Little Green

by Tish Cohen

  Gracie took a bite of hot dog, leaving a smear of ketchup on her lip that Elise reached across to dab with a napkin. “Can I go, Dad? Please?”

  Cass answered for him. “You’d love it. River goes every year, right, Riv?”

  The boy nodded, mouth full.

  “We’re here to be together for the next two weeks, Little Green,” Matt said to Gracie. “That’s the whole point.”

  “Little Green after Joni’s daughter?” Cass was staring at Matt. “I love it.”

  “Cass is obsessed with Joni Mitchell,” said Garth.

  “It was my fiftieth a few weeks back,” said Cass. “Garth’s gift to me was borrowing the Camp Imagine bus and parking it over at Tupper Lake, where we had a picnic with a bunch of friends and played Joni Mitchell. I introduced him to Joni’s best album. Her most personal.”

  “Blue,” Matt and Cass said in unison.

  Matt had always been appalled that, because of their twelve-year age gap, Elise didn’t really “get” Joni. Or Dylan. Or Leonard Cohen. He’d made fun of her being raised on a steady diet of Paula Abdul and Billy Idol.

  Risking a further demonstration of her ignorance, Elise said, “Joni Mitchell named her daughter Little Green?”

  “Kelly, actually,” said Jeannie. “She gave the girl up for adoption and wrote a beautiful song about her. ‘Little Green.’ Hauntingly beautiful. Like a love letter to her only child.”

  Cass added, “A lifetime’s worth of advice in one song.” She ruffled Gracie’s hair. “Little Green. Beyond cool nickname you have.”

  Elise stared at Matt—why had he never once mentioned this? Humiliating that she was finding this out in front of strangers. In front of Cass. “I always thought it was Gracie’s froggy voice . . .”

  Matt shrugged, bit into his burger. “It’s both. No big deal.”

  River looked at Gracie and said, “Ribbit,” collapsing the two of them in giggles.

  Later, the table a battle zone of balled napkins, felled pop cans, ends of burgers, and half-empty glasses, they all sat around the fire, lazy and satiated. Cass got up to rearrange the charred logs, sending sparks scattering skyward, then took a sweating wine bottle, held it up to see what was left, and circled, topping up a few glasses. “Elise, did you hear about the bears this year?”

  “My buddy and I saw one on the putting green at Whiteface yesterday,” Garth said. “Took the flag right out of the hole. Last week, someone said, a pair of cubs came bouncing out of the woods to play with a golf ball.”

  “I saw one on the roof last night,” Elise said. “Creeping along like he wanted in.”

  “Probably wanted to get in on that pile-making we’re about to do.” Matt turned to the others. “We have master pile plans for the detritus of Nate’s life. Piles have become the big thing. Apparently they have TV shows about piles.”

  “I love those shows,” Cass said. “Are you going to make those little signs?”

  Matt turned to Elise, who nodded, said, “Of course we’re making the signs.”

  “We are all over those signs,” Matt confirmed.

  “Why are there so many bears?” Gracie asked from the other side of the fire, where she was using the uncoiled end of a hanger to draw a smiley face in the cooled ash.

  “We had a late start to spring,” Garth said. “Bears woke up hungry and stayed that way.”

  “People have been seeing bears in their garbage, bears in their yards.” Jeannie waved a mosquito away and pulled her chair closer to the fire. “One wandered right out onto a public beach on Mirror Lake two days ago. Middle of the day.”

  “I don’t want to see a bear,” Gracie said.

  “As long as your mother’s around, we’re all safe,” Matt said. “Everything will bite her first.”

  “Who wants to hear a ghost story?” Garth rubbed his hands together as Cass returned to her seat. “Nothing better than a little Lake Placid lore.” He glanced at the kids. “You guys okay with it?”

  “Yes!” in unison.

  “You’re going to wind up with nightmares, princess,” Matt said.

  Elise looked at her husband. “Drives me nuts when you call her that. It sends a fairy-tale, wait-for-a-prince-to-save-you message.” And it struck too close to her own childhood, to her runaway father’s endearment for her when she was young. She stretched her legs out toward the fire.

  “She’s right, Matt,” Cass said. “That’s so archaic.”

