Dandelion Summer

by Mary Ellen Bramwell

  Zane shrugged his shoulders. “At least you had someplace to go. It’s not that big of a deal to carry it all back.”

  “I guess you’re right.”

  “Hey, have you thought about what electives you want to take? School registration is next week.”

  “I completely forgot. I haven’t even looked at the options. What are you going to take?”

  They settled into an easy banter. Madelyn had been dreading high school, but now … well, now it was looking pretty good.

  When everything had been moved back and put away in its proper place, Mom ordered pizza for everyone. After eating, Daniel and Jillian played games while the others talked into the twilight hours.

  Friday

  Morning came early with a gentle shake from Mom. With the surreal experiences of the week, they’d forgotten what their real lives were all about. “Dad’s coming home tomorrow,” was all she said. It wasn’t a statement of excitement, it was a reality check.

  “The yard! The dandelions!” Madelyn said. Mom just nodded.

  Maybe at this point it shouldn’t have mattered anymore, but he was coming home, and they wanted the yard to look as good as possible. They’d long since stopped caring what anyone else thought, but they wanted to let Dad know they cared. If it mattered to him how the lawn looked, then it would matter to them too—just for him and him alone.

  The sun was barely up, and the other two family members certainly weren’t. They’d find their own breakfast without a problem, especially seeing Mom’s initial summer enthusiasm about cooking breakfast had lasted a mere week or two.

  They stepped out onto the front porch, surveying the impossible to ignore blooms and all they implied. With all that met their eyes, Madelyn was grateful they had agreed the backyard was hopeless, pronouncing the dandelions victors and walking away. But the front and side yards were still in contention, and Mom and Madelyn were determined to win.

  Armed with a bucket between them, and each with some garden tools, they started where their efforts had last left off, even though much of the yard was still in shadow. They’d spent weeks moving from the fence on the side around to the front, declaring the side of the house finished before life intervened. They’d neglected their dandelion war, but now they were going to finish the front half in a day because tomorrow he would be home.

  The day marched from the early, quiet hours to hot mid-morning to scorching noon and an afternoon they couldn’t even describe using polite words. Sweat dripped down the inside of Madelyn’s shirt, and she kept wiping her forehead, leaving a line of smudged dirt across it.

  They talked early on, but soon the task overwhelmed them, and they had no energy left for words. Dig a dandelion, throw it in the bucket, move to the next—that was the rhythm of their gift for Dad that continued throughout the day.

  The sun was close to slipping from view when Madelyn stood up, not seeing another dandelion in front of her. She looked over at Mom. She was pitching one last weed into their overflowing bucket when Madelyn caught her eye.

  “Is that it?” Mom said with a whisper as if she might jinx the moment. All Madelyn could do was nod. Mom stood, stretching and working out the kinks in her arms and legs.

  They turned to see what they had accomplished in one day. It was amazing. “We did it, Mom. We did it.” Madelyn found herself whispering too.

  “I know. I can’t believe it. I never knew we could … that I could …” And before she could stop them, her face was flush with tears, and Madelyn knew they weren’t talking about dandelions anymore.

  Madelyn grabbed her in a hug. “I love you, Mom.”

  “I love you too.” They started to dance in the fading light, so happy for all they had and who they were and who they had become.

  It was only as they twirled and danced around the yard that Madelyn saw something she hadn’t before. Stopping dead still, she said, “Mom?” her smile was gone.

  “What is it?”

  Madelyn lifted a shaky finger to point. “Look.”

  Little bits of sunlight were trickling through the trees, leaving streaks upon the grass, but perfectly highlighting the side yard where yellow blooms dotted the lawn, the part they thought was finished before they began their epic quest that morning.

  They both stared open-mouthed, stunned at the sight before them—dandelions, too many dandelions to even count. Madelyn looked at Mom, waiting for her direction. Would they keep working all night? There were a few hours in the morning before they had to leave for the airport to meet Dad’s plane. They could work then.

  Mom stared back at her for just a moment then threw back her head and laughed. It was a laugh that came from her toes all the way up to the top on her head. It shook her body and sent ripples through the air, touching her skin, making her hair dance and her heart sing.

  Madelyn gave in and laughed with her, laughing so hard she doubled over and fell to the ground, laughing up at the sky above her and the grass beneath her. Soon Mom was lying by her side, laughing so hard that tears were streaming from her eyes.

  They laughed at the absurdity of trying to kill off a living, vibrant weed that only wanted to survive. They laughed at their summer and themselves, at when they didn’t understand what mattered in life. They laughed at their notion that dandelions did. They laughed at their follies and their failings and their fears. They laughed for joy at what they’d found—how to overcome and how to survive, and the knowledge that they could only do it together. They laughed until their voices went hoarse.

