The Charm Bracelet (11 page)

A twinge of jealousy rose in Arden's throat. She loved that Lolly and Lauren were so close, but she wished she and her mother could connect so easily, like best friends. Her back stiffened, and the pain jolted her body, causing the wood step on which she had been perched to creak loudly.

“Morning, sunshine!” Lolly laughed, turning to her daughter while still shaking her rear as if it had been tossed into a blender. She pointed at Lauren's iPad. “Pandora. I learned something new today!”

Arden shook her head. “Not only is it too early to be playing loud music and dancing, but, Mom, you need to rest. You shouldn't be overdoing it.”

Arden's criticism sliced through the music, and Lauren muted her iPad. Lolly reached for the robe she'd tossed over the side of an old rocker.

“Don't you dare,” Lauren said, seeing her grandmother's joy turn sour.

Arden's eyes widened behind her glasses. “That'll be enough, young lady.”

Bristling at Arden's words, Lauren yanked off her wig and tossed it across the room at her mother. “Mom, if you want to sleep in, fine, but you don't need to police us. Grandma and I got up to do a little yoga. I thought the stretching would be good for her. And then we decided to dance and have a little fun.”

Arden suddenly felt bad for putting a damper on things, but the doctor had been clear about Lolly taking it easy, and she didn't want her mother to get hurt. She never wanted anyone—including herself—to get hurt anymore.

Arden knew Lolly wouldn't say no to Lauren; someone had to step in to keep everyone safe.

“It's six forty-five a.m. I'm exhausted.”

Then, looking at her mother, Arden added, “Lauren, I don't want to talk about this right now.”

Lauren exploded. “Well, I do. I'm sick of sweeping every emotion under the rug. I'm sick of having my life dictated to me. I've hated my life for the last few years. I'm a business major … a business major. What am I doing with my life?”

Silence engulfed the cabin. Just beyond the screened porch, loons cried their mournful song, matching the mood inside.

Arden was now wide-awake. Although her daughter's outburst seemed out of the blue, Arden realized—if she were honest with herself—that Lauren was deeply unhappy.

“I found the bills, Mom,” Lauren finally continued, her cheeks quivering. “All the letters from Dad. The divorce settlement. That's why I switched to business. I … I just didn't want to add any more stress to your life.”

Lolly looked at her daughter and granddaughter, pulling her robe tightly against her body.

Arden's face froze. She tugged at her earlobe nervously.

“Oh, honey. I never imagined,” Arden gasped. “I'm so sorry. I have been totally oblivious to how you were feeling.
None
of that is your problem.”

Arden again felt like Alice, falling into the rabbit hole. Only this time the hole seemed even deeper. It was all becoming too much—being back home, her mother's illness, Lauren's unhappiness. Arden felt as if she were doing her best to manage everything and take care of everyone, but it still wasn't good enough.

“It feels like it is my problem,” Lauren said. “The bills are all because of me.”

Lauren began to weep.

Lolly walked over and put her arm around her granddaughter, giving her a tender kiss on the cheek. Then she walked over and did the same to her daughter, before holding up her wrist and rotating through the charms on her bracelet, as if she were searching through an old Rolodex.

“Aaaah, here we go!” Lolly said, her face crinkling into a big smile. “My kite charm. My mother gave this to me…” Here, Lolly stopped and shut her eyes to hold back tears. “… before she passed away. This charm is to a life filled with high-flying fun. My mom gave it to me in order to always remind me that—no matter how difficult life can be—we must always remember to have fun.”

“It's not that simple, Mom,” Arden said, the words coming out before she could stop them.

“Actually, it is, my dear. We will resolve the money issues somehow, I promise. You can't eat an elephant in one bite. But, you must remember, unhappiness can consume you entirely, without you realizing. Happiness is a choice.”

Lolly tilted her head at her daughter, and gave her a knowing smile.

“Let's have a little breakfast and then head to the beach. I don't have to be at work until late this afternoon, so let's enjoy the magic of this beautiful day,” Lolly added.

“Mom, I probably need to work. We've already been here four days, and I need to reach out to my boss. I need…”

“… to have some damn fun!” Lolly inserted. “I might have to stick to my routine, but you're on vacation!”