  Elise looked at Cass with fresh eyes. “I think I like you.”

  “Oh, we’ll get him in line.” Cass winked. “Don’t you worry.”

  The thing was, Matt had had decades to pursue Cass before he met Elise. If he’d wanted to be with the girl next door, wouldn’t he have hunted her down? It was ridiculous to worry. Elise left Matt for months every year. Surely she could trust her husband to stay next to his childhood friend—who had a boyfriend right here in town—for one week without Elise.

  “Please, Dad?” said Gracie.

  “The story’s told around our campfire at least once every summer,” Jeannie said. “Honestly, parents today deprive kids of so much fun.”

  “All right.” Matt held his hands up. “I give.”

  “Mabel Douglass was her name,” Garth said. “It was September, nineteen thirty-three. Mabel was the first dean of a women’s college down in New Jersey, and she was having guests over that night.”

  Gracie and River scooted closer to the adults.

  “Mabel went out for one quick paddle around Lake Placid to gather pretty leaves and never came back. All sorts of rumors flew. She’d run off with a dashing salesman passing through town. She’d paddled to the other side of the lake and climbed up into the mountains to live out her years as a recluse. Then, in nineteen sixty-three, thirty years later, scuba divers found an old boat way down in the deepest part of the lake, a hundred and five feet down, over by Pulpit Rock. They saw what they thought was a mannequin. It wasn’t until one of the divers tugged it by the arm that it happened.”

  “What happened?” said Gracie, eyes wide.

  “It wasn’t a mannequin. It was Mabel. She was so well preserved by the cold water, her body appeared to be made of plastic. But when the diver touched Mabel, her arm came right off in his hands! In fact, as they brought her closer and closer to the lake’s surface, as the water started to grow less frigid, Mabel’s limbs all started falling off.”

  Gracie gasped, clapped her hands over her mouth in horror and delight. She and River grabbed each other, groaning and laughing.

  Garth said, “She’s called the Lady of the Lake. Her entire body started to break apart. And just before they surfaced, her face disappeared! Bits of flesh—her nose, then her cheekbones and eyeballs—”

  River let out a scream for his new friend’s benefit and ran into the house. Gracie grabbed her crutches and gamboled after him, the screen door slamming behind her. An echo bounced back from across the lake.

  “Characters,” Matt said.

  Cass brought a bowl of cherries over to the fire pit and offered it to Garth, who took a handful and set it on a flat rock between Matt and Elise.

  “Any plans to move in together?” Elise asked Garth.

  The lengthy silence that followed answered the question.

  “We don’t want to rush it. Right, Cassidy?”

  “That’s right.” Cass rolled her eyes. “It’s only been a year and a half. Moving in would be crazy . . .”

  “Why ruin a good thing, is the way I see it.”

  “Exactly. God forbid we commit while we still have our teeth.”

  “My funny, funny girl.” Garth reached out and squeezed her knee, then stretched back in his chair and focused on his cherries. After flicking a bruised one into the trees, he turned to Matt. “Hey, I don’t want this to be awkward or anything, but if you guys are selling, I’m happy to help. I’ve sold most of the larger parcels left on these lakes. Saranac. Flower Lake, too. The serious buyers know to come to me.”

  “Would a s
ingle family buy a lot our size for a vacation home?” asked Elise. “Seems awfully big for that.”

  “Not likely. I mean, the area is known for these large, multigenerational family compounds. You know, the quintessential great camps. But they’ve sort of been here forever. And with land having gone up so much in value, a plot this size isn’t a realistic single-family purchase.” He flicked another cherry.

  Elise looked at Matt. “Maybe severing the land is a better option?”

  “Had a client who tried a few years back. Neighbors put the brakes on it, signed a petition to block the severance.” Garth shook his head. “He appealed the decision twice and got shot down every time. It’s damn near impossible these days. Plus, a good chunk of what you’ve got doesn’t have road access.”

  “What do you recommend we do?” asked Matt.

  “I’ve got a guy right now really hot on the area. Texas-owned resort chain just dying to get their hands on the right piece of land. You give me the go-ahead, I can set things in motion.”

