arden watched her mom hold her daughter, and she was nearly overcome with emotion.
It’s been way too long since I’ve been home, Arden thought.
“Hey! It’s the fudge lady!” a little boy with unruly curls suddenly screamed, knocking Arden from her thoughts. A group of children quickly gathered around Lolly. “When’s your next show?” they asked, as Lolly pointed at the clock in the window.
“Five minutes,” she chirped.
“Arden? Arden, is that you?”
A pretty blond woman in bright Lilly Pulitzer and a choker of pearls was holding the hand of a girl, while a gaggle of children trailed closely behind.
“It’s Kathy,” she said. “Kathy Van Wieren.”
Arden felt like Alice again, falling down the rabbit hole. Suddenly, she was back in school, the lonely, shy, dark-haired girl who read too much, in a sea of tall, towheaded, beautiful and popular Dutch girls.
“Hi,” Arden sputtered. “My gosh, it’s been … so long.”
“I haven’t seen you since we graduated,” Kathy said, her chirpy voice as happy as a robin’s. “I heard you moved to New York to write for People magazine…”
“Actually, I live in Chicago and work for Paparazzi,” Arden answered. “I … well, I…”
Arden stopped. She realized suddenly that, other than her job, she didn’t really have a reason for staying away so long.
“Well, it sounds so glamorous,” Kathy said. “Working next to all those stars.”
Kathy gestured at her children. “My life is anything but. Not with five kids … my youngest is six.”
Kathy looked at her youngest, ruffled her locks, and chuckled. “I’m such a good Catholic.”
She continued, “My husband and I live in Chicago, too, but we spend our summers in Scoops at my grandparents’ cottage, and he comes up when he can.”
Lolly reached into her apron to grab some taffy. Kathy’s son lurched for the candy while her daughter hid behind her mother’s body.
“Sugar,” Kathy sighed. “Just what they need. But they just love your mother. Everyone does.” Kathy stopped and smiled at Lolly. “She has always been quite the character, hasn’t she? You two are so different.”
Arden couldn’t help it, but she flinched at Kathy’s words, which made her uncomfortable and reminded her why she had so much trouble coming back home.
“Can we stay and watch her show, Mom?” the little boy asked, his mouth stuffed with taffy. “Puh-leeeze!”
Kathy rolled her eyes at Arden. “Yes, yes, of course. But no more candy, okay?”
Kathy smiled, her eyes traveling southward to search Arden’s left hand. “Are you married?”
“No…,” she started, before Kathy preempted her, whispering, “Oh, my goodness. I’m sorry. I forgot.”
Arden nodded toward her daughter. “That’s my daughter, Lauren. She’s going to be a senior next year at Northwestern.”
“She’s … beautiful,” Kathy said, looking back and forth from Arden to Lauren.
“Thank you,” Arden replied, wondering if her comment was a compliment or veiled put-down. “Well, listen … We just got into town, and we’re exhausted.”
“Let’s do dinner!” Kathy said.
“Sure,” Arden lied.
“Does your Mom still live in that cute little log cabin?”
Arden nodded as Kathy walked on. Arden headed over to her mother and pulled her out of the circle. “Mom, Lauren and I would like to get a bite to eat and then head over to the cabin, okay? We’re tired from the drive. And we need more than sugar for lunch.”
Lolly looked over at Lauren, watching her granddaughter share some of her own taffy with the kids. “Listen, I have shows until seven. So grab a bite, and I’ll meet you at home later on.”
“Really, Mom? You still have shows so late?”
Lolly’s face sagged like a sailboat’s mast.
“Yes, I do,” she said. “People are counting on me. It’s almost Memorial Day. They wait all winter to see my Dolly act, and the weather looks perfect for big crowds. You two go shop, get a glass of wine … relax. I’ll run home after I’m done.
“Now, scoot! Go have some fun. Get in some trouble. It’s summer in Scoops, for goodness’ sake.”
Arden looked at her mother and laughed. “Trouble in Scoops? Now that’s funny.”
Lolly grabbed her daughter by the chin and gave her head a gentle little tug. “Always such a serious face! I’ll see you later. I love you!”
Arden watched her mother immediately transform into Dolly as she walked away, blowing kisses to the crowd now gathering in front, anticipating the next show.
“Ready?” Arden finally asked Lauren.
“Really, Mom? We have to watch Grandma do her thing. She is summer.”
Arden smiled at her daughter, and then nodded. “Okay.”
In her wigs, makeup, and apron, Lolly was the spitting image of the real Dolly Van Voozle featured in the shop’s logo.
Though her mother’s alter ego had often embarrassed her when she was young, it was a perfect fit.
