The Charm Bracelet(68)

Lauren yawned, stretched, and went in search of coffee. As she was waiting for the pot to brew, she leaned against the counter in the kitchen, watching the lake come to life.

That’s when she saw it in the dusky dawn light: An easel, canvas, and paints were set up on the dock.

Grandma!

Lauren nearly shouted in excitement, and had to cover her own mouth to quiet herself. When the coffee was ready, she walked outside, looked out over the lake, and sipped from her cup, the sky and her senses coming alive.

She bowed her head to say a small prayer before dipping the tip of her brush into the paints, the sky quickly brightening over Lost Land.

She looked at the clear Michigan sky over Lost Land Lake and blew her bangs out of her eyes with a great sigh.

This isn’t just beautiful. It’s ethereal, she realized. The Northern Lights and now a heavenly sunrise.

The morning light shimmered through the trees and gave the lake an otherworldly hue. Everything in this Michigan world seemed to have a soft shimmer to it, as though God had hung gauze over the sky and softly scattered glitter on all his creations.

A little more gold? White? Blue? she considered.

This simple, little lake was filled with so much beauty.

It’s the light, my grandmother always told me. It’s the magical light, Lauren thought.

Scoops sat along the forty-fifth parallel north, a circle of latitude often called the halfway point between the equator and the North Pole.

Some of the world’s most stunning vistas rested along this line, and they were considered by many to be not only spiritual spots but also places of incomparable beauty. At this latitude, the sun stayed in the summer sky in these parts of northern Michigan for nearly eighteen hours. Artists believed the angle of the sun and the magical light it produced made the world glow. Artists traveled from around the world to paint here for decades, and local galleries housed in former barns now dotted the lakeshore. Art collectors in smart spectacles, linen pants, and silk scarves came to Scoops from across the country every summer, snatching up works both by famed and yet-to-be-discovered talent.

Farmers and vintners had followed the artists in recent years. Vineyards and wineries sat along rolling hillsides overlooking the bay, producing exquisite chardonnays and Rieslings, while produce farms and farmers’ markets sold the freshest cherries, blueberries, asparagus, heirloom tomatoes, beans, and peaches. Farm-to-table restaurants had replaced dingy diners and smoky bars, and from Memorial Day through Labor Day, diners needed to—gasp!—make reservations.

Lauren studied the simple scene in front of her: The lake at dawn. The dock jutting forth over the quiet waters, reeds rustling on the banks, swans waking, smoke from stone fireplaces in log cabins mixing with the morning light.

And that sky! That sky! She exhaled.

“It’s the light,” Lolly said.

Lauren jumped.

“I know, Grandma. You taught me that.”

“Need a refill? We were up so late, but it was worth it, wasn’t it?”

Lolly was standing in a fluffy pink robe, already in wig and full makeup, holding the pot of coffee. Lauren nodded yes to both questions.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” she said.

“I was just so deep in thought,” Lauren said. “I lost track.”

“Passion!” Lolly winked, filling her granddaughter’s Scoops mug.

A pang of guilt filled Lauren, and she nervously stole a glance toward the window of the bedroom where her mother still slept.

“No need for guilt,” Lolly said, filling her own mug and setting the coffeepot on top of a sun-faded dock. She tilted her face toward the emerging sun, and it, too, was cast in an otherworldly light. “You’ve known what you were born to do since you were a little girl. You just fought it. We all do. You just needed faith. And a little push.”

Lauren grinned at her grandmother and winked. “And a little ‘Hope,’ right, Grandma? That’s how the ice cream charm led you to find your job at Dolly’s, isn’t it?”

Lolly smiled and nodded, shutting her eyes to remember her granddaughter as a little girl filled with hope, faith, and unbridled talent. Lolly had bought Lauren her first set of crayons, first set of sidewalk chalks, first paint-by-numbers project, first set of watercolors.

Lauren looked over at her grandmother, whose eyes were still shut, and she closed hers, too. She could still feel her grandmother’s hands on hers, as they had been when she was a child, guiding her, helping her.

“Don’t worry! It’s even better when you go outside the lines. That makes your vision unique!” Lolly used to tell her. “Make the sky purple instead of blue! That’s the way it looks to dreamers!”

“I can’t thank you enough for this, Grandma,” Lauren said, gesturing at the easel and paints. “I don’t know what to say.”

Lolly clucked her tongue. “Oh, my dear, I didn’t do this. Your mother did.”

“What?”

“She wanted to surprise you,” Lolly said. “Encourage you. I think my stories, and your and Jake’s influence are doing wonders on her,” she said. “But now it’s up to you. You have to believe in yourself.”

Lauren turned and watched a heron break the surface of the water, stretching for a fish, before taking its catch to the shore. “I love to paint, but what if I can’t cut it? I can’t imagine doing anything else, but what if I don’t make a living at it?”