  “What kind of money are we talking?”

  “Nearly a quarter mile of prime waterfront on Lake Placid?” Garth spit a seed into a napkin. “You’ll never have to work another day in your life.”

  “If this is a land sale, then”—Elise sat forward—“can we leave the cabin as is?”

  “I would say so. It’s classic Adirondack nostalgia—no one’s going to demolish it. It’ll be kept as a satellite outbuilding or superior room if the resort builds individual cabins.” He sat back and rested an ankle on one knee. “I mean, there’s no downside to fluffing it up a bit. Just don’t sweat too much over it.”

  “And you’re fairly certain this will be tempting to a resort?” Matt said.

  “Almost a hundred percent. It’s next to impossible to secure a prime piece of land that size. So much is under conservation protection.”

  “I hate the idea of a resort next door,” said Cass. “The road will become a nightmare. And we’d be living next to a place crawling with entitled little shits. They’d be partying at all hours. Then there’s the boat traffic. Just pull your price down, doll it up, and sell it as the beautiful lake house it is. The land becomes a lovely bonus. Would be great if whoever bought it had that length of shoreline protected through the conservancy, too.”

  Garth reached out to poke Cass with his foot. “Cass here is a bit of an idealist, if you haven’t noticed. But Cass’s dream buyer could turn around and do the same thing. Sell to a resort. Ultimately, you have no control. Makes total sense you feel a bit of sentimentality, attachment to it. But once people let go, you’d be amazed at how quickly they move on. If I were you, I’d be prepared for all scenarios. Fix it up and list. But be quick about it. Whatever happens, you want a sign on your lawn yesterday, because the summer market really dies off in July.”

  “We also have a vintage boat, a Chris-Craft, that can go with the place, if you want to have a look,” Matt said to Garth. “A 2012 Range Rover to unload as well. About twenty-five thousand miles on it.”

  Drinks in hand, sandals flapping against bare heels, the two men walked down to the Sorenson waterfront, leaving the women in front of the fire.

  Just as Elise started to say something about getting her daughter settled in the boathouse, the door swung open to bang against the back of the house. “Mom!” Wild and slightly out of breath, Gracie rushed down the back steps: crutches, hop, crutches, hop. “River says they have tuck at camp! That’s where you get candy.”

  “You can also get fruit and nuts. And healthy juices.” Jeannie was clearly amused. “And you can borrow books to take home at night.”

  “It’s a great place,” Cass said. “I hung around all day when River first started, and I went home feeling he was better off at Camp Imagine than with me. The counselors are sweethearts. It builds such independence.”

  “We encourage children to find their voices,” said Jeannie. “And she can attend for as long or as short a time as you like. A few days, a week. Whatever works.”

  Surely they could let Gracie go to camp for a few days. It would free up Matt and Elise to get the cabin ready and still enable Elise to have solid Gracie time before leaving on Friday. And it solved the problem of keeping Gracie out of the cabin until the raccoon was caught. Elise turned to Cass. “Are you sending River this year?”

  “Not for a few weeks.”

  “We have plenty of space,” said Jeannie. “And my staff is trained for kids of all needs.”

  “Can I, Mom? Dad doesn’t let me do anything.”

  As a mother, was she not entitled to make a decision about three days at camp? Matt made all sorts of unilateral parenting choices while Elise was gone.

  “I always say to Jeannie that Riv comes home a better person every night,” said Cass.

  Exactly what Gracie needed.

  “Please can I go, Mom?”

  “Do you have swimming lessons?” Elise asked Jeannie.

  “All levels. We can even do private if she’s a beginner.”

  “She’s definitely a beginner.” Elise looked at her daughter. “Would you be willing to take lessons?”

  “No.”

  Elise took her daughter’s hands. “Swimming is a very important life skill, honey.”

  Gracie’s face twisted up tight as she debated the no-swimming stance she’d held all her life. “Fine. I will swim, but I won’t like it.”

  “Come.” Elise held out her arms. For the first time since Elise had been back, Gracie accepted her affection. The child let her crutches drop and wrapped feather-light arms around her mother’s neck. The flickering light of the fire, the scritch-scratch of crickets, the hum of conversation between Jeannie and Cass, all faded. “I think three days at summer camp is a terrific idea. Let’s do it.”

