Chapter 30
The next few weeks pass quietly, with sun and snow alternating but the temperature consistently below freezing.
My father and I take daily walks up and down the driveway, and we go into town once in a while: to Lorne’s for breakfast, or the post office, or Deb’s for groceries.
One day, we make the hour-long drive to the hospital for his quarterly appointments.
His primary doctor confirms that he has lost a bit of ground, memory-wise, and his hips could use replacing within the next year or two, but otherwise, he is in good health for his age.
It makes me realize that I haven’t actually seen a doctor in over a year, or is it two?
Maybe in the spring, I tell myself. And while I’m at it, I will need a haircut as well.
The blond has grown out so much that my hair is now two distinct colors: yellow on the bottom, brown on the top.
One night at the end of January, I am sipping whisky by the fire and perusing job postings online.
There is an opening for a vet tech at the animal hospital where Dominic had his teeth removed last summer.
Of course, I am not qualified for the job without an associate’s degree, but for a moment, I let myself daydream.
Maybe there is a way to work toward that goal.
Maybe I can find a way to balance taking care of my father, making some money, and going back to school.
Maybe there is a future in which I build a career I actually enjoy.
After all, that’s what Nina has. That’s what my mother has.
Why not me, too? My thoughts are interrupted by a ping: a new email from Gemma.
Shortly after Inez and Gemma’s visit with my father, Inez had asked my permission to publish an article about Gemma’s experience, and I had consented without any concern or specific expectation.
I figured our culture is so awash in content these days that no one would pay the article much mind, but I knew my father would get a kick out of it.
Finally: his fifteen minutes of fame. It would be a nice record for us to have of this phase in our lives.
Or rather, a record for me to have once my father is gone.
In her email, Gemma provides a preview link to the piece, which is set to go live tomorrow, and she concludes with: Where should we link so readers can make appointments? Prepare to blow up! Xoxox.
Appointments? Blow up? I’m a little caught off guard as I click through and read the headline.
Fulfilling My Prophecy Meant Choosing Myself
How a visit to an unlikely oracle gave wellness-brand founder Gemma Dwyer the courage to leave her broken marriage—and level up her life.
“Oh wow,” I say aloud. I had expected a whimsical little write-up about a girls’ trip to the woods, but this angle is far more dramatic than I had imagined.
The essay takes the form of an “as told to,” meaning it is from Gemma’s perspective, but it was written by one of Inez’s editors.
I fly through the write-up, which is surprisingly moving and vulnerable.
I had not realized just how dysfunctional Gemma’s marriage to a morally rudderless hedge-fund manager had been, especially in the years when I was working for her.
I reach the final paragraph, which reads:
The oracle at Catwood Pond does not charge for his counsel, nor does he offer virtual readings.
So an audience with him will likely require a long journey—nay, a pilgrimage.
But if you are ready to unlock your best life, I can confirm the journey is well worth it.
After I visited the oracle, nothing was ever the same. ◆
I thank Gemma for the flattering article and tell her they can just link to my email address.
For a moment, I worry that this could escalate, but I figure our remote location should be deterrent enough.
Yes, people want guidance, but most don’t want it badly enough to drive hours to a stranger’s house in the middle of nowhere.
They can make do with the advice they find during their middle-of-the-night Instagram scrolling.
With that, I close my laptop for the night and take a final look into my father’s room. His snores are raspy and rhythmic, and there is a cat-sized lump under the covers at the foot of the bed. Dominic can seemingly spend the entire night without fresh air, if it means being this cozy.
I climb the stairs and enter the large bedroom that is now mine. From my window, I have a direct view of the boathouse. In the moonlight, its angled roof resembles the prow of a lonely ship navigating a frozen sea. But I know that, soon enough, the thaw will come, as it always does.