Even though Roy was Carl’s younger brother and the brothers had married sisters, they weren’t naturally drawn together as friends and companions. Roy was ten years younger than Carl and they hadn’t spent much of their childhood together. But Lou and Jo were only a year apart and had been inseparable almost from the day they were born.
Suddenly Megan understood what had happened to the family. It wasn’t the deaths and abandonments and all the dysfunction that had torn them apart—it was only one thing. The rift between Jo and Lou.
Louise was too harsh and temperamental, but Jo always softened her outbursts. Jo was too passive and needy, but Lou propped her up and gave her strength. Lou was tall, Jo was short; Jo was frilly, Lou was sturdy. What Louise could not do, Jo could do with her eyes closed and vice versa.
No matter how hard she tried, Megan couldn’t remember the fall of ’89 at all. The shade went down in ’89 when Lou and Jo were attractive, energetic women in their thirties and the curtain came up over a year later to find them both devastated by losses that stronger women could not have borne alone. The weight of it on Louise made her coarser and more rigid, but the losses turned Jo into herself and made her more helpless. Stretching her memory for all it was worth, Megan could not remember her aunt Jo being so weak before the women parted angrily. Louise had always been bossy and controlling but upon losing her softer sister there was no relief from her temper.
Megan had closed her eyes so she could see the vision growing in her mind, but when she opened them the album was gone and a blanket had been drawn over her. The sun was low; Charley and Krista were keeping their voices deliberately soft as they fussed over some food in the kitchen. Charley was telling Krista how to chop the vegetables while Krista was asking questions about the bread and soup and salad being prepared. Megan realized she may have created a dream or scene around the back-noise of their conversation, which sounded, in muted tones, like Lou and Jo. As she sat up on the sofa, the women in the kitchen turned her way.
“Well, good morning,” Charley said. “How about some tea?”
“How long did I sleep?”
“Gee, I think it’s been two hours. Did we wake you? I decided it wouldn’t be a very good idea to put off dinner when—”
“No, but I had this dream. This wonderful dream. About our mothers, working together in the kitchen, just like the two of you are doing now, just like our mothers did a million times, for so many years. For a second there I had a glimpse of what went wrong. The one single thing that, if you could change it, would make it all right again.”
There was a moment of complete quiet. “You do that, too?” Charley finally asked.
“I do that all the time! Do you?”
“It’s like an obsession with me—this pulling out the thread of the bad thing, removing it, and now everything is all right. Krista?” Charley asked.
“Oh, please,” Krista said, chopping. “With my life, you have to throw out the whole fucking loom.”
“The thing is, even your problems didn’t start until after Bunny drowned,” Megan said, grabbing the blanket and wrapping it around her shoulders. “In my dream, though, it wasn’t about Bunny at all. Or even about Daddy or Uncle Roy or the judge or anyone else. It was only about Lou and Jo and how, since they were born, they were totally inseparable. And then rrrippppp, they’re torn apart. And everything changes. And collapses.”
“Oh, honey, it’s not as though there weren’t plenty of problems—” Charley said.
“I know! There were a million problems—why wouldn’t there be? With that domineering old man in everyone’s business all the time, passive-aggressive Carl playing the White Sheep and devil-may-care Roy playing the Black Sheep. And six kids in six years? Jesus, life was complicated to say the least! But as long as Lou and Jo stuck together, everyone made it. Charley, if Mother and Aunt Jo had been speaking at the time you were pregnant, Aunt Jo wouldn’t have let Mother send you away. She never approved of that and she said so. And if they’d been speaking, Aunt Jo and the kids would have been living with us—Jo would not have been alone, sinking deeper and deeper into depression. And Hope would not have moved in with the judge and Grandma, and Krista would not have run off with Rick French—”
“May he not rest in peace,” Krista put in.
“I’ve always wondered, what did that feel like? Did it feel like, ‘Oh, no, what have I done?’ or did it feel like, ‘Die, you son of a bitch, die’?” Charley asked.
“I zoned out. Almost completely. Like I had no choice. It was sort of automatic, like jumping out of the way of an oncoming train.”
“Hey. What about it? You think I could be right?” Megan asked.
Charley and Krista seemed to consider Megan more than the question. She looked like a waif, her frail body wrapped in a blanket, her crown of thin peach fuzz spiked, her eyes huge against her emaciated face.
