Chapter Twenty-Seven
“I am not dying.” Nana sounded exasperated. It was practically a family intervention on the front porch of her little backyard house, and Nana wasn’t having any of it. Trigger’s face matched the colorless white of the summertime clouds and Cornelia looked like she’d just had her big toe smashed by a rock. Nana, almost half their size and wearing a short white skirt and bright blue collared golf shirt, pointed a crooked finger at all of them. “Now you listen here, you start dying when you stop living. Got that? I am not dying.”
Trig grunted like the statement not only resembled a movie quote, but was obvious. Nate threw an arm around Brooke’s shoulders and gave her a quick squeeze of encouragement. He’d left Fred and his car behind at Camp Dogwood, and Brooke couldn’t help but feel awe at the fact that he was standing beside her during a family-only discussion. Especially since no one said a word about him being there. “Nana, what did the scans show?” Brooke asked.
“You know what? I do not care. I’m not going to let some scan tell me how I’m going to die. I decide.” She leaned in toward Brooke and dropped her voice. “And I’ll tell you a little something else. I don’t need a scan to tell me that I’m old—the mirror reminds me every day.” Her eyes were filled with sass as she addressed the half circle of family at her front door. “Y’all don’t have to stand there all pale-faced with worry over me. We all know damn well that if I have any time left, it’s only a handful of years. Maybe a couple more if Cornelia doesn’t smother me in my sleep.”
Cornelia gasped in horror, but Nana was quick to give her a wink.
“Cornelia, honey,” Nana said. “Why don’t you give being a crazy old bitty a try? Dress up when you’re feeling pretty. Scream when you’re mad. You’re so busy worrying about what other people think. Manners this and manners that. Stop letting all these young folks with their silly opinions decide for you how you’re gonna live your life.” She smirked unapologetically at Brooke and Nate.
Cornelia opened her mouth to argue, but Nana held up a hand to stop her. “Hush.” She yelled backward into the house, “Duke! Duke, come out here.”
Round-shouldered Duke with his gray combover came shuffling from the bedroom in a plaid bathrobe. He’d clearly spent the night. Nana grabbed his hand and pulled him forward. “If I feel love for someone, I am going to pounce on it like a cat. I am going to give my heart and what is left of my worn-out soul to that person, because you know what? The chance may never come around again.” She patted his hand in hers. “Right, sweetheart?”
Duke nodded with a little boy’s smile, then pulled his shoulders back to stand taller.
“And I don’t give a frog’s butthole what rumors people spread or what judgments they heap on me. This is my life. You get me? Mine. And I am not hurting anybody.”
Trig sighed loudly. “Are you getting good care, Mother? Are you doing what the doctors say?”
“I am doing exactly what I should be doing for my age. Now, if y’all will excuse me, my boyfriend and I were just about to take a nap.” She stepped back inside the house and closed the door.
“Well, there you have it,” Trig said, turning to go.
“Have what?” Cornelia quickly overtook him and led the way back to the main house spouting a stream of consciousness at him while Nate and Brooke followed behind. “We will be getting her the best doctors immediately. And we have to make sure she is on that blood-thinning medication that keeps her from getting clots. We will call Sam as soon as we get inside and get his help to set up a comprehensive plan of care. It doesn’t matter how much it costs. Should I reach out to my old friend who had that natural person who did those new-agey types of things? Yes, I think I should. And Nana should be exercising. And do we know if she is taking her vitamins?”
Nate and Brooke grabbed a bag of bread from Cornelia’s pantry before making their way back to Dottie’s little boat for their return trip to Camp Dogwood to get Nate’s car. In case Zippy was still there, they wanted to have a snack for him.
Nate steered by the outboard motor and Brooke took a moment to appreciate the welcome splashes of water that hit her face and tasted like salt as they worked with the wind to cool them from the late afternoon heat. Seeing Nana had made her feel better. No one that sassy would just keel over and die. It felt like an impossibility. She breathed in the seaweedy smell and smiled back at Nate. Now that she’d been away from Gates for a while, she was actually beginning to feel like a person again. It had felt good to be the chosen one, the lucky one, the how-did-a-girl-like-that-get-a-guy-like-him girl. But she was beginning to see, despite her circumstances, that it was so much better to be the one doing the choosing. There really was a difference between settling and making an active choice. Finally, thanks to God or fate or the universe or maybe just pure luck, she got to choose Nate.
