The Charm Bracelet

by Viola Shipman

Lolly heard the jangling and knew what it was before she saw it.

  “I can’t!”

  “She wanted you to have it,” he said, laying Vi’s charm bracelet on Lolly’s stomach. “Her memories are yours now. But you know what?”

  Lolly shook her head.

  “Now, you have to make some of your own. She wanted your bracelet to be as full as hers someday. But that means you have to get out in the world again and have some fun. Just like she wanted.”

  Lolly looked up at her father. He kissed her gently on top of her head.

  Lolly gave her father a weak smile and held her mother’s bracelet over her head. It shimmered and sparkled, and suddenly Lolly could see her mother’s face, smiling down on her, as she had when Lolly was little, and the charm bracelet had seemed like an incredible mobile dancing above her.

  “Would you help me put it on, Daddy?” Lolly asked, holding out the bracelet and her wrist.

  Her father fastened his wife’s bracelet around his daughter’s wrist. “I’ll always be here to help you, my baby,” he said, giving her a hug.

  As soon as her mother’s bracelet was secure, Lolly felt safer and stronger, as if her mother were here in the room hugging her tightly.

  “I have two charm bracelets,” Lolly said, shaking both her wrists. “I have double Mommy.”

  “Maybe you can find a best friend to share your charms with,” Vern said. “When you’re ready, you get outside and be a kid again. Deal?”

  Lolly hesitated. “Deal.”

  The next morning, Vern made blueberry pancakes, Lolly’s favorite. “Feel like going outside today?” he asked, drizzling maple syrup on a large stack of cakes.

  Lolly took a bite of her pancakes and looked seriously at her father. “I think so, Daddy,” she said.

  After breakfast, Lolly stepped onto the screened porch and took in Lost Land Lake. The finches—as yellow as the sun—still gathered at her mother’s bird feeders, chirping happily; her mother’s hydrangeas—in varying shades of blue, pink, and red—rocked in the morning breeze; the dock where Lolly and her mother exchanged charms, dangled their feet, shared s’mores, and dreamed about the future, still jutted far into the lake; and Lost Land still shimmered in the summer sun.

  Lolly caught her breath and willed herself not to cry.

  It’s not fair! Lolly thought.

  Lolly wanted to go back in time. She could feel the tears coming, so she closed her eyes, to shut out the world. And that’s when she heard “Mr. Sandman.”

  Lolly and her mother had loved that song. They had sung it together when she was sick, when they had prayed for a miracle, a dream.

  Lolly flew off the porch, the screen door banging behind her.

  A little boy with short black hair was facing the lake, about four cabins down, hunched over, as if in deep prayer, singing and humming.

  “That’s my favorite song, too,” Lolly said. “What’s your name?”

  “Jo! Why?” the boy said in a startled voice, before spinning around hurriedly, like he was about to get in trouble.

  Lolly didn’t mean to, but she giggled. There, in front of her, sat a little girl with a ragged pixie cut.

  “Jo, without an e,” she explained, already seeing the look on Lolly’s face. “Jo Roseberry. And it’s okay. Everybody thinks I’m a boy. My dad wanted a boy. I’m named after Joe DiMaggio.”

  “My dad likes Joltin’ Joe, too,” Lolly said, extending her hand, as her mother had taught her to do when she met someone. “Hi! I’m Lolly. Lolly Dobbs.”

  Jo’s dark eyes filled with storminess, and she nervously turned away, her gaze scanning the lake. “Everyone’s talkin’ about your family,” she said. “I’m real sorry about your mom.”

  Lolly had heard those words—over and over, at the visitation, the church, the funeral, when townsfolk brought over pies and casseroles—but they sounded so different coming from a little girl her own age. To Lolly, the words sounded genuine, and not rehearsed, for the first time.

  “Me, too,” Lolly said. She shut her blue eyes to keep the tears at bay, but when she opened them, Jo was standing and facing her. “You can cry if you want. Sometimes, it helps when I cry. I don’t mind.”

  Lolly began to heave with all the force of a sudden summer thunderstorm, before Jo reached out and hugged Lolly, holding her, letting her tears soak the shoulder of her jumper.

