Chapter 36
That evening, my mother calls. When I see her name pop up on my phone, I brace myself for her to admonish me the way Nina had.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Well, I read the article. What a hoot!”
A hoot?
“I mean, you’ve always been quirky, but this is something else,” she says.
“I thought you would be mad,” I say. “Nina thinks I’m crazy.”
“Well, I can’t say I’m pleased, but I’m not mad. What I really want to know is: Can you make some money with this scheme?”
I laugh, relieved. “Maybe? But that’s not really the point.”
“Then what is the point?”
How can I explain to her that the project itself is the point? Its meaning is unfolding day by day—we’re not attached to an outcome and we don’t expect some kind of payoff.
“It’s real, Mom. We’re helping people, and besides, I think it’s helping Dad.”
“I’m just looking out for you. What’s happening with your job hunt? How are you for money?”
“We’re okay. We receive some donations, and I’m still working for Paula. Then there is Dad’s income. So all in all, we are getting by.”
“Getting by. That sounds familiar,” she says.
I know she’s referring to the years I spent drifting during the pandemic, staying afloat but never building toward anything concrete.
For a moment, I consider telling her that I want to return to school and work toward becoming a veterinarian, but I worry that she might shoot down the idea, saying it’s impractical or out of my reach.
It’s a dream that makes me feel vulnerable in its honesty, and I am holding it gently, like a baby bird or a fledgling love.
I don’t want to ask too much of it. It’s still too fragile to share, especially with my mother.
“Don’t worry about me, Mom,” I say instead. “I’ll make it work. I always do.”
A few days later, a supplicant named Jen arrives at our house. She looks drained and apologetic as I welcome her in the driveway.
“I’m so sorry,” she says. “I had to bring my seven-year-old. His dad was supposed to have him this weekend, but…” She stops herself, perhaps from saying something negative. “Jasper, say hi.”
“Hi.” Jasper is wearing a full Spider-Man suit, minus the mask, and has a head of exuberant curls.
“Hi there,” I greet him. And then to his mom: “Don’t worry. I can hang with Spidey while you meet with the oracle.”
“Thank you so much,” says Jen. “I really need some good advice.”
I set her up to chat with my father, and I walk Jasper down to the dock. He skips ahead of me, his curls bobbing down the path as I try to keep up. When we reach the dock, he walks around thoughtfully, as if assessing the value of the property.
“This is nice,” he says. “Our house isn’t on a lake. It’s on a road.”
“Oh,” I say, amused by his no-nonsense manner. “Is it a nice road?”
“No,” he says. “Just normal dirt.”
I like this kid already. I ask him if he wants to skip stones, and we comb the shoreline looking for flat ones while we chat.
“My mom said your dad is a miracle,” Jasper says.
“An oracle.” I smile. “Yes. It’s pretty cool.”
“So he knows the future?”
“Sort of,” I say. “He helps people see things. He helps them envision the futures they want.”
“How?”
“Well, that’s the magic,” I say. “I don’t know exactly. He asks questions. He observes. He uses his special brain.”
“What’s special about it?” Jasper would make a good investigator someday.
“Well, he forgets a lot of things,” I say. “But he seems to remember what is most important. Sometimes his brain helps him to be very wise.”
“And it’s not bullshit?” asks Jasper. He looks at my shocked expression and says, “What? Because I said bullshit? That’s nothing. I know all the swears. Ass, fuck, butt…”
I turn away so he can’t see how hard I’m laughing. Once I’ve collected myself, I tell him I don’t think it’s bullshit. I think it’s real. We make our way to the edge of the dock with our handfuls of stones, and I ask him if he knows how to throw them so they will skip.
“Not really. I did it once with my dad, but he didn’t know what he was doing. He’s kind of incompetent. I think that’s why my mom wanted to come here. She’s at the end of her rope.”
“Oh, boy. That sounds hard,” I say. This kid is precocious, and whatever is happening within his family, he is clearly tuned in to it without completely understanding it.
I think of myself at his age—seven—and wonder how much I was absorbing and comprehending.
That was the year my father retired and my mom went back to work full-time.
That summer was tense, and my mother abruptly left Catwood Pond halfway through July.
I missed her terribly. In later years, when she only came up for a week each summer, the missing morphed into resentment.
It’s only now occurring to me that maybe I should have been proud of her.
Jasper and I look out at the pond. I show him how to cock his wrist so that the stone will fly at an angle that will allow it to bounce along the surface of the water.
He gives it a go. His first stone plunks heavily and sinks.
His next few attempts do the same. But on his fifth or sixth try, his stone hits the water and flies, skipping twice more before it disappears into the depths.
He gasps.
“You did it, Jasper.”
“I did.” He seems shocked. “I thought maybe you were messing with me. I didn’t think it would actually work.”
“I wouldn’t mess with you.”
He looks at me with circumspection and then seems to accept my statement as genuine.
I throw one of my stones, and we both watch as it skips seven times before easing gently into the water.
“This place is cool,” he says, pocketing the rest of his stones as if they’re worth something.
Just then, his mother comes around the corner of the boathouse. Her eyes are red, but she looks rejuvenated. She is carrying herself differently, and her energy has shifted completely.
“Jas, you ready to go?”
Jasper doesn’t answer but starts to lunge buoyantly up the path.
“Thank you. This was … Thank you,” she says to me, brimming with emotion, before she turns to follow her son.
I don’t ask her what she talked about with my father, and I know he won’t remember. The content is irrelevant at this point, but the exchange has worked its magic. I can tell she got what she was seeking. From the looks of it, she got much more.