The Charm Bracelet(82)

Don’t fall! Don’t fall! Arden thought, tugging her earlobe and clamping her eyes shut in a panic, reciting the line in her head like a prayer, fingering the handle on her purse as if it were a rosary.

Don’t fall! Don’t fall! she prayed.

She opened them as Lauren continued to walk—beaming a smile with complete confidence.

NO! Is that … could that be…? Arden’s eyes widened.

Arden stood again, her hands over her mouth. She realized her daughter was wearing the same dress she had worn, the exact gown her mother had made for her decades earlier. And yet the yellow dress with the train of tulips that had looked so garish on her looked totally different on her daughter. Lauren was happy, beautiful, confident.

Arden’s negative thoughts were swept from her head and replaced with a positive one:

The difference is my daughter is happy to be here, proud to wear that dress, proud to be a Lindsey.

From a distance, Lauren resembled a beautiful tulip come to life, sunshine radiating on her. Lauren’s long hair had been pulled into a soft updo, blond tendrils falling around her face, chandelier earrings dangling to complement the simplicity.

All around her, the crowd buzzed. “Who is that?” “She’s beautiful!” “Lindsey? No! Is she related to Lolly Lindsey? Was her mother Ar-don’t…?”

As the applause and whispering subsided, one other sound caught Arden’s ears. In fact, she could hear it even in the bleachers, yards away from the platform. As Lauren crossed the runway, Arden noticed the only other jewelry Lauren sported was her own and her grandmother’s charm bracelets.

Arden could feel her heart in her throat. Without thinking, she gripped Jake’s hand. He put his arm around her.

“She looks just like you and your mother,” he said, reaching out to kiss her on the cheek.

Arden smiled as Lauren exited the platform as if walking on air.

“Now for da talent competition!” the speakers boomed.

Arden’s stomach lurched. The memory of her debacle—Tiny Tim, the ukulele, the wig, falling into the water—overwhelmed her, as the contestants began to dance, sing, and twirl batons on the platform. She tugged furiously at her lobe.

“Everything is going to be all right,” Jake said, pulling her in close to reassure her. “Everything!”

“Our final contestant … Lauren Lindsey.”

Arden gritted her teeth, her molars emitting an audible grinding sound.

As Lauren walked out, two pageant workers zipped onto the deck. One hastily set up an easel and placed a canvas on it, while another placed paints, a brush, and some water on a little table.

“I know this isn’t as exciting as singing, or dancing … or my mom,” Lauren said, eliciting a few titters from the crowd, “but I’ve never really put my talent on display for the world to see, or followed my calling. But I learned that now is the time.”

Arden watched her daughter look offstage, and then Lauren began to paint.

“Picasso once said, ‘Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once he grows up,’” Lauren said to the crowd, as her brush danced over the canvas. “I never understood what he meant until recently … until I’ve gotten to know my grandmother—my family—a lot better.”

Lauren quieted and continued to paint, the jangling of her charm bracelet carried on the breeze.

“Painting is like life,” she said. “It requires a lot of patience, a lot of faith, a lot of passion. The beauty in great painting is capturing the emotion underneath the subject.”

Lauren set her brush down, picked up the canvas, and began walking toward the crowd.

“This is the story of my family.”

Lauren stopped and turned the portrait toward the audience, three generations of women seated together at the end of a warped dock, their images in the foreground older, wiser, damaged but strong, while their reflections in the water were from their youth—younger, sadder, lost but hopeful.

“This is a story of home … of here.”

The crowd erupted in cheers, many standing to yell, “How much?” or “I want that.”

“I’m overwhelmed,” Arden said into Jake’s strong shoulder, as he drew her in. “I thought … I expected…”

“Then stop,” Jake said, as the crowd continued to cheer. “Expectations are just preconceived resentments.”

Arden pulled away, her face etched in surprise. “Let me guess? Not Deepak Chopra?”

“No,” Jake said. “Just a guy who has seen a lot of life and death. In the end, I think we all just want the same things: Family, happiness, love, faith.”

“I’ve always felt like the world was stacked against me,” Arden said.

“The world is stacked against everyone, Arden,” Jake said. “But now I’m here for you.”

He patted his shoulder, and Arden rested her head on it, as the emcee’s voice squeaked over the speakers.

“Last up,” the announcer said, “da Q and A.”

“I never made it this far,” Arden said.

“Really? I’m shocked. Your question could have been, ‘Is that the backstroke or the dog paddle?’” Jake teased, giving Arden a hug.

Arden melted into a puddle of laugher.