  “My mom says tears are just too much emotion, like when the bathtub overfills,” Jo said, whispering into Lolly’s ear and patting her back. “And she says hugs are like Band-Aids.”

  For once, Lolly didn’t feel the need to act brave for anyone, or to apologize for her sadness.

  As Lolly held on to her new friend, she finally saw—just over Jo’s shoulder—something on the ground.

  “What is that?” Lolly asked. “Is that what you were working on while you were singing?”

  Jo walked over and took a seat on the grass. Scattered in front of her—on a piece of plywood—were hundreds of puzzle pieces, only a few of them connected.

  “Uh-huh,” Jo said, grabbing the top of the puzzle box and handing it to Lolly. “That’s what it’s supposed to look like.”

  “That’s Lake Michigan!” Lolly yelled, shaking the photo of the puzzle excitedly. “That’s a photo of Scoops Beach! See all the umbrellas and kites? My mom and I used to go there all the time!”

  Jo looked up at Lolly, and it was now her eyes that were filled with tears.

  “My parents got me this puzzle and said this was my new home, and we would never be moving back to Chicago,” Jo said, big tears plopping like raindrops off the plywood. “I miss all my friends. I miss my house. I miss Chicago.”

  This time, it was Lolly who held Jo in her arms, until she could cry no more.

  “I’ve got an idea,” Lolly said, looking Jo right in the eyes. “I miss my mom, and you miss your friends, so why don’t we start trying to be happy together? What if you help me stop missing my mom so much, and I’ll help you stop missing your home?”

  “How?” Jo asked, her eyes wide.

  “Well, let’s start by finishing this puzzle. That way, we can do something new together. I can tell you about my mom, and you can tell me about Chicago.”

  Lolly sat down next to Jo.

  “Okay, let’s start looking for all the umbrella pieces first,” Lolly said. “They’re colorful and will be easier to put together than the beach and water ones. See this red-and-yellow one?”

  “I found a yellow piece!” Jo yelled.

  “Oooh, and here’s a red piece!” Lolly said. “Let’s see if they fit!”

  Lolly placed one piece down on the board. Then Jo did and—click!—they snapped together easily.

  “It’s like they were meant to be together!” Lolly said.

  “Just like us!” Jo said.

  That evening, Lolly came rushing home at dusk and immediately flew into her father’s arms. Vern put down the charcoal just in time to catch his daughter.

  “Daddy, you won’t believe the day I had!” Lolly exclaimed, as her father began prepping the grill for hot dogs. “I met a girl named Jo, and she is my new best friend.”

  Lolly told him about the puzzle.

  “I have an idea,” Vern said. “Why don’t I help you shellac and frame it when you are finished? That way, you can treasure it forever.”

  Lolly screamed her delight, and the two went in search of more jigsaw puzzles stored in the tiny attic over the cabin, finding a few old ones, including one of the Bobbsey Twins and one of the state of Michigan.

  Every day for the next two months, Lolly and Jo sat by the lake and worked on a puzzle, taking breaks to swim in the lake, float on inner tubes, or beg their parents to take them to the beach or for ice cream in town.

  On the Fourth of July, Vern made Lolly a birthday cake and had Jo and her parents over for a picnic.

  “Open your presents!” Vern said.

  Lolly clapped: Her father had wrapped and framed a few of the girls’ completed
puzzles.

  “They’re just like art!” Lolly said. “Can we hang them on the screened porch?”

  “Sure,” Vern said. “But why outside?”

  “Because that’s where I first heard Jo singing!” Lolly explained.

  At dusk, after everyone had gorged on barbecued hamburgers, potato salad, chips, s’mores, and cake, Jo asked Lolly if she would like to walk to the end of the dock to watch the fireworks.

  As they walked, dragonflies followed and fireflies blinked.

  The two sat on the edge of the dock and swung their feet into the lake. Frogs called around them.

  “I have a present for you, too,” Jo said suddenly, pulling a little box from her pocket. “Happy birthday!”

  “Jo!” Lolly squealed. “What is it?”

  “Recite the poem first.”

  “What?”

  “The poem you told me you always said to your mom on your birthday.”

  Lolly’s face froze.

