Chapter Three
C HAPTER THREE
T WENTY-FOUR HOURS LATER, CLAIRE WAS READY TO LEAVE on vacation. She took a last pass through the tiny house, looking for anything forgotten or left undone, but everything was as it should be. The windows were locked, the dishwasher was empty, and all the perishables had been taken out of the fridge. She was straightening the shower curtain when she heard footsteps in the living room.
“What in the name of a frog’s butt are you still doing here?”
She smiled and backed out of the minuscule bathroom.
Her father stood in the living room. As always, he dwarfed the small space. Big and broad-shouldered, he made every room seem smaller by comparison. But it was his personality that was truly oversize.
She’d first met him when she was nine years old. She’d been small for her age, and so shy she only spoke to Meghann in those days. Dad had seemed larger than life when he stepped into their travel trailer. Well , he’d said as he looked down at her, you must be my daughter, Claire. You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. Let’s go home.
Home.
It was the word she’d waited for, dreamed of. It had taken her years—and more than a few tears—to realize that he hadn’t offered the same welcome to Meghann. By then, of course, by the time Claire understood the mistake, it was well past the time to rectify it.
“Hey, Dad. I was making sure everything was ready for you to move in.”
His grin showed a row of Chiclet-white dentures. “You know damn well I ain’t moving in here. I like my mobile home. A man doesn’t need this much room. I got my fridge and my satellite TV. That’s all I need.”
They’d been having this discussion ever since Claire had moved back to the property and Dad had given her use of the house. He swore up and down that the mobile home hidden in the trees was more than room enough for a fifty-six-year-old single man.
“But, Dad—”
“Don’t talk about my butt. I know it’s getting bigger. Now, dance on over here and give your old man a hug.”
Claire did as she was told.
His big, strong arms enfolded her, made her feel safe and adored. He smelled faintly of disinfectant today. That was when she remembered the bathroom that needed fixing.
“I’ll leave in an hour,” she said. “The toilet in cabin—”
He spun her around and pushed her gently toward the door. “Get going. This place isn’t going to fall apart without you. I’ll fix the damn toilet. And I’ll remember to pick up the PVC pipe you ordered and to stack the wood under cover. If you remind me again, I’ll have to hurt you. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is.”
Claire couldn’t help smiling. She’d reminded him about the pipe at least six times. “Okay.”
He touched her shoulders, forced her to stop long enough to look at him. “Take as long as you want. Really. Take three weeks. I can handle this place alone. You deserve a break.”
“ You never take one.”
“I’m on the down side of my life, and I don’t want to get out much. You’re only thirty-five. You and Alison should kick up your heels a bit. You’re too damn responsible.”
“I’m a thirty-five-year-old single mother who has never been married. That’s not too responsible, and I will kick up my heels in Chelan. But I’ll be home in a week. In time to check the Jefferson party into their cabins.”
He thumped her shoulder. “You’ve always done exactly what you wanted, but you can’t blame a guy for trying. Have fun.”
“You, too, Dad. And take Thelma out for dinner while I’m gone. Quit all that skulking around.”
He looked genuinely nonplussed. “What—”
She laughed. “Come on, Dad. The whole town knows you’re dating.”
“We’re not dating.”
“Okay. Sleeping together.” In the silence that followed that remark, Claire walked out of the house and into the steely gray day. A drizzling rain fell like a beaded curtain in front of the trees. Crows sat on fence posts and phone wires, cawing loudly to one another.
“Come on, Mommy!” Alison’s small face poked through the car’s open window.
Dad hurried ahead of her and kissed his granddaughter’s cheek.
Claire checked the trunk—again—then got into the car and started the engine. “Are we ready, Ali Kat? Do you have everything?”
Alison bounced in her seat, clinging to her Mary-Kate-and-Ashley lunch box. “I’m ready!” Her stuffed orca—Bluebell—was strapped into the seat with her.
“We’re off to see the Wizard, then,” Claire said, shifting into drive as she yelled a final good-bye to her father.
Alison immediately started singing the Barney theme song: “I love you, you love me.” Her voice was high and strong, so loud that poodles all across the valley were probably hurling themselves to the ground and whining pitifully. “Come on, Mommy, sing .”
By the time they reached the top of Stevens Pass, they’d sung forty-two Barney theme songs—in a row—and seventeen Froggy-Went-A-Courtings. When Alison opened her lunch box, Claire rammed a Disney audiotape into the cassette player. The theme music to The Little Mermaid started.
“I wish I was like Ariel. I want flippers,” Alison said.
“How could you be a ballerina then?”
Alison looked at her, clearly disgusted. “She has feet on land , Mommy.” Then she leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes, listening to the story of the mermaid princess.
The miles flew by. In no time, they were speeding across the flat, arid land on the eastern side of the state.
