The Charm Bracelet(27)

Suddenly, a canopy of ancient sugar maples and pines choked out the sunlight, as the road suddenly cut through a dense forest that led to Lake Michigan, and Arden yanked off her sunglasses.

“Look!” Lauren said, pointing out both sides of the backseat window.

On the left, a family of deer stood at attention, like wax figures at Madame Tussauds, while on the right, a wild turkey high-stepped through the woods.

The Woodie slowly crawled down the other side of the dune, the brakes moaning loudly, until it was suddenly drenched in sunlight.

Lake Michigan stretched out in front of them like the ocean, the surface still as glass, sun illuminating the greens and blues of the water. Boats motored along the lake, Jet Skis zipped by, and some very brave souls had actually ventured into the still-frigid water. A golden-sand beach stretched out, dotted by bright umbrellas and towels, picnic baskets and sand buckets, people lounging in the sun. Dunes towered in the background, and dune grass danced in the wind. The Woodie stopped as cars ahead slowed pulling up to the one-room weathered guard shack to buy a beach pass.

“Hello, Dolly!” a young, blond girl in a red lifeguard T-shirt yelled from the guard shack. “Sorry … I mean, Lolly! Time for a new beach pass, I see!” she added, stepping out of the shack. “But the big question is: Where to add it this year?”

The girl giggled as she scanned the front and back windows of the Woodie. Decades of beach pass decals—designed in colors, fonts, and images that reflected the passing eras—were adhered to nearly every square inch of bumper as well as the front, back, and side windows, leaving Lolly only gaps through which to see the road.

“Ever thought about removing some of those, Mom?” Arden said, pointing to a window.

“Never!” Lolly said. “It would be like erasing a year from my life.”

After a few seconds, Lauren called, “Found a place,” and began thumping a few square inches of open glass on the back passenger window.

The lifeguard adhered the new beach pass and said, “That’ll be sixty bucks for another year at Scoops Beach.”

Lolly unzipped her jacket and reached into the top of her swimsuit, her hand disappearing, going deep into the unknown, as if she were a magician.

“Here we go,” Lolly said happily, pulling out a wad of damp, crushed bills. “Let’s just say my piggy bank has lost some of its oink over the years.”

Arden’s face turned red, but Lauren and the lifeguard laughed.

As Lolly began to pull away, the lifeguard yelled, “We all love you, Lolly! Have a great day at the beach with your family.”

Lolly waved back and guided the Woodie down the narrow sand-covered road—people honking, yelling, and waving as if she were the queen of England—until she found a faraway parking place in a back row near a dune.

“We can probably get you a handicapped sticker, Mom,” Arden said without thinking, popping open the trunk.

“Never!” Lolly said defiantly. “Now, make me a pack mule. Start piling it on, Lauren.”

This was a game Lauren and Lolly used to play: After a day at the beach when she was little, Lauren would become so worn out and sleepy that Lolly would have to carry her and all the beach gear back to the Woodie. And she did, piling towels over her neck, chairs onto her back, all while carrying Lauren, beach bags, and a cooler.

Lauren spent a few weeks every summer with her grandmother, while her father worked endless hours and her mother worked to make him happy by creating the perfect home, the perfect daughter, the perfect wife, the perfect life. Lolly taught Lauren how to have fun, to relax, to be a kid, even for a short while. When Arden divorced, she began to work every minute and every summer. Lauren felt guilty leaving her mother alone and began to fade from her grandmother’s life like a late August sunset.

Lauren began to pile four towels onto Lolly’s neck until she looked as if she were wearing a brace.

They really bonded in the times I wasn’t there, Arden thought. I didn’t spend enough time with either of them.

Lolly began to walk—ever so slowly, like a camel from Lawrence of Arabia—across the sand-covered parking lot and boardwalk.

Arden’s heart leaped in her chest. “Mother! Stop right there! You’re going to hurt yourself!”

“My mind may not always be willing,” Lolly said, turning around, windblown sand dancing around her ankles, “but my body is.”

Arden shook her head, and she and Lauren hurriedly grabbed coolers, umbrellas, and lounge chairs while stuffing magazines and books into beach bags, shuffling in flip-flops to catch up with Lolly, just as she found a place near the water.

Lolly flicked a giant beach towel that read “LAKE MICHIGAN—UNSALTED!” into the breeze and settled it onto the sand, before sitting dramatically and posing, like Lana Turner. “I’m down!” she laughed. “And I may not get up again!”

Lauren laughed and pretended to kick sand at her grandmother, who screamed in protest, before the two began to slather lotion onto one another, leaving Arden to set up camp. Arden positioned two striped umbrellas against the sun, laid out sheets and towels, anchoring them with coolers and flip-flops, set out books and magazines and lotions, before arranging snacks in a row on a separate towel.

Lolly and Lauren stopped and looked at Arden. “Someone has to do it, Mom. Someone always has to do it,” Arden said.