“Mother!” Arden started to argue.

“You're on vacation, my dear. Be! On! Vacation!”

 

Eleven

The winding road to Scoops Beach reminded Arden of the old Thanksgiving song, “Over the River and Through the Wood.” It was an adventure to get there.

The tiny, two-lane road to the beach paralleled the river that meandered alongside the downtown, and eventually fed into Lake Michigan. The river dissected the beach road from downtown Scoops, which Arden could see was already jammed with returning resorters and fudgies already in town for Memorial Day.

The beach road wound past a series of cracker-barrel cottages—all shake shingles, shutters, and mossy roofs—which were among the original summer cottages built in the late 1800s. The road slowly climbed a tall dune to breathtaking, 360-degree views of the river, downtown, and Lake Michigan. Here, mammoth summer homes—multistoried behemoths with turrets, towers, and decks—perched on the dune.

Lolly had won the argument, and now they were all on their way to the beach, though Arden's mind was still preoccupied.

Dean Martin began to blare from the backseat, and Arden jumped.

“Found it, Grandma!” Lauren laughed.

“My Dean,” Lolly sighed. “Ain't that a kick in the head?”

“What, Grandma? I don't understand.”

“That's the name of the song, my dear. Time I teach you a thing or two about
my
music. Turn it up!” Lolly shouted.

Lolly began to sing, and Lauren rested her chin on the cushion of the front seat and beamed at her grandmother.

Why can't she just be quiet and relax?
Arden thought
.

Even over the music, Lolly's “Woodie” groaned as it continued to climb the massive dune.

“Attagirl.” Lolly patted the dashboard tenderly. “You got it.”

The 1950 Buick Roadmaster was as much Lolly's little girl as Arden and Lauren. Lolly's father had given it to her. The Woodie was the color of the lake, the ultimate beach car: pure nostalgia, unconventional, total fun.

“Your father spent years restoring this car for me,” Lolly said to Arden, repeating the lines she said every time she drove the old car. “It's a part of the family.”

Les Lindsey had indeed spent years restoring the car for his wife, returning the outside woodwork of white ash and mahogany trim to its pristine state, painting the car a vintage pearlized green, clear-coating the exterior to make it look as if it had been dipped in wax, and turning the interior into a white-and-pink leather wonderland befitting Lolly. The car was huge, with a backseat and trunk that could hold four kids and enough beach stuff to keep them entertained for a week. Lolly had even used the family sewing machine to add mismatched curtains in the back windows—vintage prints of cherries, stands of pine trees, and bobbing sailboats on a lake.

Yes, “Woodie” was Lolly's beach car, and—since her husband's death many years ago—the two had become nearly as famous as Scoops's fudge, two bigger-than-life personalities, both from bygone eras, roaming the resort town.

At the top of the dune, Lolly turned the Roadmaster like an old sea captain changing the direction of his ship. Arden watched her mother—in her long, bright-white wig, a geometrically patterned scarf tied around her head like Doris Day—drive while singing “That's Amore.” Arden gulped, fighting her instinct to grab the wheel and force the Woodie to the side of the road so she could take over.

Suddenly, a canopy of ancient sugar maples and pines choked out the sunlight, as the road suddenly cut through a dense forest that led to Lake Michigan, and Arden yanked off her sunglasses.

“Look!” Lauren said, pointing out both sides of the backseat window.

On the left, a family of deer stood at attention, like wax figures at Madame Tussauds, while on the right, a wild turkey high-stepped through the woods.

The Woodie slowly crawled down the other side of the dune, the brakes moaning loudly, until it was suddenly drenched in sunlight.

Lake Michigan stretched out in front of them like the ocean, the surface still as glass, sun illuminating the greens and blues of the water. Boats motored along the lake, Jet Skis zipped by, and some very brave souls had actually ventured into the still-frigid water. A golden-sand beach stretched out, dotted by bright umbrellas and towels, picnic baskets and sand buckets, people lounging in the sun. Dunes towered in the background, and dune grass danced in the wind. The Woodie stopped as cars ahead slowed pulling up to the one-room weathered guard shack to buy a beach pass.