“Are we almost there, Mommy?” Alison asked, sucking on a licorice whip, bouncing in her seat. The area around her lips was smudged with black. “I wish we’d get there.”
Claire felt the same way. She loved the Blue Skies Campground. She and her girlfriends had first vacationed there a few years after high school graduation. In the early years there had been five of them; time and tragedy had whittled their number down to four. They’d each missed a year now and then, but for the most part, they met there year after year. At first they’d been young and wild and driven to pick up local boys. Gradually, as they’d started dragging bassinets and car seats with them, the vacation had settled down a bit. Now that the kids were old enough to swim and play on the playground alone, the girls—women—had refound a slice of their previous freedom.
“Mom my . You’re spacing out.”
“Oh. Sorry, honey.”
“I said , we get the honeymoon cabin this year, remember?” She bounced even harder in her seat. “ Yippee! We get the big bathtub. And this year I get to jump off the dock, don’t forget. You promised . Bonnie got to jump when she was five.” Alison sighed dramatically and crossed her arms. “Can I jump off the dock or not?”
Claire wanted to go against her overprotective nature, but when you’d grown up in a house where your Mama allowed anything , you learned fast how easy it was to get hurt. It made you afraid. “Let’s see the dock, okay? And we’ll see how you’re swimming. Then we’ll see.”
“‘We’ll see’ always means no. You promised .”
“I did not promise. I remember it distinctly, Alison Katherine. We were in the water; you were on my back, with your legs wrapped around me. We were watching Willie and Bonnie jump into the water. You said, ‘Next year I’ll be five.’ And I said, ‘Yes, you will.’ And you pointed out that Bonnie was five. I pointed out that she was almost six.”
“I’m almost six.” Alison crossed her arms. “I’m jumping.”
“We’ll see.”
“You’re not the boss of me.”
Claire always laughed at that. Lately it was her daughter’s favorite comeback. “Oh, yes I am.”
Alison turned her face toward the window. She was quiet for a long time—almost two minutes. Finally, she said, “Marybeth threw Amy’s clay handprint in the toilet last week.”
“Really? That wasn’t very nice.”
“I know. Mrs. Schmidt gave her a long time-out. Did you bring my skateboard?”
“No, you’re too young to ride it.”
“Stevie Wain rides his all the time.”
“Isn’t that the boy who fell and broke his nose and knocked out two front teeth?”
“They were baby teeth, Mommy. He said they were loose anyway. How come Aunt Meg never comes to visit us?”
“I’ve told you this before, remember? Aunt Meg is so busy she hardly has time to breathe.”
“Eliot Zane turned blue when he didn’t breathe. The amb’lance came to get him.”
“I didn’t mean that. I just meant Meg is superbusy helping people.”
“Oh.”
Claire steeled herself for her daughter’s next question. There was always a next question with Alison, and you could never predict what it would be.
“Is this the desert already?”
Claire nodded. Her daughter always called eastern Washington the desert. It was easy to see why. After the lush green of Hayden, this yellow-and-brown landscape seemed desolate and scorched. The black ribbon of asphalt stretched forever through the prairie.
“There’s the water slide!” Alison said at last. She leaned forward, counting out loud. When she got to forty-seven, she yelled, “There’s the lake!”
Lake Chelan filled their view to the left, a huge crystal-blue lake tucked into a golden hillside. They drove over the bridge that led into town.
Two decades ago, this town had been less than three blocks long, without a national franchise to be found. But over time, word of the weather had spread west, to those soggy coastal towns that so prized their plate-size rhododendrons and car-size ferns. Gradually, Seattleites turned their attention eastward. It became a summer tradition, the trek across the mountains toward the flat, scorched plains. As the tourists came, so did the development. Condominium complexes sprouted along the water’s edge. As one filled up, another was built beside it, and so on and so on, until, at the millennium, this was a thriving vacation destination, with all the kiddie-required amenities—pools, water-slide parks, and Jet Ski rentals.
The road curved along the lakeshore. They passed dozens of condominium complexes. Then the shore became less inhabited again. They kept driving. A half mile upshore, they saw the sign: Blue Skies Campground: Next Left.
“Look, Mommy, look!”
The sign showed a pair of stylized trees bracketing a tent with a canoe in front.
“This is it, Ali Kat.”
Claire turned left onto the gravel road. Huge potholes caught the tires and sent the car bouncing right to left.
A mile later, the road took a hairpin turn into a grassy field dotted with trailers and motor homes. They drove past the open field and into the trees, where the few coveted cabins sat in a cluster along the shore. They parked in the gravel lot.
Claire helped Alison out of her car seat, then shut the door and turned toward the lake.
For a split second, Claire was eight years old again, a girl at Lake Winobee, standing at the shoreline, wearing a pretty pink bikini. She remembered splashing into the cold water, shrieking as she went deeper and deeper.