“Hey, Nate,” she yelled over the wind and the loud motor.
“Yeah?” He turned his head so his right ear was directed toward her.
“Never mind,” she yelled.
“Tell me later!” he said. When the engine was going full-bore, it was almost impossible to hear over it.
She wanted to ask him if he thought she was sweet, and if he liked her as much as people liked Jessa. Maybe it was good that he couldn’t hear her. It was probably a needy question, or at least a self-centered one. She thought about the question until she couldn’t remember why she decided that sweet was what she needed to be. Was sweet really the way to happiness? Nana didn’t care about being sweet and that woman sure seemed happy. Cornelia cared, but simply didn’t have it in her to be completely genuine. She could pretend to be nice all day long, but a sweet disposition toward others wasn’t in her personality. And, go figure, it was Cornelia’s and Nana’s DNA that lived inside Brooke’s body.
She turned her head into the wind, feeling a bit like the green-headed duck at the bow of Fred’s boat. She pulled out her hair tie and it felt good to set her hair free. It lifted from her shoulders and blew with the wind and she shook her head to loosen every strand.
Maybe trying to be sweet was like that hair tie—holding her back.
Screw trying to be someone she wasn’t. She was fine the way she was. She didn’t need to be Jessa, or Cornelia, or Nana. And she certainly didn’t need to be anything like Libby. What was wrong with just being herself? She was the girl who’d smiled at the boy with the Walmart bag. She had immediately liked the guy who climbed out of the loud grungy pickup truck wearing an ill-fitting blazer and tie to summer camp. She’d smiled at him because she liked him.
Screw sweet. She was going for real. No more people-pleasing. That’s when she realized that she was already there. She’d never really changed. Trying to be someone she wasn’t hadn’t worked. Except maybe for the fact that now she was stuck as a bridesmaid in Libby’s wedding.
She turned back to smile at Nate and her hair whacked her in the face and stuck in her mouth. Through the brown strands, she saw him grinning at her.
Life was miraculous.
If she’d stayed with Gates, she would probably never have seen Nate again, or gone back to Camp Dogwood, Nana wouldn’t own it, and Brooke wouldn’t be in charge of reviving it. If she hadn’t gone back to Goose Island, her mother might still feel unappreciated, and Nana might never have met Duke. One little decision could lead to so many good things. Her mind spun with thoughts about decisions and ripples and timing and a million possibilities for the future.
Brooke held on to her new understanding, and it colored her dreams for Camp Dogwood with the brightest hope. She was going back to marketing, back to social media ad campaigns, back to organizing events and using her expertise. Nana’s purchase brought back a part of who she used to be. She wasn’t all wrong, she wasn’t all bad. She was just a girl in her twenties figuring out how to live her best life.
Zippy magically appeared as they tied up the boat, and Brooke was so happy they’d thought to bring along some bread. “I’ll get you healthier food soon,” she promised as she tore off pieces and threw them to him.
The mallard followed as Brooke and Nate walked the property making lists of to-dos. Brooke was so overcome with the strangest supernatural feeling of being right where she was supposed to be that she almost got lightheaded. Anything was possible. Life was just a series of choices. It was then that she had an idea. One that she would keep to herself for the time being.
Every now and then, a wave of shock overtook her that she was actually there with Nate, making plans for the place where they’d met. The old jumping rock, the creek bridge, swimmin’ hole, and horse corrals—they all felt so full of potential. Camp Dogwood deserved for people who cared about it to return and bring it back to life. But what made her stomach tickle and twist with joy and anticipation was the fact that Nathan Daugherty held her hand, stole little kisses, and looked at her like his eyes couldn’t get enough of her face, like he’d been starving for her for years.
They were saying goodbye next to the jon boat, with the water spreading wide before them, and it wasn’t lost on Brooke that they were near the place where Nate’s parents’ lives had ended. She felt compelled to ask, “Do you think your parents would approve of our plans?”
“I’m pretty sure my parents have something to do with them.”
And that’s when she remembered the one little point she’d forgotten—she could make perfect choices every day, but in the end, no one truly had control. There were always the spiritual factors—the surprises, the uncontrollable events. Horrible ones like plane crashes and TIAs and beautiful ones like green-headed ducks and old loves reunited.
If she was going to take on Camp Dogwood and move forward with Nate, she would have to accept the twists and turns. And yes, there would always be choices—mainly, how to make the best of whatever was coming.