The Charm Bracelet(36)

“Oooh, and here’s a red piece!” Lolly said. “Let’s see if they fit!”

Lolly placed one piece down on the board. Then Jo did and—click!—they snapped together easily.

“It’s like they were meant to be together!” Lolly said.

“Just like us!” Jo said.

That evening, Lolly came rushing home at dusk and immediately flew into her father’s arms. Vern put down the charcoal just in time to catch his daughter.

“Daddy, you won’t believe the day I had!” Lolly exclaimed, as her father began prepping the grill for hot dogs. “I met a girl named Jo, and she is my new best friend.”

Lolly told him about the puzzle.

“I have an idea,” Vern said. “Why don’t I help you shellac and frame it when you are finished? That way, you can treasure it forever.”

Lolly screamed her delight, and the two went in search of more jigsaw puzzles stored in the tiny attic over the cabin, finding a few old ones, including one of the Bobbsey Twins and one of the state of Michigan.

Every day for the next two months, Lolly and Jo sat by the lake and worked on a puzzle, taking breaks to swim in the lake, float on inner tubes, or beg their parents to take them to the beach or for ice cream in town.

On the Fourth of July, Vern made Lolly a birthday cake and had Jo and her parents over for a picnic.

“Open your presents!” Vern said.

Lolly clapped: Her father had wrapped and framed a few of the girls’ completed puzzles.

“They’re just like art!” Lolly said. “Can we hang them on the screened porch?”

“Sure,” Vern said. “But why outside?”

“Because that’s where I first heard Jo singing!” Lolly explained.

At dusk, after everyone had gorged on barbecued hamburgers, potato salad, chips, s’mores, and cake, Jo asked Lolly if she would like to walk to the end of the dock to watch the fireworks.

As they walked, dragonflies followed and fireflies blinked.

The two sat on the edge of the dock and swung their feet into the lake. Frogs called around them.

“I have a present for you, too,” Jo said suddenly, pulling a little box from her pocket. “Happy birthday!”

“Jo!” Lolly squealed. “What is it?”

“Recite the poem first.”

“What?”

“The poem you told me you always said to your mom on your birthday.”

Lolly’s face froze.

“I can’t,” she said.

“Yes, you can,” Jo said. “You need to.”

Lolly was overcome with emotion, but Jo was right. She shut her eyes and began to recite. She had to stop and start, because her voice kept cracking, but saying the words reminded her of her mother and a feeling of happiness and comfort came over her.

Jo handed Lolly her gift, and Lolly ripped open the wrapping paper on the tiny box. Sitting atop a little velvet throne was a silver charm.

“What is it, Jo?” Lolly asked, squinting in the twilight, holding the odd-shaped charm into the darkening sky.

“It’s a puzzle piece that says BEST FRIENDS because we are and always will be,” Jo said. “See … your piece says BEST, and…”

Jo stopped and lifted her arm up to show Lolly her wrist.

“… My piece says, FRIENDS. They fit together. Just like us!”

Boom!

Fireworks began to explode overhead, their colors reflecting in the water.

Lolly added the charm to her bracelet, and then reached for her best friend’s hand.





Seventeen




“Jo and I were inseparable throughout our school years,” Lolly said, taking a seat again on the glider next to Jake. “Everyone called us the ‘Jigsaw Twins’ because we were never apart: We double-dated, played basketball, and took dance classes together. She helped me get through those hard years without my mom.

“After high school, she begged me to go to college with her, but I just couldn’t leave my father alone. So I stayed and helped him with his fishing guide business. Jo ended up becoming a teacher, and she married an engineer and lived in Chicago. She had three children. I married and had Arden. We saw each other every summer, and…”

Lolly nodded vigorously toward the framed jigsaw puzzles on the walls of the screened porch.

“… we never stopped doing puzzles. Even apart, we kept our tradition alive: One of us would start a puzzle, finish and shellac half of it, and then wrap it and mail it to the other one to finish. Whoever finished a puzzle kept it and framed it. Jo sent me puzzles from her travels all around the world—jigsaws from Paris and London, old puzzles she’d find in antique malls. I sent her mostly puzzles of home—of Michigan and Scoops, of ice cream cones and the lake.”

“How is Jo?” Arden asked. “I remember visiting her, but I haven’t heard you talk about her for a while. Is she still in Chicago? Are you sending this puzzle to her when you’re done?”

Lolly scanned the expanse of green in front of Lost Land Lake, before closing her eyes. She blinked hard.

“Wait!” Arden said suddenly, bolting upright and heading to the table. “Oh, Mom! I know what this puzzle is going to be: A pink ribbon. I’m so sorry!”

“This was our last puzzle.” Lolly tried to swallow. “Jo did the first half in the hospital and then sent it to me to finish. I just can’t bring myself to finish it yet. I miss her so much.”