Don’t go in past your knees, Claire, Meghann had hollered out, sitting up on the dock.
For Christ’s sake, Meggy, quit bein’ such an old fuddy-duddy. Mama’s voice. Go on in, sweetums , she’d yelled to Claire, laughing loudly, waving a Virginia Slims menthol cigarette. It won’t do to be a scaredy-cat.
And then Meghann was beside Claire, holding her hand, telling her there was nothing wrong with being afraid. It just shows good sense, Claire-Bear.
Claire remembered looking back, seeing Mama standing there in her tiny bicentennial bikini, holding a plastic cup full of vodka.
Go ahead, sweetums. Jump in that cold water and swim. It doesn’t do a damn bit o’ good to be afraid. It’s best to get your yuks in while you can.
Claire had asked Meghann, What’s a yuk?
It’s what so-called actresses go looking for after too many vodka collinses. Don’t you worry about it.
Poor Meg. Always trying so hard to pretend their life had been ordinary.
But how could it have been? Sometimes God gave you a mama that made normal impossible. The upside was fun times and parties so loud and crazy you never forgot them … the downside was that bad things happened when no one was in charge.
“Mommy!” Alison’s voice pulled Claire into the present. “Hurry up.”
Claire headed for the old-fashioned farmhouse that served as the campground’s lodge. The wraparound porch had been newly painted this year, a forest green that complemented the walnut-stained shingles. Big mullioned windows ran the length of the lower floor; above, where the owners lived, the smaller, original windows had been left alone.
Between the house and the lake was a strip of grass as wide as a football field. It boasted a Lincoln Log–type swing set/play area, a permanent croquet course, a badminton court, a swimming pool, and a boat-rental shed. Off to the left were the four cabins, each with a wraparound porch and floor-to-ceiling windows.
Alison ran on ahead. Her little feet barely made a noise on the steps as she hurried up. She wrenched the screen door open. It banged shut behind her.
Claire smiled and quickened her pace. She opened the screen door just in time to hear Happy Parks say, “—can’t be little Ali Kat Cavenaugh. You’re too big to be her.”
Alison giggled. “I’m gonna be a first grader. I can count to one thousand. Wanna hear?” She immediately launched into counting. “One. Two. Three …”
Happy, a beautiful, silver-haired woman who’d run this campground for more than three decades, smiled over Alison’s head at Claire.
“One hundred and one. One hundred and two …”
Happy clapped. “That’s wonderful, Ali. It’s good to have you back, Claire. How’s life at River’s Edge?”
“We got the new cabin done. That makes eight now. I just hope the economy doesn’t hurt us. There’s that talk of a gas price hike.”
“Two hundred. Two hundred and one …”
“We sure haven’t seen a drop-off,” Happy said. “But we’re like you—all returning guests. Year after year. Which reminds me: Gina is already here. So is Charlotte. The only one missing is Karen. And this is your year for the honeymoon cabin.”
“Yep. The last time Alison slept in the big cabin, she was in a Portacrib.”
“We get the TV,” Alison said, jumping up and down. Counting was forgotten for the moment. “I brought tons of movies.”
“Only one hour a day,” Claire reminded her daughter, knowing it was a mantra that would be repeated at least ten times a day for the next week. Her daughter could literally watch The Little Mermaid 24/7.
Behind them, the screen door screeched open. A group of children burst through the door laughing, followed by six adults.
Happy slid a key across the desk. “You can fill out the paperwork later. I have a feeling this is a group of site hunters. They’ll want a photo tour of each site before they commit.”
Claire understood. The River’s Edge Resort had only a minimum number of campsites—nineteen—and she doled out the good ones carefully. If she liked the guest, she put them near the restrooms and the river. If not … well, it could be a long walk to the toilets on a rainy night. She slapped the worn pine counter. “Come over for drinks one night.”
“With you crazy girls?” Happy grinned. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Claire handed Alison the key. “Here you go, Ali Kat. You’re in charge. Show us the way.”
With a yelp, Ali was off. She zigzagged through the now-crowded lobby and burst outside. This time her feet slapped the porch steps.
Claire hurried along behind her. As soon as they’d gotten their luggage from the car, they raced across the expanse of lawn, past the boat-rental shed, and plunged into the trees. The ground here was hard-packed dirt, carpeted with a hundred years’ worth of pine needles.
Finally, they came to the clearing. A silvery wooden dock floated on the wavy blue water, tilting from side to side in a gentle rocking motion. Far out, across the lake, a white condo grouping sat amid the golden humps of the distant foothills.
“Clara Bella!”
Claire tented a hand over her eyes and looked around.
Gina stood at the shoreline, waving.
Even from here, Claire could see the size of the drink in her friend’s hand.
This would be Gina’s intervention week. Usually Gina was the conservative one, the buoy that held everyone up, but she’d finalized her divorce a few months ago and she was adrift. A single woman in a paired-up world. Last week, her ex-husband had moved in with a younger woman.