  Gracie’s face lit up. “Can I start tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow’s Sunday.”

  “That’s fine,” said Jeannie. “We service the tourists, so she can start any day of the week. I’ll tell my assistant to put her on the bus schedule and the attendance sheet. Consider it all taken care of and we can settle up payment at the week’s end. Ken will pick her up at eight forty.”

  “Okay, then. We’re all set. You, my girl, are starting camp tomorrow.”

  Gracie grew an inch. She flashed a big, lopsided grin, then scrambled back to the house and called, “River, guess what!”

  The crackling logs and wavering hum of the flames had given way now to the calming hiss of red-hot embers. Scattered around the ash lay fallen marshmallows, a few balled-up napkins, and the melted remains of several unfortunate plastic army men.

  “I hope Matt won’t hit the roof.” Elise twirled her wine in the fire’s glow.

  Cass slid to the front edge of her chair and kicked off her sandals. She plunked her feet on the rocks that ringed the fire pit and coiled her hair into a messy knot on top of her head. When she lowered her arms, the shoulder strap fell again, dropping the front of her dress even lower.

  Was that a smirk on Cass’s face as she leveled her gaze on Elise?

  “Put me on the case,” Cass said. “I can convince that boy of anything.”

  “Thanks for the offer,” Elise said with a measured smile. She reached out once again to readjust Cass’s strap. “I’ve got this one.”

  Chapter 13

  Swimming to Blueberry Island and back in the early morning mist had always made Matt feel alive. He kept his focus on a perfect front crawl: body streamlined and flat, legs kicking from the hips rather than the knees, each arm rising from the cold water bent, then reaching far beneath the surface with a gentle hourglass pull beneath his torso, a barely there turn of his head to breathe every three strokes—alternating left and right for balance.

  Jesus, it was good to be in the lake again.

  Sleeping with Gracie between them in Cass’s airless and rickety boathouse had made for a sweaty, wakeful night and given him way too much time to think about the partnership—and what to say to Barrans on Mon
day. What lawyer in his right mind says no to partnership? Even if the buy-in is a problem, the firm guarantees a loan. Beyond highlighting cases that offer particularly big wins or some sort of personal satisfaction, a lawyer has one of two goals: sole proprietorship or partnership.

  Matt had already bombed out on the former.

  Partnership and a good marriage, two or three kids—these goals might seem amateurish and “picket fence” lined up next to his wife’s, but there you have it. By age fifty, you’ve been a partner for ten, twelve years. It wasn’t too much to hope for.

  Everyone in the firm would understand, given Elise’s success. They’d all give him the high fives, the pats on the back. They’d all go home to rave to their own spouses. But would even one of them trade places?

  Anyway. This choice was not about Elise. Nor was it about himself. It was about Gracie.

  He supposed he could speak to Barrans, talk about delaying the offer. But there would always be another competition. Elise was never going to change. Even if they never had another child, it would be years before Gracie could stay alone after school.

  Elise was at the end of the dock with a big towel when he returned. With a mighty kick, he pulled himself out of the water, dripping all over the weathered boards. She wrapped it around his shoulders. “Happy Father’s Day.”

  “Oh, hey. Right. Forgot all about it.”

  “Best father on earth.” She kissed his wet cheek. “You’re up early. It’s not even six thirty.”

  Was it called being up early if you really hadn’t slept? The partnership hadn’t been the only trigger for his wakefulness. The bed they’d all shared was the same one upon which Matt had lost his virginity to Cass. And after watching the way her body undulated beneath that dress last night, definitely without a bra and possibly without panties . . . was it crazy to think she wanted him to notice? A few times he’d caught her giving him the same look of teasing invitation he remembered from years past.

  Stop it. You’re happily married.

  Pretty happily.

  “I love the lake at this hour. So calm and still.” He scrubbed his hair with the towel, then patted his face dry. Movement up by the house caught his eye. Lyman had arrived early and was setting up tarps in the bushes below his ladder. Matt waved his thanks—to, not surprisingly, very little response on Lyman’s end.