by Ava Miles
She was in Dare Valley. Recovering from the attack. Right. That was why her vision was wonky.
“Lucy!” her mother called from the other side of the door. “Time to rise and shine.”
The jarring wake-up call was another reason she couldn’t stay with her parents. Ellen O’Brien did not believe in sleeping. She said people died in bed, so best not spend too much time there. The door cracked open, causing her to jump.
Her mother popped her head through. “April’s here, dear, and would love to see you.”
Hadn’t she seen the woman just last night? “Be right out,” she answered with a fake smile.
When the door closed, Lucy flopped back down and settled deeper into the covers. She sucked in calming breaths. The alarm clock was the same one she’d had in high school, and it read 8:27 a.m. She supposed she should be grateful her mom had let her sleep so late. After the party, she’d pretty much passed out at nine o’clock. She’d awoken at three in the morning, but the best way to fight jet leg was to force your body to acclimate to the new time zone. So she’d stayed in bed, thinking way too much about her conversation with Andy, her future, and being home. Somewhere along the line, she’d fallen back asleep.
Lucy grabbed her shaggy white terrycloth robe and crawled out of bed. Shuffling her feet, she stretched as she made her way to the kitchen—her mother’s lair. Some women entertained in the parlor, but Ellen O’Brien conducted the orchestra of her life from the kitchen. Most of her childhood memories of her mother were set in this room.
“There you are!” her mother said, hustling across the room and hugging her tight. “I was telling April you got a free pass on sleeping in today because you had a long journey here, but tomorrow, it’s back to normal.”
Normal. That meant waking up no later than seven a.m. She needed to find her own place—stat.
April Hale was smiling at the mother-daughter reunion over a blue pottery mug that smelled enticingly of coffee. Other delicious food smells like bacon floated through the air, making her feel a little zing of happiness.
“Good morning, April,” she said as her mother released her.
“Hi, Lucy. It’s good to see you in your mother’s kitchen again.” She came over and hugged her as well.
Even though Lucy had seen and talked to her last night, a fresh spurt of happiness filled her as memories flashed through her mind. She remembered eating oatmeal raisin cookies after school on the Hales’ Harvest Gold kitchen table as April bandaged her scraped knees or helped her with homework.
April stepped back. “Your hair is as long and fiery as I remember it. The auburn looks so good with your green eyes. Always has.”
Her compliment was a little surprising. After all, she almost always saw April on her visits home. Was she simply being extra sweet, or subtly suggesting Lucy needed a haircut? Her last one had been in Beirut, and hadn’t that been a trip… She’d gotten as close as she could to the Syrian border without getting into trouble. “Thank you.”
Her mom set a cup of steaming coffee in front of her, and she stared at it carefully. Another problem with her injury was that it threw off her depth perception with the objects closest to her, making it hard for her brain to pinpoint exactly where her hand needed to move to grasp them.
“Is that a hawk outside the window?” she asked, making them both turn their heads.
She put her hand toward where she thought the cup was, missed, and moved it a couple inches until she had a good grip on the mug.
“I don’t see one,” her mother said.
“Me either,” April said, “although there are plenty of them around.”
“This coffee is delicious,” she said, taking a sip, congratulating herself on the misdirection.
“You and your father always did need coffee to function in the morning,” her mom said, pinching her cheek. “Although sleeping this late, you’d think you could do without the jolt. You need a haircut.”
“I was just thinking that,” she responded pleasantly.
“Do I even want to see your toes?” her mom asked, looking down at her feet.
She covered one foot over the other. “Stop. You know there are no nail salons in the places I visit.” Best not mention that hepatitis C was a real risk at most of the salons she could have visited.
“We can get our nails done today,” her mom said, checking her own manicure.
It looked like purple to Lucy, but it could have been blue. There was no way to be sure anymore unless she closed her bad eye, and that was the problem. Relenting to temptation would only make the healing process take longer, darn it all to hell.
