Bodies of Water (36 page)

G
ussy drives us to the lake, and I sit in the backseat with Eva. We hold hands, sharing a quilt that Chessy sent along with us to keep Eva warm. The air is brittle outside, but the sky is bright. The few remaining leaves cling to their branches, and the road is carpeted with them. When the lake comes into sight, Eva squeezes my hand and I look down at our intertwined fingers. After all this time, I still recognize every bone in her hand. I have traced every tendon and vein with my fingertips as though they were a map leading home.

Effie and the girls are waiting for us outside. Plum is swinging in the swing under the tree house, and Zu-Zu is doing cartwheels on the lawn. Effie waves excitedly, and runs to the car as we pull into the driveway.

“Welcome, welcome!!” she says as we get out of the car. And we both help Eva out of the backseat. Effie takes Eva inside, and Gussy starts unloading the trunk, all of the baskets and bags. On the way up from Boston we drove past a farm stand, and Eva had asked if we could stop. Gussy pulled over, and Eva insisted on getting out of the car. She went straight to the bins that were overflowing with apples.

“Look,” she said, reaching for me. “Winter apples.”

 

“Devin and I have a surprise for you,” Effie says after we have settled Eva on the daybed on the sleeping porch. She takes my hand and leads me out to the back, where Devin has been working on the guest cottage. It looks like something from a fairy tale: gingerbread trim, a miniature porch, a Dutch doorway.

“It’s almost finished,” she says.

“It’s still a little rustic,” Devin says, opening the top Dutch door. “But there’s a working bathroom. I’ve got it wired now too, and there’s a nice space heater to keep you warm. Come on in.” He opens the bottom half of the door and takes my hand.

I follow him into the little cottage, my heart pounding hard and certain in my chest. Inside, the walls are made of cedar; it smells like the forest. There is a double bed, covered with pillows and quilts, a tiny writing desk, and bookcases filled with library books.

“I asked Gussy what your favorites were. The Athenaeum gave them to me on permanent loan,” Effie says.

I run my fingers across the spines.

“And look!” she says, her eyes bright. “We found these in the old shed before we tore it down. I don’t know why I held on to them, but I did.”

On one of these shelves there are twenty or thirty record albums. I pick up the first one and smile. Sam Cooke. “This is Eva’s favorite,” I say, my eyes filling with tears.

“There’s a record player here. I bought a brand-new needle.”

“Thank you,” I say. “This is all so thoughtful.”

Later that night, after Gussy has left for home and we have moved our things into the guest cottage, Devin and Effie disappear into the camp, leaving us alone. I can hear the sound of their girls’ laughter, and it makes me smile.

Eva is tired, I know. This has been a long trip, and I can hear her labored breath as she moves to the bookshelves and picks up the record. She slips it from its sleeve and runs her fingers across the label. She bends over to put the record on the record player and then lowers the needle into the groove, and that old crackle and hiss overwhelms me.

“Dance with me, Billie?” she says.

I move to her and she leans her head into my chest. The music fills the cottage, and my feet remember. My hands remember. My whole body recollects.

We slip gently into the past, like two bodies into water, but when we emerge it is not into the past, not into that place where we never belonged. But instead, we surface into a new future, the future we should have had, the one we were denied. The one stolen from us.

“Remember?” I ask as she peers up at me.

And she looks at me with her eyes as bright and wild and beautiful as they ever were and nods.

“I remember, Billie. I remember everything.”

M
emory is the same as water. It is a still lake bathed in moonlight, a vast ocean, a violent river ready to carry you away. It can calm you or it can harm you; it is both more powerful and weaker than you’d think. It is a paradox.

Back at home, I seek solace in the water: in the steaming hot showers that pummel my tired shoulders, in the cool water I drink to stay alive. I find all the necessary comfort in the ocean, in its crashing waves singing me to sleep and in its enormous embrace.

It is winter now, though you wouldn’t know it. All of the tourists are gone, and the beach belongs to me and the other locals. It is good to be home again. Linda is glad to have me back at the library. Robert decided to go back to school for the second semester, and while this is good, I know she needs me to help fill the space he has left behind. Juan too is happy to have me back. He expects me each night, and we watch the sun set together in the nearly empty bar before I make my way home. The girls at Daybreak chat and smile as they make my coffee the way I like it, and my refrigerator is full of good things that Mena has made and Sam has delivered. I am taken care of here. I am not alone.

And so each morning I rise, as I always rise, as soon as the sun taps my shoulders and I click off the twinkling lights on my porch to let Pete know that all is well. Then I slip on my suit and make my way down the stone steps to the beach.

The water is cold, but it makes me feel alive.
Reminds
me that I am alive.