She’s always had a lifelong flare for drama, Arden thought.
Lauren dragged her mother toward the front of the crowd, and Arden steeled herself, taking a breath, the smell of butter and chocolate filling her nose.
A white-haired man sat down at a player piano in
front of the shop, pantomime-playing as he rotated sheets of paper music onto a large spool, polkas and tunes from a bygone era filling the street outside.
The old clock chimed in the rose garden across the street from Dolly’s, and Kathy’s little girl asked, “Is it time for the fudge lady?” The crowd giggled in anticipation, as Lolly adjusted her fire engine red wig and opened the double doors with a dramatic flair, the scent of wholesome sweetness trailing behind her.
“Greetings!” Lolly yelled.
“Hello, Dolly!” the crowd yelled back.
“What did you say?” She laughed, lifting her hands like a cheerleader to urge them on.
“HELLO, DOLLY!”
And, with that, she yanked off her pink apron dotted with singing lollipops to reveal a sparkly white sequined gown, cut on a bias, and a strand of pearls, all of which were haphazardly thrown on over a purple sweat suit and tennis shoes. Don, the elderly man from the player piano who had trailed along behind her like the sweet smells of the shop, handed her a feather boa. Lolly curtsied, taking it from his hands, before he returned to the player piano and rolled a new sheet of paper music onto the spool.
For a few seconds, there was silence, before the speakers on the street emitted a few squeaks as the spool rotated on the player piano playing the tune to “Hello, Dolly.” And then:
Lolly turned to salute the fudge shop and its logo, before bowing to the crowd. She put her boa around the shy little girl who had asked about her moments ago and shimmied with her until the girl broke into a fit of giggles. Then she urged the crowd to sing: “You’re lookin’ swell, Dolly…”
“Thank you!” Lolly laughed.
Lolly moved into the center of the crowd and pulled some candy from a pocket on the side of her sequined dress. “Take some fudge, fellas, and some brittle, fellas, ’cause Dolly’ll never go away.”
She took a dramatic bow, flinging her boa behind her head, as the tourists applauded and went in for hugs and photos before flooding the shop to buy treats. As soon as the crowd had dissipated, Lolly walked inside to the paper clock adhered to the window and moved the hands up an hour.
NEXT SHOW: 2:OO.
She tied her pink apron back on, adjusted her wig, and began to stir the chocolate that had been added to the hot urns.
Lolly caught Arden’s face through the window and smiled broadly.
“See?” Lauren said. “She’s so happy we stayed and watched.”
Arden smiled at her mom, then at Lauren.
I have to admit—despite my own feelings—the crowd loves her, Arden thought.
“Let’s grab a little lunch and then do some shopping,” Arden said. “There used to be a great local winery not far from here, and I’m sure there’s a farm stand. Why don’t we pick up some wine and fresh veggies after we’re done, and I’ll make dinner for you and your grandma?”
“You’re cooking?” Lauren joked. “We might need two bottles.”
Five
Arden didn’t need GPS to find her way home again.
She simply followed the dragonflies.
Every year, as the cold spring rains ended and summer—ever so slowly—began to crawl onto the shores of northern Michigan like a forgotten castaway, the dragonflies arrived to signal summer had begun.
Arden navigated her car toward little Lost Land Lake away from downtown Scoops and the sprawling, historic cottages that lined Lake Michigan. Hidden in the woods, pirated away amongst the pines, Lost Land Lake is where she’d grown up.
The farther Arden drove and the nearer she got to Lost Land, the more the dragonflies darted alongside the car, serving as her guides.
“Tinker Bell?” she remembered having asked her mother when she was a girl.
“Yes!” her mother had said. “Magic is all around you! All you have to do is look!”
When Arden turned five, Lolly had given her a dragonfly charm as a birthday present.
“To a life filled with good fortune,” her mother had whispered. “Just like Tinker Bell!”
Arden looked out her window at the dragonflies, shook her head, and pressed her foot down on the accelerator.
Arden drove until she saw the old red barn with WILSON FAMILY DAIRY painted on the side, took a little two-lane road until she passed the massive weeping willow that arched over it, then turned onto a narrow dirt road, canopied under soaring pines that choked out the afternoon sun. Finally, the little road opened onto Lost Land Lake.
“It’s so beautiful, Mom!”
Arden looked over at her daughter, the wind from the open window blowing her long, blond hair.
“It is,” Arden said, slowing her car.
She had forgotten how stunning Lost Land Lake was: The sandy-bottomed lake, loons floating, swallows swooping, birch trees bending in the soft wind, like a Midwestern version of On Golden Pond.