“I’ll make you a hair appointment too, Luce.”
It was already starting. “Mom, I can handle my own appointments.”
Her mom yanked on a lock of her hair before turning and loading a plate with bacon and scrambled eggs for her. “I’m only trying to be helpful, honey.”
“I know.” She did. It just annoyed the hell out of her. “Let me do things at my own pace, okay?”
“Fine,” her mom said, sharing a glance with April, who was oddly quiet.
Were they wondering why she was back too? God, she hoped they wouldn’t ask. She hadn’t kept the incident in the Congo to herself only to keep her parents from worrying. Her mother was allergic to what she called ‘sad things.’ Lucy couldn’t count the number of times her mother had pursed her lips and told her not to be a downer. After a while, Lucy had started self-editing everything she told her mom.
Lucy grabbed the fork her mother handed her, and felt for the plate with her free hand. Upon contact, she dug into the eggs, pushing those thoughts aside. “Cheddar cheese and dill eggs. Oh, yum.” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had dill. “And apple-smoked bacon…I’m in heaven.”
“Hopefully this proves I’m not an ogre.”
Her excitement dimmed. “Mom, I don’t think you’re an ogre. But I’m a grown woman used to running my own life. You wouldn’t appreciate it if I tried to rearrange yours. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
“Indeed,” her mother said, her mouth twisting. “Go ahead and eat. April and I will tell you about our project.”
That sounded ominous. If they had a project, Dare Valley had better watch out. When they were young mothers, Ellen and April had organized a breastfeeding fair for women. They’d suggested that women should stop covering themselves in church, restaurants, and local stores. Suffice it to say, the whole town had been scandalized. Her dad might have thrown a blanket over her mom’s boob and begged her to stop. Breastfeeding openly was more widespread now, of course—her mother had been ahead of her time.
“It was so nice to see you and Andy together again last night,” April said, pouring herself another cup of coffee. She and Ellen stood next to each other, a united front, while Lucy ate off the kitchen island. “Your friendship has certainly stood the test of time. Just like mine with your mother.”
The two women put their arms around each other with sisterly affection.
“Yeah, we’ve done pretty good, Shorty,” her mother said, making April laugh.
Was her mother quoting rap lyrics? Lucy didn’t want to know.
“Andy is doing better, I suppose,” April continued. “Moving back here was the best decision he could have made. He’s been able to spend more time with Danny.”
According to Andy, that was one of the main reasons he’d made the plunge. He didn’t want to miss out on anything as Danny grew up. Moreover, he needed to be mother and father to the little boy, and long hospital hours weren’t conducive to quality family time.
“It was good for me too,” April continued, “coming back here. I get to be a hands-on grandma and reconnect with all of my old friends.”
Lucy watched April and Ellen share a look before they turned their attention on her. She felt as pinned down as a butterfly in a display case.
“Like you get to reconnect with Andy,” her mother added, as if April hadn’t already laid
the groundwork brilliantly.
Lucy took another bite of her steaming eggs. She couldn’t talk with her mouth full.
“Danny’s growing like a weed,” her mother continued. “He’s as cute as button and then some.”
Subtle, Mother. She gulped her coffee next, burning her mouth.
“Just like his father,” April said, grabbing the coffee pot and topping off her mug.
“I’m glad to see you’re eating so well, Lucy,” her mother said, eyeing her plate. “You’re too skinny. All that traveling overseas is hard on you.”
“I’m fine.” Lucy gave her a look before shoveling in more eggs.
“That’s a great segue to our project,” April said, setting her mug on the island. “We were hoping to get your help. With all your photography experience, this will be a piece of cake.”
Lucy’s chewing slowed. Why were the hairs on the back of her neck suddenly standing at attention?
“What project?” she asked, seeing no escape.
Her mom rested a hand on her shoulder. Oh, no. Not the hand-on-the-shoulder move!
