A Sweet Life-kindle

by Andre, Bella

  She didn’t make much headway before fatigue set in, but she refused to get discouraged. She had cleaned up a patch of earth, planted some cosmos seeds that would bloom in the spring, thrown a barrowful of clippings into the compost bin. It was enough. She felt satisfied. But…lonely.

  She welcomed the shush of the school-bus brakes at the corner bus stop. Valerie would be home in a few minutes. Miranda shook out her gloves and removed her boots, then went inside to fix their favorite snack—chips and salsa, and limeade to drink.

  “Hey, thanks,” Valerie said, putting down her backpack. “I’m starved.”

  They sat together at the counter, nibbling the chips. Miranda told Valerie about Sophie’s offer. “So what do you think?” she asked. “Can you see our family doing something like this?”

  Valerie laughed without humor. “Come on, Mom. You think the whole world is going to stop for a week while we go commune with nature?”

  “Maybe we’re the ones who need to stop, not the world.”

  “Dad’ll never go for it.”

  “I’m asking you. Would you go for it?”

  Valerie shrugged, putting on her I-don’t-care attitude, the one she’d worn for the past year. Then, keeping the blasé mask in place, she said, “Pete asked me to Homecoming.”

  A year ago, those exact words had elicited delight from both mother and daughter, because a year ago, cancer was a remote concept, not a real threat. Then came Miranda’s diagnosis, a bomb dropped on the unsuspecting family. Being sick had brought all Miranda’s deepest, fiercest mothering instincts to the surface. She’d wanted to protect her children at all costs. She’d even tried to reschedule her surgery so it wouldn’t coincide with her daughter’s first formal dance. The two surgical teams wouldn’t hear of it, though, and cancer had scored its first victory against her.

  Over the past year, everything they did and said to one another took on a special significance. Faced with the possibility of not seeing her children into adulthood, Miranda worked hard—too hard—to impart lessons or extract meaning from every possible situation. She caught herself working so hard at mothering that she forgot to enjoy her children.

  So now, when Valerie made her casual announcement, Miranda had to tamp down the urge to jump on the opportunity, insist that her daughter go this year. She restrained herself from marching Valerie to Pete’s house to accept the invitation.

  One of the things she had to avoid with her kids during the year of her illness was doing all the emotional work for them. Part of growing up was figuring out how to navigate their way through life on their own. And there, beneath the surface of that excellent parenting advice, was the unspoken terror: She had better teach them independence from her now, because she could be gone this time next year.

  With great care, she took a drink of her limeade and set down the glass. “Oh?” she asked. Just that. Nothing more.

  “I’m going to tell him no,” Valerie said. “So you haven’t given him an answer yet.”

  “I was just so…so shocked when he asked that I blurted out that I’d let him know. God. I should have told him no right then and there.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “I will,” Valerie said softly. “I wanted to…think about it a little bit.” The expression on her daughter’s face said it all. She wanted to go to Homecoming, just like any girl her age.

  BEFORE BED THAT NIGHT, Miranda felt inexplicably nervous with Jacob. Only tonight, it wasn’t about making love. It was a terrible feeling in her stomach—the sense that she had drifted so far from him that he was now a stranger. He lay in bed, the pillows propped behind him as he tallied the last of the day’s sales.

  “Always working,” she said, leaning down to place a kiss on his head.

  He offered a distracted smile. “I don’t mind. You know that. How did your meeting with Marty go today?”

  She took a deep breath. “He was really nice, as always.

  Really understanding.”

  “So, did the two of you…” Jacob hesitated. It broke her heart, the way he resisted pressuring her.

  “Marty would be just as glad if I waited until next quarter. For budget reasons, he says.” She watched his face. Impulsively, she reached out, grazed the back of her hand along his cheek. “If you think that’s okay.”

  “Sure, honey.” There was not a single beat of hesitation in his reply, and she loved him for that. Then the worry moved in like clouds across the sun. “Are you all right?”