Arden eased the car over the many potholes that pocked the old dirt road, around an ancient pine trunk, past an old birch stump, and across a swinging bridge that sat over a creek winding its way to the lake. And, finally, they drove alongside seven old log cabins with lake stone fireplaces, stoops filled with fishing poles, wet swimming suits and inner tubes, and screened porches that faced Lost Land Lake.
Home.
Lucky #7.
The last log cabin on the lake.
Arden parked in a little area outlined by a fence of stacked logs. Before she could even stop the car, Lauren bounded out.
“I forgot how cute it is! It’s so Walden Pond!” Lauren exclaimed, with more enthusiasm for the setting and little log cabin than Arden could muster. “I used to think Grandma’s house was made of Lincoln Logs, remember?”
Arden smiled, yanking their suitcases from the trunk.
“Lauren, I need some help,” Arden said. “Can you grab the groceries and wine?”
Too late. Her daughter had already kicked off her shoes and raced down the warped wood dock that jutted over the sandy shore, reeds, and blue-green water of Lost Land Lake.
“Thanks! Appreciate it!” Arden laughed.
Arden watched her daughter take a seat on the dock, whooping in delight as she stuck her feet into the water.
Arden relaxed for a second before she clamped her eyes shut, took a deep breath, and then willed herself to find her cell and make the call she didn’t want to make.
“Arden?” her ex said. “What’s going on? I’m about to go into a meeting.”
Nice to talk to you, too, she thought.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but…” Arden hesitated, instantly feeling like a failure as a wife, mother, and daughter.
“Yes? What is it?”
“I took a couple of weeks off to visit my mom in Scoops. Lauren and I haven’t seen her in years, and I was worried about her. She’s missing work. She’s just aged so much, Tom.”
“Get to the point, Arden. I’m in a hurry.”
You haven’t changed a bit, she smirked to herself.
“Well, since I’m missing work, we’re spending a little extra on vacation, and Lauren’s tuition payment is coming up, I just thought…”
“Are you telling me you’re not managing your finances? You received this month’s deposit, didn’t you?”
“Yes, it’s just that…”
“I’m sure you’ll be just fine. You’ve always been a hard worker. Why don’t you ask your mom to help out?”
Arden could feel her anger rising.
“Tom, that’s not nice! I can’t believe you would suggest that.”
“Tell Lauren hello for me. Hope she can visit this holiday season. I’m taking the family to Aspen. She’d love it.”
“Always a pleasure, Tom. Have a nice Memorial Day.”
Arden hung up and sighed, watching her daughter splash her feet in the lake.
Arden yanked the suitcases along the mossy steppingstones that hopscotched to the front screened porch and thought, I’m glad Lauren doesn’t know about any of this.
After nearly every thunderstorm, polishe
d lake rocks—in a myriad of muted hues—would wash ashore, and Arden had helped her mom gather the flat stones to finish a walkway. The stones were always mossy in May, before the summer sun had a chance to dry and warm the rocks.
Arden stopped and inhaled deeply. It was a habit every time she came home.
Green.
If Arden could describe the scent of Michigan in spring and summer, it wouldn’t be a particular smell—blooming wildflowers or boat exhaust from the lake—it would be a color: Green.
Everything—after a long winter’s hibernation—came alive, and it was that essence of life that permeated the state, like Mother Nature’s perfume.
I’m alive, it screamed, in every petal, leaf, reed! I’m green!
As Arden came to the porch, she suddenly realized she had no key, but then remembered: Her mother never locked a door in her life. She gave the screen door a tug. It was unlocked.
She swung the creaking door open and dropped the luggage. The smell of wood and smoke—from decades of fires in the old stone fireplace—greeted her. Nothing had changed: Same old barn red glider, rocking softly in the breeze, same quilt over the white wicker couch, an odd array of jigsaw puzzles—shellacked, yellowed, and poorly framed—lined the walls, patchwork rugs and painted floor coverings—of pines, ferns, trillium—scattered across the slatted wood floor of the porch.
It’s nice to be home again, Arden thought, even with so much on my mind.
Some of the screens were in need of repair. A couple had come loose from the frame, a couple had tiny holes.
The makeshift coffee tables on the screened porch—old milk crates, blueberry boxes, and shelves from neighbors’ bee houses—were stacked with magazines.
Arden kicked off her sandals, instantly feeling sand on her feet just like she had as a girl, and walked toward the stacks.
Growing up, her mother had read National Geographic, Life, and Newsweek religiously. When Arden had told her mother she had gotten a job at Paparazzi, Lolly had stated, “I never knew celebrities interested you. I hope you’re also writing about something that is deeply meaningful to you.”
Arden picked up a copy and did a double take. She stooped with some effort and began rifling through the issues.
The Charm Bracelet Page 4
