The Charm Bracelet(38)

Arden’s face flushed again. She wanted to say yes—she wanted to scream yes, actually—but it had been a very long time since she had gone out with a man other than her ex, and she wasn’t sure she was up to the possibility of a new romantic relationship just yet, especially with all that was going on in her life.

Arden thought about her mother’s story, and it hit her again how limited her time was with her mother.

“Oh, thank you for the invitation, but I don’t think so. I need to spend some time with my mom. I appreciate it, though.”

Jake ducked his head. “Just thought I’d ask,” he said, opening the door. Arden could see the disappointment shadow his soulful dark eyes. “Have a great rest of your day.”

The screen door slammed, and the sound resonated in her head, just like her mother’s advice: No one is ever going to kick the door down and just walk on in.

Arden watched Jake walk down the steppingstone path toward his car, and wondered if she’d made a mistake not accepting his offer.

Jake stopped, turned, and opened his mouth.

For a second, Arden thought he was going to shout back at her—Please ask me again! she thought—but Jake seemed to change his mind and turned back toward his car.

Arden shook her head, tugged nervously on her earlobe, picked up the melting gallon of Scoops County ice cream, and headed inside the cabin, where she ran directly into her mother, grinning from ear to ear.

“What’s so funny, Mom?” Arden asked.

“Life,” Lolly replied. “Life can be very amusing.”

As her mother turned to finish getting ready for work, she began to hum—Frank Sinatra? “Summer Wind”?—and Arden couldn’t help but wonder what her mother was up to now.





part six




The Loon Charm

To a Life Filled with a Love That Always Calls You Home





Eighteen




Lolly Lindsey allowed herself only one moment of melancholy every day.

After she had retired to her bedroom for the evening, Lolly removed her wig, makeup, lashes, and Dolly costume, every bit of plumage—save for her charm bracelet and her wedding band.

She put on soft, flannel pajamas and positioned her body in the middle of the big, birch bed that took up most of the nook overlooking the lake.

Lolly’s nightly routine never changed: She grabbed a long-ago photo of her and her husband that sat on the nightstand—one taken at sunset on the beach of Lake Michigan, their young bodies framed by an explosion of color and light—and kissed it gently. She then tucked her body into a question mark under the sheets, grabbed her husband’s pillow and held it. If she inhaled long enough, Lolly swore she could still smell the Old Spice he loved to wear.

When the skies were clear and the moon was bright, the long shadows of the pines outside her window fell across the middle of the water-blue comforter, and the pine needles took the shape of moving fingers. Lolly would sigh and pretend the needles were her husband’s fingers, and that he was holding her, massaging her tired old body.

Lolly would then stare at another picture that hung haphazardly from an old log—another of Lolly and Les, this one when they were older, taken just outside the screened porch, two loons floating in the inlet behind them.

Lolly would sear that image into her brain, shut her eyes, and feel for the loon charm on her bracelet until its smooth, shiny beak and feathers revealed themselves to her fingers.

And then Lolly would wait.

Whooo-dooo-ooooh-ooooh!

The loons’ mournful wail outside her window transported Lolly back in time. She hugged her pillow and could now hear her husband’s voice.

“Listen,” Les would say to her, as she rested her head on his chest. “Fred and Ethel are going to bed, just like us.”

Whooo-dooo-ooooh-ooooh!

The two loons had seemingly been married and living on Lost Land Lake as long as Lolly and Les Lindsey had. Their home was the reeds and inlet that pooled just feet from the bedroom window and screened porch of the cabin.

“Tell me about the loons,” Lolly would always reply.

And he would.

“They mate forever, just like humans,” he would tell her. “They always come home, to the same place, same lake, every year, as soon as the ice thaws. They are territorial, and mates will defend their home from other loons. Small lakes can only accommodate one pair of loons, so they are always together, and they always talk to each other. Sound familiar?”

“What do they say to each other?” Lolly would ask.

“Well, it depends, my love, just like us … on their mood, what they have on their minds,” he would say in his husky rumble. “That sound we hear right now—that wail that sounds like a wolf’s howl—is the way they talk during their night chorusing. It’s just like what we’re doing now: It’s their own way of saying, ‘Good night. I love you.’”

Lolly would sigh and spoon even tighter to her husband’s side as he continued.

Lolly knew all of this, by heart now, but she was comforted hearing her husband’s voice hum in her body, his heart beat in her ear, just like hearing the loons call.

Whooo-dooo-ooooh-ooooh!

“I guess it’s now time for me to do my night chorus to you, my dear,” Les would whisper, before softly singing “Let Me Call You Sweetheart.”