“And if you’re right?” Charley finally asked.
“Well,” Megan began, then stopped. “Well...” she tried again, but paused. “I suppose we could try to get them back together?”
“No!” Charley and Krista said in unison.
* * *
Charley was reflective after the pictures came out. She’d been at odds with her mother for at least thirty years. They started squabbling when she was about thirteen, which was textbook—pubescent girls and their mothers were famous for it. But then there was the baby and their bickering escalated into warfare. Nothing could make Charley so insane as to have someone say, You’re just too much alike!
But there was a time they’d been so close. Louise might’ve had a quick temper but Charley had loved her so much, admired her, thought her beautiful. Louise had been tall, athletic, strong, encouraging. It was Louise who taught her to swim, Louise who drove her to ice-skating lessons and sat on the bleachers and watched her moves. Louise had somehow gotten her through high school chemistry and algebra II. And Louise helped coach the cheerleading squad.
Charley remembered wanting to be like her mother—she was decisive, got things done, took charge. If not for Louise, two women and six kids could never have gotten to the lake every summer.
There were those times Charley curled up on the couch next to her mother to watch Cagney and Lacey and Magnum, P.I. and The Love Boat. If she closed her eyes she could still feel the softness of her mother’s turquoise velour robe. And while Louise divided her cuddle time with the other girls, Charley felt like her favorite. If she wanted to give Bunny a little extra time, she apologized to Charley. “I’m sorry, honey. Let Bunny sit by me for One Day at a Time. And after the younger girls go to bed, we’ll turn on Magnum.”
Charley would cuddle Meg or share a bowl of popcorn with her.
There were lots of those times until Charley hit thirteen and still quite a few after that. She was the firstborn of the lot, had the most confidence and the most responsibility. And she had loved her mother. She thought of her as a best friend. Louise was fearless and so strong and reliable. If Charley got sick it was Louise who knelt behind her in the bathroom and held her hair back. Louise made those midnight runs to the emergency room. Louise sat up until Charley was safely home. True, if she was late there was hell to pay, but now that she was a mother she understood—Louise couldn’t sleep until all her chicks were tucked in.
When Charley got pregnant she let Louise down. Her brilliant daughter had been trapped and Louise was furious. That was to be expected. But any compassion or understanding had been leached out of her by Bunny’s death.
And when Charley needed her mother the most, Louise sent her away.
Charley had had the thought a time or two of exploring the possibility that she and her mother could make peace, but the thoughts never lasted long. Louise was stubborn and bitter, still very angry. Charley had called her toxic.
Louise was also alone. For the last twenty-some years Charley talked to her every few months unless Louise called her, which was so rare it was laughable. It was usually to report something like Grandma Berkey broke her hip or some distant relative Charley couldn’t even remember had died. In fact, Louise hadn’t placed a call to Charley in the past seven years, but Charley dutifully called her every couple of months, sent her Mother’s Day, birthday and Christmas gifts. Louise sent a sausage and cheese gift basket at Christmas and an annual birthday card with twenty dollars in it. And when Charley did talk to her, who did her mother mention? Only Grandma or Megan. Charley had no idea who her mother’s friends were, though she’d played bridge with the same group of women for years. She didn’t date, though she’d been widowed for twenty-five years. At least, Charley didn’t think she did—who would date her? Megan and John had checked on her regularly, had her for dinner sometimes, up until the cancer.
Louise would die without them making peace. Charley had accepted that.
* * *
The first of June was ripening the flora and more activity could be seen at the lodge across the lake. The sun was coming up earlier; there were always fishermen out on the lake by the time the sun came up. There was one cold rain shower, cold enough that Charley put a couple of logs in the fireplace because Megan shivered. The three women sat on the same couch, sharing a blanket, listening to the crackle of the flames.
“I’m going to have to get a job of some kind,” Krista said. “If I can come up with a list of places to apply, will you give me a lift, Charley?” Krista asked.
“Of course,” she said. “Do you know what to look for?”
Krista shook her head. “Manual labor, I think. Washing dishes, cleaning hotel rooms, that sort of thing.”
“I’ll write you a letter of recommendation,” Charley said. “You must be nervous.”
“No,” Krista said. “I’m completely terrified.”
“I can imagine,” Charley said. “But do your best and do so knowing we’ll keep you afloat until you find the right thing.”