“Hurry up, Ali!” That was Gina’s six-year-old daughter, Bonnie.
Alison dropped her Winnie-the-Pooh backpack and peeled off her clothes.
“Alison—”
She proudly showed off her yellow bathing suit. “I’m ready, Mommy.”
“Come here, honey,” Gina said, pulling out an industrial-size plastic tube of sunscreen. Within moments, she’d slathered Alison all over and released her.
“Don’t go in past your belly button,” Claire said, dropping their suitcases right there, in the sand.
Alison grimaced. “Aw, Mommy,” she whined, then ran for the water, splashing in to join Bonnie.
Claire sat down beside Gina in the golden sand. “What time did you get here?”
Gina laughed. “On time, of course. That’s one thing I’ve learned this year. Your life can fall apart, frigging explode , but you’re still who you are. Maybe even more so. I’m the kind of woman who gets someplace on time.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Rex would disagree. He always said I wasn’t spontaneous enough. I thought it meant he wanted sex in the afternoon. Turns out he wanted to skydive.” She shook her head, gave Claire a wry smile. “I’d be happy to shove him out of the plane now.”
“I’d rig his parachute for him.”
They laughed, though it wasn’t funny. “How’s Bonnie doing?”
“That’s the saddest part of all. She barely seems to notice. Rex was never home anyway. I haven’t told her that he moved in with another woman, though. How do you tell your kid something like that?” Gina leaned against Claire, who slipped an arm around her friend’s ample body. “God, I needed this week.”
They were silent for a long moment. The only sound between them was the slapping of the water against the dock and the girls’ high-pitched laughter.
Gina turned to her. “How have you done it all these years? Been alone, I mean?”
Claire hadn’t thought much about her solitude since Alison’s birth. Yes, she’d been alone—in the sense that she’d never been married or lived with a man, but she rarely felt lonely. Oh, she noticed it, ached sometimes for someone to share her life, but she’d made that choice a long time ago. She wouldn’t be like her mother. “The upside is, you can always find the TV remote and no one bitches at you to wash the car or park in the perfect spot.”
“Seriously, Claire. I need advice.”
Claire looked out at Alison, who was standing up to her belly button in the water and jumping up and down, yelling out the ABC song. The sight made Claire’s chest tighten. Only yesterday Ali had fit in the crook of her arm. In no time, she’d be asking to have her eyebrow pierced. Claire knew she loved her daughter too much; it was dangerous to need another human being so desperately, but Claire had never known any other way to love. That was why she’d never been married. Men who loved their wives unconditionally were few and far between. In truth, Claire wondered if that kind of true love existed. That doubt was one of many legacies handed down from mother to daughter like an infectious disease. For Mama, divorce had been the answer; for Claire, it was never to say “I do” in the first place.
“You get past being lonely. And you live for your kids,” she said softly, surprised to hear regret in her voice. There was so much she’d never dared to reach for.
“Ali shouldn’t be your whole world, Claire.”
“It’s not like I didn’t try to fall in love. I’ve dated every single guy in Hayden.”
“None of them twice.” Gina grinned. “And Bert Shubert is still in love with you. Miss Hauser thinks you’re crazy for letting him go.”
“It’s sad when a fifty-three-year-old plumber with Coke-bottle glasses and a red goatee is considered an eligible bachelor just because he owns an appliance store.”
Gina laughed. “Yeah. If I ever tell you I’m going out with Bert, please shoot me.” Slowly, her laughter turned to tears. “Aw, hell ,” she said, leaning into Claire’s embrace.
“You’ll be okay, Gina,” Claire whispered, stroking her friend’s back. “I promise you will.”
“I don’t know,” Gina said quietly, and something about the way she said it, maybe the softness in a voice that was usually as hard as steel, made Claire feel empty inside. Alone.
Absurdly, she thought about the day her life had changed. When she’d learned that love had a shelf life, a use-by date that could pass suddenly and turn everything sour.
I’m leaving you , her sister had said. Until that moment, Meg had been Claire’s best friend, her whole world. More of a mother than Mama had ever been.
And then Claire was crying, too.
Gina sniffed. “No wonder no one wants to sit with me anymore. I’m the princess of darkness. Ten seconds in my company and perfectly happy people start to weep.”
Claire wiped her eyes. There was no point in crying about the past. It surprised her, actually, that she had any tears left. She thought she’d made peace with Meg’s abandonment long ago. “Remember the year Char fell off the dock because she was crying so hard she couldn’t see?”
“Bob’s midlife crisis. She thought he was having an affair with their housekeeper.”
“And it turned out he was secretly getting hair-plug treatments.”
Gina tightened her hold around Claire. “Thank Jesus for the Bluesers. I haven’t needed you all this much since I was in labor.”