  She smiled. In the past year, she had learned that “all right” was a relative phrase. Sometimes “all right” meant her post surgery drainage tubes were working properly. Other times it meant she had lost the last of her hair, or that the gel for her radiation burns was having a soothing effect.

  Taking a deep breath, she said, “Better than all right after yesterday’s visit with Dr.Turabian.”

  He waited. “Yes?” he prompted, somehow knowing there was more.

  She got it out, all in a rush. “I want us to go away together, the four of us.”

  The worry darkened his face even more, but he quickly shook it off. “I guess we could drive down to the shore for a weekend—”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about.” She told him about Sophie’s idea. “The Bellamy family has made an incredibly generous offer. They’ve got a cabin at a place called Willow Lake—”

  “Offer? God, Miranda. What are we, a charity case now?” She ached for him. Her proud husband. Sometimes, though, his pride blinded him to the bigger picture. “That’s not what this is about,” she said. “It’s not a handout.” “We don’t even know these people—”

  “We know Sophie. Jacob, there’s still so much we need to do. This past year has fractured our family. It’s devastated our finances and wrung out our emotions. All the pain of the surgery and treatment was nothing. I could deal with it. But I can’t deal with losing my family. Sometimes I think if I hurt any more, I’ll break into pieces.”

  He set aside his paperwork. “Honey, you’re not losing us.” “But everything’s changed. The kids, you and me, us. We need to do this,” she insisted. “It hit home yesterday, when I got back from my appointment. Just because I’ve finished treatment doesn’t mean all is well. This family’s been damaged, Jacob. It’s had its heart ripped out, and all four of us are suffering. We’re in a post-traumatic state.”

  “You just finished,” he pointed out. “We’ll adjust, but we need time. I feel better already, knowing the worst is behind us.”

  “We need more than time. We’re strangers, Jacob. Andrew spends all his time creating a virtual family with some computer game. Valerie is never home, and she’s completely changed the kids she hangs out with. You’re always working. And we—” She didn’t want to go there, not right away. “I miss you, Jacob. I miss us, together. I miss the way we used to be.”

  “A week in somebody’s lakeside cottage is not going to be a cure-all,” he said.

  “It’s not,” she agreed. “And it isn’t supposed to be. What it could be, I think, is a start to the healing this whole family needs. We can’t go on the way we have been. We’re strangers under the same roof that used to house a happy family. We need this time away—from work and school and stress. I know it’s only temporary, but we’ll have a chance to focus on each other, with no distractions or interruptions.”

  “Honey, I do see your point,” he said, “but unfortunately, we can’t swing it right now. The kids have school, and I’ve got some major surveys coming up at work—”

  “Jacob, we’re always going to be busy. It’s the nature of our family. I accept that. What I hope you’ll accept is making time for what’s important to you, even if it doesn’t seem like the most responsible course of action. I already talked to Andrew’s teacher and Valerie’s adviser. They both agreed to put the kids on independent study for the days we’re away.” “When I’m not working, I’m not earning anything,” he reminded her, as if she could ever forget. She could tell he was strug
gling to be patient.

  “I’m aware of that. We’ll just have to deal with it.” “Miranda, sweetheart, maybe we can plan something for the holidays or next summer.” He took her by the shoulders and kissed her forehead. “Right now, we can’t afford to go.”

  She blinked back tears. “We can’t afford not to.”

  Chapter Six

  “Okay, this is not what I generally think of when someone says New York.” Miranda gazed in wonder out the window of the rental car. For miles around, she could see nothing but rolling hills draped in a patchwork of glorious fall color, each gentle rise cleft by a narrow country road or rocky stream.

  Occasionally they passed through quaint towns with white painted houses and picket fences, funky resale and outdoor shops, colonial-style village greens and church spires.

  “Me neither,” said Jacob, behind the wheel of the rented Ford Escape. “Pretty up here.”

  The kids were asleep in the backseat. The red-eye flight from Seattle to JFK had made for a very short night, and the drive up into the Catskills had taken its toll on Andrew and Valerie. Miranda reached over and patted Jacob’s leg. Given his worries about their financial situation, his agreeing to take time out from work was a big step for him. He had been good-natured and positive throughout the whirlwind preparations that kicked in once they decided to go for it. Miranda knew him well, though. She knew he lay awake at night, worrying and crunching numbers in his head.