“You know those calendars you take photos for?” April asked. “The ones of the poor kids in Africa?”
“Yes,” she said cautiously, gritting her teeth at the description.
“They look great, dear,” her mom said, pointing to the current year calendar hanging on the side of the refrigerator. “But really sad too.”
Sad was her mother’s code for bad. Ellen O’Brien didn’t do sad. Lucy set her fork down. “What do you want me to do?”
April tucked her salt-and-pepper hair behind her ears. “We want you to shoot the photos for a calendar we’ve organized to raise money for breast cancer awareness and research.”
Lucy knew about April’s recent scare. And of course there was Kim. “What kind of photos did you have in mind?” Could she even shoot them with her vision being what it was? She hadn’t taken a single photo since the accident. Hadn’t been able to pick up her Leica.
April shared a look with her mother. “You tell her. It was your idea.”
Somehow that kindled fear in her very heart. Her mother was known for her outlandish ideas.
“Have you seen the movie Calendar Girls, honey?” her mother asked. “The one with Helen Mirren?”
“I didn’t catch that one,” she said, trying to remember the last movie she’d seen. “I don’t get to see many movies, Mom.”
Her mother patted her shoulder. “It’s a British film about women raising money for some medical issue—can’t remember what kind right now. Doesn’t matter. And all the women in the calendar show a little skin. If you know what I mean.” The grin on her face told Lucy exactly what she meant.
She blinked a couple times. “You want me to shoot photos for a Playboy-like calendar?” Her mom had never been shy about her body. In fact, she was infamous around town for her habit of hopping into the backyard hot tub naked in broad daylight. But this…
“No, dear,” April said earnestly, patting Lucy’s hand. “Nothing like that. Although I have been called Miss April before.”
Her mother snorted. Miss April? This was not the kind of information Lucy wanted taking up space in her brain.
“While it might be fun to go for the full monty, your mother and I have decided on something else,” April continued. “We’ll be naked—like the women in the movie—and cover our…ah…feminine parts with amusing props. Like cantaloupes or something.” She made a gesture to her ample chest.
“We’re going to need pretty big cantaloupes for you, April,” her mom said, starting to laugh.
“Or those small watermelons at the market,” April added seriously, shorting out Lucy’s brain momentarily.
Mrs. Hale, the woman who used to make cookies for the school bake sale and had taught all her daughters not to let boys touch their private parts, was talking like this?
Lucy felt a headache coming on. She just couldn’t get past the naked part—and all the melon talk.
Then her mom walked to the fruit bowl sitting on the counter. “Too bad I don’t have a weenie because we have to use this banana for something. Guess I’ll have to settle for the avocados since I’m only a B-cup.”
Lucy put a hand to her forehead as her mother picked up a pair of avocados and arranged them against her boobs. “Please, Mom. Stop. You’re going to give me nightmares.”
April chortled. “Hand me those mangoes, Ellen, and I’ll show you where to put them.”
All hell really had broken loose. Her mom was pressing two avocados to her breasts while April nestled the mangoes against her girls.
“I really am going to need cantaloupes or watermelons,” April said, tsking as she set her fruit on the counter. “Mangoes are way too small.”
“Ladies, please,” Lucy implored, trying to rein them back in. “If you want me to take this seriously, you need to put the fruit down. Now, Mother.”
Her mom wiggled her body suggestively before putting the avocados down. “You’re so serious sometimes.”
“I’m a professional,” Lucy said, making them both sputter with laughter. “Let’s start over. You’re planning to do a calendar to raise money for breast cancer. Obviously, the two of you have volunteered for photos, but a year has twelve months.”
Her mom rolled her eyes. “We have other people lined up besides us, Lucy. Everyone has lost someone to cancer. And it’s not just women. We have men too. Your father had reservations, but April and I are committed to the idea of an equal opportunity calendar.”