“You are a swimmer,” it says in its thunderous voice. It is right, I think. I am a swimmer; that is what I have always been. And from my place in the ocean, I glance at the shore to look for her. For Eva, though I know she is really gone now. I was there, this time, to say good-bye.

But sometimes, when the light is right, I still find her standing there. She wears the bright blue suit she always wore, and her legs are long and strong. Her lips are red, and her hair tumbles freely down her pale back. She waves a big, happy wave to me from her place on the shore. And she cups her hands to her mouth to holler something out to me, but the music of the ocean is too loud, and I can’t hear her anymore. And so I just smile back at her, put my head and arms into the water. And I swim.

Stories are always gifts.

Most of the time, they arrive simply as offerings from my own imagination. But other times, they are bestowed by others, presented tentatively, wrapped in beautiful paper and tied up with complicated little bows.
Bodies of Water
was such a gift.

In the summer of 2011, Hurricane Irene devastated much of my home state of Vermont. The deluge carried away old barns, homes, and bridges. We had just left our summer camp on Newark Pond in the Northeast Kingdom, where we spend every August, and were staying with family on our way home. Because I was driving, and because of the storm that was pummeling the entire East Coast, our hosts graciously asked us to stay another night. And something about the storm, something about being trapped inside, hunkered down together for one more night, seemed to open all of us up, and, because I come from a family of storytellers, we started to share stories. But it was
this
story, this beautiful love story, that kept me awake all night long. As the rain and wind pounded against the windows, I could almost feel the ribbons in my fingers as I slowly began to unwrap this gift.

This novel is absolutely fiction, but the seed of truth planted that night, nurtured by all that wild rain, was where it began. And so first I thank you, Irene, you miserable witch; here is proof that at least one good thing came out of your fury.

Thank you to my cousins (
second
or
once removed
or whatever you are), Angela and Carlene Riccelli, who shared and shared and shared. Who trusted and then shared even more. This is for you both.

Thank you to my mother, Cyndy Greenwood, for being there and encouraging me to tell this story. And to my father and sister who, for some reason, continue to be my biggest fans. To Esther Stewart for her early read, as well.

To Patrick for helping when things get rough.

To Mikaela and Esmée for reminding me again and again of why I do what I do.

To Rich Farrell for your honest and meticulous reading every single time.

To Miranda Beverly-Whittemore for your friendship, for the perfect title, and for your crazy talent.

To Henry Dunow for your wild and beautiful enthusiasm. It always comes just when I need it the most.

And to Peter Senftleben (as always) for helping me to part the clouds.

 

 

T. Greenwood

 

 

The following discussion questions and playlist are included to enhance your group’s reading of
Bodies of Water
.

The
Bodies of Water
Playlist

Music is significant in setting the tone and time period in
Bodies of Water
. Below are the songs and artists mentioned in the novel; listening to them might set the mood for your reading group meeting.

 

“A Change Is Gonna Come”

This song by Sam Cooke isn’t used in the novel, but if there were a soundtrack, this would be on it, its theme song.

 

“Moonlight in Vermont”

A jazz standard that has been covered by hundreds of singers, but the most notable versions that Eva would know are by Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong, Sarah Vaughan, Billie Holiday, Ray Charles, Frank Sinatra, and, again, Sam Cooke.

 

Chet Baker

By the time Billie helps Eva take a soothing bath away from the kids in 1960, Chet Baker had released over a dozen records. She most likely would have had
Chet Baker Sings
or
Embraceable You
to put on the hi-fi.

 

Perry Como, Jo Stafford, and Kate Smith

Billie’s preferred musical taste, with Kate Smith being her favorite. I imagine she used to watch
The Kate Smith Show
when Frankie was drinking his wine.

 

Chubby Checker and Sam Cooke

Eva liked to listen to jazz and rock ’n’ roll more than Billie did, but they would sometimes dance to Chubby Checker.

 

“Alone Together”

The version Billie and Eva dance to in February 1961 was most likely recorded by Peggy Lee but could have been performed by Judy Garland or Chet Baker.

 

“Runaway” by Del Shannon

Billie picks up a fuzzy signal on the radio while camping with the Girl Scouts and they listen to this number one hit from 1961.

 

Kind of Blue
by Miles Davis

The song being played by a band when Billie and Eva first enter a New York City bar with Dot is off of one of Eva’s favorite records, the Miles Davis classic
Kind of Blue
.

 

“Forbidden Fruit” by Nina Simone Another song the band plays in the bar, which seems appropriate.

 

“My Shining Hour” by John Coltrane

Eva and Billie dance to this song in the bar before sharing their first public kiss.

 

The Hollies

When Billie goes to Boston, she offers to stop at a record store and pick up the new Elvis album,
Fun in Acapulco,
for Chessy and Mouse.