  A familiar twinge of anger pinched her heart. Not at him. In the very worst moments of her illness, she certainly had been angry at Jacob. Ridiculously, insanely furious at him. How could he stand by her bed looking so young and healthy and handsome while she lay on rubber sheets, bald and gray-faced, her body misshapen by surgery and swelling, and dripping drains sprouting from her body? It wasn’t fair.

  Yet her anger at Jacob was always fleeting, an irrational flash of emotion. This man was the love of her life. More than once, he had broken down and vowed that he would willingly trade places with her, take her pain away if he could. And he meant it. She knew that. He made her ashamed that she got angry at him.

  They drove through Kingston, designated by an historic marker as the first capital of the state of New York. They stopped to fill up the gas tank and drive past the regional hospital. Miranda had spoken at length with her doctor, and she didn’t anticipate any problems, but he advised her to make sure there was a hospital nearby.

  Just in case.

  In contrast to the charm of the river-fed hills that surrounded the region, the hospital was sleek and modern, its glass-and-brick edifice sharp against the blue autumn sky.

  “Want to stop in?” Jacob suggested. “Familiarize yourself with the place?”

  “No, thanks. I’ve seen enough of the inside of hospitals to last a lifetime.” She had a love-hate relationship with them. On the one hand, the hospital was the place that had saved her life; it was filled with caring, dedicated people. On the other, it was a repository of sickness and grief, and represented the terrible threat and stark consequences of her disease.

  Valerie woke up as they drove westward along a scenic state road. She blinked at the dazzling golden autumn light. “Are we there yet?”

  Miranda twisted around on the seat to look back at her. “Just about. Take a look outside. The scenery is absolutely beautiful here.”

  “I’m not into scenery.”

  Miranda ignored her daughter’s sour attitude. “Check this out—a covered bridge.”

  “Cute.”

  “Wake up your brother and tell him to look at the bridge.”

  Valerie nudged Andrew with her foot. “Hey, geek-boy.

  Mom says wake up and check out the bridge.”

  “Back off,” he groaned, wiping his face with his sleeve.

  Then he looked outside gamely enough. “Cool.”

  Jacob slowed down as they crossed the bridge. Briefly, they plunged into shadow, and the wooden bridge deck creaked beneath the tires of the car. When they emerged on the other side, they were greeted by a painted sign that said, Welcome to Avalon. Population 1347.

  “Looks like a happening place,” Valerie said.

  “Come on, now,” Jacob cajoled her. “At least try to act as if you’re enjoying this.”

  “Oh. Okay. It’s charming, like something out of a Washington Irving story. And the turning leaves are beautiful. And, gee, did you know that according to legend, Avalon is the name of the place King Arthur went to die? There. Is that cheerful enough for you?”

  “Nice,” Jacob murmured, gritting his teeth.

  “At least we got you out of a week of school,” Miranda pointed out.

  “I didn’t ask to get out of school,” Valerie said. “And I’ve got that big honkin’ assignment due when I get back, so it’s not like I’m actually getting a break.”

  Valerie’s teachers and adviser had been very supportive all through Miranda’s illness, and this week was no exception. “You’ll be back just in time for Homecoming,” Mrs. Pratt had pointed out, handing Miranda the paperwork for independent study.

  Valerie hadn’t met her adviser’s eyes. She’d simply mumbled her thanks and ducked out of the school office. This week she had just four things to do. She had to read “The Specter Bridegroom” by Washington Irving. She had to write an essay, do a math assignment and a biology project on the structure of mosses and lichens.

