The Charm Bracelet(77)

“I feel much better, thank you, sir,” Lolly said. “I plan to head to work at noon. It’s a big holiday. Lots of fudgies in town.”

“And…,” Jake said, hesitating dramatically. “I’m here to pick up Arden for our date.”

“Date?” Lolly repeated, her face lighting up.

“Date?” Arden echoed, smiling.

“We’re going to the beach,” Jake said to Lolly, “just like you and your husband did on one of your first dates.”

“I love it,” Lolly said. “Don’t you, Arden?”

Arden nodded, but immediately thought of Van’s text.

“I probably need to check back in with work first,” Arden said. “There’s a lot going on. I might need to work remotely from here for a few hours.”

“But it’s a holiday,” Lolly said, her words flying out with a sigh.

“There’s always less coverage on a holiday and more happening, it seems,” Arden said.

“Remember what we talked about?” Lolly asked.

Arden hesitated and looked down at the table, to avoid the stares of her mother, daughter, and Jake.

“I’m going to put the finishing touches on my painting, Mom,” Lauren said. “And then lay out and catch some rays. It’s a perfect beach day … for a date!”

Arden thought of Dr. Van Meter’s offer to buy Lauren’s painting, and just as suddenly her mind shifted to Van. Arden looked at her mother, as silence engulfed the screened porch.

What will I remember when I’m her age? That I worked? Or that I went to the beach? Arden reminded herself. My new life begins now.

“You’re right,” Arden finally said. “I’ll go get ready.”

“Don’t trip,” Lolly teased.

Arden tugged her mother’s wig off to the side as she passed. When Lolly heard the stairs creak, she looked at Jake. “Thank you,” she said.

“For what?”

“Everything.”





Forty-four




Scoops Beach was jammed worse than Lake Shore Drive in the middle of a January blizzard.

Cars snaked up the narrow beach road perched between the tall dunes, music of every genre—pop, rock, country, jazz, oldies—booming from open windows.

Arden looked down at the dial of Jake’s old pickup. In the strangest juxtaposition, this big man in the rusting truck was listening to classical, and he was whistling—on pitch—to Beethoven.

Arden watched Jake’s dimpled cheeks puff, his perfect lips purse as he whistled.

The truck inched forward, and sun glinted through a set of birch, blinding Jake. He reached for his sunglasses on the console, catching Arden’s stare as he turned.

Jake smiled, strumming his fingers on the wheel to the staccato of violins.

The strings reached a crescendo on the radio, and Arden’s heart raced higher along with them.

I like this man, Arden thought, before whispering it to herself, as if she needed to say it to believe it. “I like this man.”

“What?” Jake asked, sliding his sunglasses down onto the bridge of his nose to look at Arden. “Did you say something?”

Arden was about to say it—say “I really like you,” to Jake—when a horn blared behind the truck.

“The smartest people always act so dumb on holiday weekends, don’t they?” Jake asked, sticking his head out the window, and shaking it with bewilderment, before saying to Arden, “You have three options: Buy a season beach pass, buy a day pass, or turn around and go home. Pretty simple.”

Life should be that simple, Arden thought, opting to remain quiet.

Slowly, the traffic began to inch forward. The lifeguard saw the season pass on the front of Jake’s window and waved the truck through, Jake settling his old Ford into a narrow space tucked in front of a small dune that separated the back lot from the one nearest the water. Arden could only watch as Jake began to load himself up, draping towels around his neck, bags around his shoulders, chairs on his back, coolers and umbrellas in his strong hands, and slowly make his way up the dune, churning sand in his wake. “I got it!” he yelled back at Arden.

Once over the dune, the boardwalk greeted them. Jake lumbered down the warped boards, before turning right at the end to huff along the shoreline. After a few yards, he stopped suddenly and shrugged everything off his body and onto the sand.

“We’re here!” He laughed, his face lathered in sweat. “Sorry, but it’s as far as I could go.”

The two began to set up their beach camp in earnest, silently choosing chores that fit them best—Jake pounded beach umbrellas deep into the sand with a rubber mallet while Arden lay out towels, anchoring them with flip-flops and coolers, arranging books, magazines, and drinks on each.

“We make a good team.” Jake laughed.

Arden could feel her face flush as Jake smiled at her, and was thankful the sun was out in full force to disguise her redness. She took a seat on her big beach blanket—which featured a huge image of Dolly’s Sweet Shop.

Arden looked out over Lake Michigan and sighed. It was one of those high seventies, low-humidity, northern Michigan afternoons that made locals’ endurance of endless dark, lake-effect-snow-driven months of winter worth all the pain.