“Hello, Dolly!” a young, blond girl in a red lifeguard T-shirt yelled from the guard shack. “Sorry … I mean, Lolly! Time for a new beach pass, I see!” she added, stepping out of the shack. “But the big question is: Where to add it this year?”

The girl giggled as she scanned the front and back windows of the Woodie. Decades of beach pass decals—designed in colors, fonts, and images that reflected the passing eras—were adhered to nearly every square inch of bumper as well as the front, back, and side windows, leaving Lolly only gaps through which to see the road.

“Ever thought about removing some of those, Mom?” Arden said, pointing to a window.

“Never!” Lolly said. “It would be like erasing a year from my life.”

After a few seconds, Lauren called, “Found a place,” and began thumping a few square inches of open glass on the back passenger window.

The lifeguard adhered the new beach pass and said, “That'll be sixty bucks for another year at Scoops Beach.”

Lolly unzipped her jacket and reached into the top of her swimsuit, her hand disappearing, going deep into the unknown, as if she were a magician.

“Here we go,” Lolly said happily, pulling out a wad of damp, crushed bills. “Let's just say my piggy bank has lost some of its oink over the years.”

Arden's face turned red, but Lauren and the lifeguard laughed.

As Lolly began to pull away, the lifeguard yelled, “We all love you, Lolly! Have a great day at the beach with your family.”

Lolly waved back and guided the Woodie down the narrow sand-covered road—people honking, yelling, and waving as if she were the queen of England—until she found a faraway parking place in a back row near a dune.

“We can probably get you a handicapped sticker, Mom,” Arden said without thinking, popping open the trunk.

“Never!” Lolly said defiantly. “Now, make me a pack mule. Start piling it on, Lauren.”

This was a game Lauren and Lolly used to play: After a day at the beach when she was little, Lauren would become so worn out and sleepy that Lolly would have to carry her and all the beach gear back to the Woodie. And she did, piling towels over her neck, chairs onto her back, all while carrying Lauren, beach bags, and a cooler.

Lauren spent a few weeks every summer with her grandmother, while her father worked endless hours and her mother worked to make him happy by creating the perfect home, the perfect daughter, the perfect wife, the perfect life. Lolly taught Lauren how to have fun, to relax, to be a kid, even for a short while. When Arden divorced, she began to work every minute and every summer. Lauren felt guilty leaving her mother alone and began to fade from her grandmother's life like a late August sunset.

Lauren began to pile four towels onto Lolly's neck until she looked as if she were wearing a brace.

They really bonded in the times I wasn't there,
Arden thought.
I didn't spend enough time with either of them.

Lolly began to walk—ever so slowly, like a camel from Lawrence of Arabia—across the sand-covered parking lot and boardwalk.

Arden's heart leaped in her chest. “Mother! Stop right there! You're going to hurt yourself!”

“My mind may not always be willing,” Lolly said, turning around, windblown sand dancing around her ankles, “but my body is.”

Arden shook her head, and she and Lauren hurriedly grabbed coolers, umbrellas, and lounge chairs while stuffing magazines and books into beach bags, shuffling in flip-flops to catch up with Lolly, just as she found a place near the water.

Lolly flicked a giant beach towel that read “LAKE MICHIGAN—UNSALTED!” into the breeze and settled it onto the sand, before sitting dramatically and posing, like Lana Turner. “I'm down!” she laughed. “And I may not get up again!”

Lauren laughed and pretended to kick sand at her grandmother, who screamed in protest, before the two began to slather lotion onto one another, leaving Arden to set up camp. Arden positioned two striped umbrellas against the sun, laid out sheets and towels, anchoring them with coolers and flip-flops, set out books and magazines and lotions, before arranging snacks in a row on a separate towel.

Lolly and Lauren stopped and looked at Arden. “Someone has to do it, Mom. Someone
always
has to do it,” Arden said.

Arden's words hung in the wind and then drifted away, like one of the nearby seagulls. Lolly smiled tenderly at her daughter. “You never give anyone else a chance to do it, my dear.”

Arden smiled at Lolly, but her mother's words made Arden think of her job. She had to orchestrate
everything
there, too.