  “I can’t,” she said.

  “Yes, you can,” Jo said. “You need to.”

  Lolly was overcome with emotion, but Jo was right. She shut her eyes and began to recite. She had to stop and start, because her voice kept cracking, but saying the words reminded her of her mother and a feeling of happiness and comfort came over her.

  Jo handed Lolly her gift, and Lolly ripped open the wrapping paper on the tiny box. Sitting atop a little velvet throne was a silver charm.

  “What is it, Jo?” Lolly asked, squinting in the twilight, holding the odd-shaped charm into the darkening sky.

  “It’s a puzzle piece that says BEST FRIENDS because we are and always will be,” Jo said. “See … your piece says BEST, and…”

  Jo stopped and lifted her arm up to show Lolly her wrist.

  “… My piece says, FRIENDS. They fit together. Just like us!”

  Boom!

  Fireworks began to explode overhead, their colors reflecting in the water.

  Lolly added the charm to her bracelet, and then reached for her best friend’s hand.

  Seventeen

  “Jo and I were inseparable throughout our school years,” Lolly said, taking a seat again on the glider next to Jake. “Everyone called us the ‘Jigsaw Twins’ because we were never apart: We double-dated, played basketball, and took dance classes together. She helped me get through those hard years without my mom.

  “After high school, she begged me to go to college with her, but I just couldn’t leave my father alone. So I stayed and helped him with his fishing guide business. Jo ended up becoming a teacher, and she married an engineer and lived in Chicago. She had three children. I married and had Arden. We saw each other every summer, and…”

  Lolly nodded vigorously toward the framed jigsaw puzzles on the walls of the screened porch.

  “… we never stopped doing puzzles. Even apart, we kept our tradition alive: One of us would start a puzzle, finish and shellac half of it, and then wrap it and mail it to the other one to finish. Whoever finished a puzzle kept it and framed it. Jo sent me puzzles from her travels all around the world—jigsaws from Paris and London, old puzzles she’d find in antique malls. I sent her mostly puzzles of home—of Michigan and Scoops, of ice cream cones and the lake.”

  “How is Jo?” Arden asked. “I remember visiting her, but I haven’t heard you talk about her for a while. Is she still in Chicago? Are you sending this puzzle to her when you’re done?”

  Lolly scanned the expanse of green in front of Lost Land Lake, before closing her eyes. She blinked hard.

  “Wait!” Arden said suddenly, bolting upright and heading to the table. “Oh, Mom! I know what this puzzle is going to be: A pink ribbon. I’m so sorry!”

  “This was our last puzzle.” Lolly tried to swallow. “Jo did the first half in the hospital and then sent it to me to finish. I just can’t bring myself to finish it yet. I miss her so much.”

  “Jo’s husband told me she wore her puzzle piece charm every day,” Lolly said. “She was buried with it.”

  Quiet enveloped the cabin for a few minutes. In the distance, a dog barked, followed by children shouting to one another and then splashing in the lake.

  Arden’s heart shattered. She felt terrible and guilty that she didn’t know her mother’s best friend had passed away.

  “Mom, why didn’t you ever tell me this?” Arden asked.

  Lolly looked at her daughter. “You were so busy … you were already worried about so much … I didn’t want to burden you any further.”

  How did we grow so far apart? Arden thought, looking at her mother.

  “Life goes on.” Lolly sighed.

  Lauren ran to her grandmother and hugged her tightly.

  “Grandma, the puzzle piece charms you and Jo had … that’s why you sent them to me and Lexie, isn’t it?” Lauren asked.

  Lolly nodded, and she looked at Lauren.

  “You are my light,” she said. “You complete me, too.”

  Lauren smiled and thought of the painting she had started of her grandmother, the light seeming to radiate from her face. “You’re my light, too, Grandma.”

  Lauren began to text furiously, her fingers flying over the keypad on her cell.

  “What are you doing?” Lolly asked, gesturing at her granddaughter’s phone.

  “Lexie,” Lauren said, looking up at her grandma, her long lashes damp. “I had to tell her the story of you and Jo right away.”

  Lolly nodded, as Lauren continued to text and talk.