She could imagine it now. Old men with hot dogs in front of their family jewels. Her stomach churned from the horror. “You don’t mean Andy, do you?” Surely her friend would have told her about this if he’d known. Besides, she couldn’t see Andy posing nude with a foot-long in front of his… Oh, she needed to stop that train of thought right this minute.
“Of course not,” her mother said. “He’s the father of a young son. How would it look if he posed naked with a frankfurter covering his crotch?”
The nightmare just wouldn’t stop. “Please. Can we try and keep this…I don’t know…somewhat professional? Right now, this whole thing sounds pretty risqué. I’ve never done anything like this, and even though it’s for a good cause, I might not be the right person to help.” Besides, she wasn’t sure she could even take photos right now.
April’s face fell. “It’s going to be tasteful, Lucy, I promise you.”
Her mother glared at her. “Do you think something like this is beneath you, what with you being a hot-shot photojournalist and all?”
Now that hurt. But there was some truth to it. She was known for her work. How would it look if she photographed a scantily-clad calendar, even if it did raise money for a worthy cause?
“Do you really think Dare Valley is…liberal enough to support this effort?” Lucy could easily imagine how some would react.
“It’s a small community,” April said with a sigh. “We expect there will be some resistance, but we’re hoping that it won’t be an issue considering how many respected citizens have agreed to participate.”
“Don’t forget the involvement of a famous, well-respected photographer,” her mother added, picking up the banana and shaking it in her direction.
Lucy felt a pinch of guilt, which was probably her mother’s intention.
“Florence Henklemeyer is going to be fit to be tied over this,” her mom continued, waving the banana about like she was Justice with her shining sword. “But after the smear campaign Florence’s son pulled on Matt in the mayoral primary, we’re looking forward to putting their knickers in a wad.”
“Florence went after Jane for being a former poker babe, saying she was indecent,” April said, a hard gleam in her eyes. “Your mom and I aren’t going to back down to the likes of her. This calendar is nothing to be ashamed of. It’s going to help a lot of women get mammograms and other care. After what happened to Kim and my own scare with breast cancer, I want to do something to help.”
There was fire in her voice, and it roused the fighter in Lucy. Breast cancer did need to be fought, both through raising awareness and money for research and care.
“Lucy,” April said, taking her hand. “We all plan to dedicate our month to the loved one we lost. And I have a name for it. The calendar, I mean.”
Lucy nodded, feeling her hand vibrate with emotion.
“I figured that since we’ve all had to learn to live again after losing someone to cancer, we’ll call it The Calendar of New Beginnings.”
Lucy had to swallow the lump in her throat. She knew something about new beginnings. “April, it’s a beautiful name and a beautiful idea.”
“I’m dedicating my month to your grandmother,” her mom told her. “My mom was a tough woman, but she loved me and you too, kid. Do you remember how she used to make you ham sandwiches and oatmeal raisin cookies every Tuesday for school lunch? I wish I could still pick up the phone and call her. I even miss playing bridge with her—although she delighted in beating me into the ground.”
Her grandmother had been fierce and competitive, but she’d always been kind to Lucy. She had died of lung cancer eight years ago. “Of course I remember, Mom. She was something.”
“And my month is dedicated to Kim, of course,” April said, pursing her lips as if fighting strong emotion. “I miss that girl. She was a shining light in our family, and for Andy and Danny.”
“So will you do it?” her mom asked.
She reached for April’s other hand, both of them gazing at her with hope and determination. They would do it without her, she knew. And if she didn’t help, she’d feel like crap. Maybe this was her chance to learn how to take photos without her normal vision. If her condition didn’t rectify itself, she’d need all the practice she could get to adjust to her new constraints. While she would give it her best, no one would be expecting award-winning photographs for this calendar. That should help her deal with her terror over taking photos again, shouldn’t it?
“All right, I’ll do it,” she announced, “but I want full artistic control.”
They shrieked and high-fived each other.