  The front porch light went on, and Jillian and Daniel peeked out. They’d brought them food and water and emptied their weed buckets throughout the day, but had known better than to have disturbed them. But now their faces were etched in confusion, not understanding the mirth before them.

  “Are you okay?” Jillian tentatively said, certain that they must be suffering from sunstroke or some such thing.

  They tried to answer but couldn’t stop laughing long enough to form the words. Daniel started to twitter just a little, and before long he and Jillian had both joined in the contagion of laughter, not even certain of its cause.

  They soon lay all together on the ground, wrapping their arms around each other. Madelyn didn’t know how long they laughed, but it was fully dark when they finally sat up, wiping the tears from their eyes.

  Mom took a deep breath and smiled. “Some battles you just never win, but then again, some of those battles aren’t worth fighting—I guess I forgot to make that distinction.” She looking at Madelyn and added, “Thank you,” and her voice caught, “thank you for helping with the one that mattered.”

  Madelyn hugged her and whispered, “You’re welcome.”

  Saturday

  Welcoming Dad home happened in a rush. It seems like one minute they were waiting for his plane to land then watching for him to emerge from the gate, so anxious and excited. Then before they knew it, he had encircled them all in one big hug, squeezing like he’d never let go.

  Madelyn didn’t remember the drive home. She had lost her front seat status, relegating it to Mom again, but that was all right. She was where she should be, and Madelyn was content.

  Dad pulled into the garage and walked into the house, never once taking his eyes off them to examine the yard. He was saying, “Daniel, I believe you’ve grown three inches. Jilly, when did you get to be so pretty? Madelyn, you did it. I’m so proud of you.” And all the while he was holding Mom close.

  They worked on filling the day with things he had missed. Mom read a book to him—the highlight of the day. Daniel managed to pull a prank, swapping out a cup of soy sauce for the cola Dad was expecting to drink.

  “We’ve had so much going o
n that there hasn’t been time for pranks,” Madelyn whispered to Mom. “I think Daniel’s worried he’s getting rusty and might forget how.” Mom nodded in agreement.

  Jillian followed Dad around like a puppy dog, fetching his slippers, water—especially after the soy sauce incident, anything she could think of. In the evening, Madelyn read Watership Down to everyone, although they had neglected it lately. At least they weren’t so far along that Dad couldn’t get caught up to the story. It was a perfectly mundane, perfect day.

  . . .

  Mom and Madelyn never told Dad about the dandelions. It wasn’t so much that they were ashamed or trying to hide anything from him, it was something more and something less. It’s almost as if putting it into words would shatter the moment, and its meaning would be lost. Or maybe it wasn’t possible—the words just simply did not exist. But ever after, whenever Mom was low, all Madelyn had to do to cheer her up was smile and say, “Do you remember the dandelions?”

  And for her and Mom, those words said it all.

  Acknowledgements

  I may be the author of this book, but I did not “author” it by myself. Much research went into the writing of this book, so I need to thank the internet. Some arcane details like criminal justice in Colorado in the 1970s or the diagnosis and treatment of cerebral palsy in the 1940s would have been hard to come by without the internet.

  I’m grateful to Ruth Erickson for her insights on group homes and sheltered workshops, based on her own experience with her beloved daughter Beth. On a lighter note, I’d like to thank Jennifer Amorino and her twin boys (affectionately known as Mischief and Mayhem) for their real-life antics that inspired some fictional ones here.

  I’m not sure where this book would have ended up (probably not in print) without my many beta readers, editors, and proofreaders. Specifically, I’d like to thank Paula Kriz, Kent Harrison, and Amy Barnes. Their editing and insights have been invaluable (but if there are mistakes, they are mine, not theirs). My fellow authors and the staff at Black Rose Writing have also been fabulous in their support, feedback, and encouragement.

  Especially I want to thank my family. They are amazing in every regard. My mother has been supportive, even though in the throes of dementia she’s not exactly sure what she’s encouraging. My children are my bright spots. My husband Allen has been my biggest supporter since the day he said, “Why don’t you just write?” Writing was my first love, but I wouldn’t have had the courage to pursue it as more than a hobby without his support.

  And lastly, I want to thank Lyla Heward. It can be hard for people you grew up with to believe you can do great things—they know you too well. But that’s not the case with Lyla. In her own quiet way, she’s been one of my greatest cheerleaders.

  About The Author

  Mary Ellen Bramwell, an award-winning writer and author of The Apple of My Eye and When I Was Seven, has been writing short stories since she was ten. She is the mother of five and currently lives with her youngest son and her husband of over 35 years in the Mountain West. She enjoys reading and playing games but is passionate about her family and alleviating the suffering of others.

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