  They made a stop at a grocery store, where they bought a week’s worth of provisions, including things for the barbecue and for s’mores, since they were planning to build a campfire by the lake. Driving through the beautiful small town, they made one final stop at a family-owned place called the Sky River Bakery, where they treated themselves to jam kolaches, homemade bread and freshly squeezed cider from a local farm. With Miranda reading from the printed directions they’d been sent, they drove along the river road, resplendent now with fall color. A few miles outside town, they were plunged into wilderness along a narrow road that followed the curve of the Schuyler River. The colors of the turning leaves ranged from pale buttery yellow to deep fiery pink, so vivid that, coupled with the blue of the sky, they hurt the eyes. Miranda found herself blinking back tears. I’m so glad I’m getting to see this, she thought.

  She reached over and switched on the radio. The tail end of “I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles)” by the Proclaimers was playing and she glanced across at Jacob. She could tell by the funny little smile on his face that he remembered the song the way she did. He used to belt it out to her, complete with phony Scottish accent, in the mornings when they were younger. Much, much younger. Young enough to risk being late for work because they needed to stay in bed just a little longer.

  She hadn’t thought about those days in quite a while. She hadn’t thought about much of anything in quite a while. She’d been too consumed by her illness—first, learning all she could about it, then choosing a course of treatment, then following that course even if it killed her.

  That was chemo, she recalled. It was designed to kill things off. In destroying the cancer cells, it tended to take other things with it—hair, eyelashes, energy, appetite. Dignity. You couldn’t very well hold on to your dignity when you had nine different doctors feeling you up.

  “We’re supposed to be watching for a wooden sign on a tree,” she said. “That’s where we turn.”

  “Spotted it,” Andrew said. Wonder of wonders, he even sounded slightly excited. “There, on the left.”

  The rustic sign pointed out an even narrower gravel road that led them uphill. They passed a No Trespassing—Private Property sign, and the last of civilization fell away. Here, it was hard to believe they were not all that far from town. It felt as if they were the first pioneers, blazing a trail into unknown territory.

  “Looks like we’ve found it,” Jacob announced.

  Miranda sat forward, peering out the window at the rustic timber archway with Camp Kioga Established 1932 spelled out in wrought-iron twigs. Past the gateway, the camp opened up b
efore them, a breathtaking compound with rustic buildings, broad meadows and sports courts. Cabins and bungalows bordered a placid, pristine lake—Willow Lake, glittering like a sapphire and crowned by a tiny island with a gazebo.

  Jacob parked in front of the main pavilion, a huge timber structure marked by flags flying from three poles in front.

  There was a railed deck projecting out over Willow Lake. According to Sophie, the pavilion, with its huge dining hall, used to be the main social center back when the camp was in operation.

  They got out of the car, and everyone was quiet for a few minutes, trying to take it all in. Miranda pictured the camp in its heyday, when families from the city flocked to the mountains. The air smelled impossibly sweet, of fresh wind and water and the dry, crisp aroma of turning leaves. The reflection of the colorful trees in the water gleamed. Miranda nearly flinched at all the beauty.

  All but one of the buildings had been closed and shuttered for the season. Jacob pointed out a large, well-kept cottage set off by itself at the edge of the lake. There were fresh flowers on the front porch and a Welcome banner hanging under the eaves. “I guess that’s where we’re staying,” Jacob said.

  The digital photos Sophie had sent them didn’t do the place justice. It was a beautiful timbered lodge, solid with the passage of years. The porch had a swing, two rocking chairs and a hanging bed suspended from chains. A pier jutted out over the lake; tied to it were a kayak and a catboat with its colorful sail furled like a barber’s pole.

  Inside, the cottage was intimate, with cozy reading nooks, an upstairs loft under slanting ceilings and dormer windows, a river-stone fireplace. The main bedroom featured a bed with a birch-twig headboard and a bathroom with a deep, clawfoot tub. Everywhere, Miranda found small touches that helped her understand why it was so hard for Sophie to say goodbye to the Bellamy family—a collection of postcards dating back fifty years and more, framed photos from the era when Camp Kioga was a bungalow colony, pictures in handcrafted frames, vintage posters of the Adirondack Great Camps. Each bed was covered in a handmade quilt, and there was a cedar chest filled with colorful striped Hudson’s Bay blankets.