  “We just finished finals, and she’s back in New York. I miss her, and just wanted to tell her … I just wanted to tell her I love her.”

  Lauren’s voice choked.

  “Stop for a second,” Lolly said. Lauren’s fingers quieted. “What do you hear?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You’re not listening closely enough,” Lolly admonished. “Now, what do you hear?”

  “I hear kids screaming, boats zipping across the lake,” Lauren said. She stopped and tilted her blond head toward the screen. “I hear a hawk. I hear loons moaning.”

  A smile lit up Lolly’s face, illuminating her from the inside out, as if she’d just swallowed a million fireflies.

  “When you stop, you can also hear your heart, your thoughts … you can hear you,” Lolly said. “A best friend is just like that: They listen closely. They hear your heart, your thoughts, you.”

  Lauren was overcome by Lolly’s words.

  “You want me to call Lexie, don’t you, Grandma?”

  “It’s important to hear a friend’s voice,” Lolly said. “I know it’s easier to text, but it’s so much nicer to hear your best friend’s laugh and to capture every nuance of every word she is saying to you, especially when you’re still around to hear it. Why don’t you do that face thingy we just did?”

  “FaceTime,” Lauren said, moved by her grandmother’s suggestion. “Good idea, Grandma. Excuse me for a few moments. It was nice to meet you, Jake.”

  Lauren sprinted off the porch, the screen door slamming behind her, and—without knowing it—ran to the exact spot where Lolly and Jo had met, taking a seat on the grass to call her best friend.

  Lolly smiled and turned to Arden. “What about you? Any friends you want to talk with today?”

  Arden continued to stare out over the lake, unable to meet her mother’s gaze. Lolly’s simple question hit her hard. “There’s been so much work, I’ve really lost track of my friends,” Arden admitted sadly.

  “A job can’t hug you,” Lolly said, touching her daughter’s arm, letting her words sink in. “Lauren told me about your writing friend you saw in Chicago. And Kathy was so sweet when she saw you at the fudge shop.”

  Lolly hesitated. “You have to invite friends into your home. No one is ever going to kick the door down and just walk on in.”

  She tilted her head at her daughter before changing the subject. “Well, I need to go get myself ready for work. And we all know how much time that takes. When will I see you again, J
ake?”

  “Friday, if that works. Just before the holiday weekend?”

  “Works just fine,” she said. “Maybe you and Arden can help me get one of those fancy phones like you all have. You can put a calendar on that, right? One with little sound effects to remind me of things?”

  “You and technology? This is a miracle, Mother!” Arden joked.

  Lolly disappeared into the cabin, leaving Jake and Arden to sit in silence for a few seconds.

  “Well, I best be going,” Jake said. “I’m sorry … well, you know … for…”

  “Seeing me naked?”

  “Yes.”

  “That will take more than an apology,” Arden said, her face flushing. “It might take a partial lobotomy, or a lot of drinks.” She couldn’t believe she’d just suggested drinks, but the words were out before she knew it.

  Jake laughed, stopping at the screen door. “Speaking of drinks, and since we’ve been talking about friends, I’m meeting some tomorrow night at the Rendezvous Bar & Grill, if you care to join us.”

  Arden’s face flushed again. She wanted to say yes—she wanted to scream yes, actually—but it had been a very long time since she had gone out with a man other than her ex, and she wasn’t sure she was up to the possibility of a new romantic relationship just yet, especially with all that was going on in her life.

  Arden thought about her mother’s story, and it hit her again how limited her time was with her mother.

  “Oh, thank you for the invitation, but I don’t think so. I need to spend some time with my mom. I appreciate it, though.”

  Jake ducked his head. “Just thought I’d ask,” he said, opening the door. Arden could see the disappointment shadow his soulful dark eyes. “Have a great rest of your day.”

  The screen door slammed, and the sound resonated in her head, just like her mother’s advice: No one is ever going to kick the door down and just walk on in.

  Arden watched Jake walk down the steppingstone path toward his car, and wondered if she’d made a mistake not accepting his offer.

  Jake stopped, turned, and opened his mouth.

  For a second, Arden thought he was going to shout back at her—Please ask me again! she thought—but Jake seemed to change his mind and turned back toward his car.