The Charm Bracelet(35)

“Maybe you can find a best friend to share your charms with,” Vern said. “When you’re ready, you get outside and be a kid again. Deal?”

Lolly hesitated. “Deal.”

The next morning, Vern made blueberry pancakes, Lolly’s favorite. “Feel like going outside today?” he asked, drizzling maple syrup on a large stack of cakes.

Lolly took a bite of her pancakes and looked seriously at her father. “I think so, Daddy,” she said.

After breakfast, Lolly stepped onto the screened porch and took in Lost Land Lake. The finches—as yellow as the sun—still gathered at her mother’s bird feeders, chirping happily; her mother’s hydrangeas—in varying shades of blue, pink, and red—rocked in the morning breeze; the dock where Lolly and her mother exchanged charms, dangled their feet, shared s’mores, and dreamed about the future, still jutted far into the lake; and Lost Land still shimmered in the summer sun.

Lolly caught her breath and willed herself not to cry.

It’s not fair! Lolly thought.

Lolly wanted to go back in time. She could feel the tears coming, so she closed her eyes, to shut out the world. And that’s when she heard “Mr. Sandman.”

Lolly and her mother had loved that song. They had sung it together when she was sick, when they had prayed for a miracle, a dream.

Lolly flew off the porch, the screen door banging behind her.

A little boy with short black hair was facing the lake, about four cabins down, hunched over, as if in deep prayer, singing and humming.

“That’s my favorite song, too,” Lolly said. “What’s your name?”

“Jo! Why?” the boy said in a startled voice, before spinning around hurriedly, like he was about to get in trouble.

Lolly didn’t mean to, but she giggled. There, in front of her, sat a little girl with a ragged pixie cut.

“Jo, without an e,” she explained, already seeing the look on Lolly’s face. “Jo Roseberry. And it’s okay. Everybody thinks I’m a boy. My dad wanted a boy. I’m named after Joe DiMaggio.”

“My dad likes Joltin’ Joe, too,” Lolly said, extending her hand, as her mother had taught her to do when she met someone. “Hi! I’m Lolly. Lolly Dobbs.”

Jo’s dark eyes filled with storminess, and she nervously turned away, her gaze scanning the lake. “Everyone’s talkin’ about your family,” she said. “I’m real sorry about your mom.”

Lolly had heard those words—over and over, at the visitation, the church, the funeral, when townsfolk brought over pies and casseroles—but they sounded so different coming from a little girl her own age. To Lolly, the words sounded genuine, and not rehearsed, for the first time.

“Me, too,” Lolly said. She shut her blue eyes to keep the tears at bay, but when she opened them, Jo was standing and facing her. “You can cry if you want. Sometimes, it helps when I cry. I don’t mind.”

Lolly began to heave with all the force of a sudden summer thunderstorm, before Jo reached out and hugged Lolly, holding her, letting her tears soak the shoulder of her jumper.

“My mom says tears are just too much emotion, like when the bathtub overfills,” Jo said, whispering into Lolly’s ear and patting her back. “And she says hugs are like Band-Aids.”

For once, Lolly didn’t feel the need to act brave for anyone, or to apologize for her sadness.

As Lolly held on to her new friend, she finally saw—just over Jo’s shoulder—something on the ground.

“What is that?” Lolly asked. “Is that what you were working on while you were singing?”

Jo walked over and took a seat on the grass. Scattered in front of her—on a piece of plywood—were hundreds of puzzle pieces, only a few of them connected.

“Uh-huh,” Jo said, grabbing the top of the puzzle box and handing it to Lolly. “That’s what it’s supposed to look like.”

“That’s Lake Michigan!” Lolly yelled, shaking the photo of the puzzle excitedly. “That’s a photo of Scoops Beach! See all the umbrellas and kites? My mom and I used to go there all the time!”

Jo looked up at Lolly, and it was now her eyes that were filled with tears.

“My parents got me this puzzle and said this was my new home, and we would never be moving back to Chicago,” Jo said, big tears plopping like raindrops off the plywood. “I miss all my friends. I miss my house. I miss Chicago.”

This time, it was Lolly who held Jo in her arms, until she could cry no more.

“I’ve got an idea,” Lolly said, looking Jo right in the eyes. “I miss my mom, and you miss your friends, so why don’t we start trying to be happy together? What if you help me stop missing my mom so much, and I’ll help you stop missing your home?”

“How?” Jo asked, her eyes wide.

“Well, let’s start by finishing this puzzle. That way, we can do something new together. I can tell you about my mom, and you can tell me about Chicago.”

Lolly sat down next to Jo.

“Okay, let’s start looking for all the umbrella pieces first,” Lolly said. “They’re colorful and will be easier to put together than the beach and water ones. See this red-and-yellow one?”

“I found a yellow piece!” Jo yelled.