Page 9 of The Last Stars in the Sky
“It was.” It wasexactlylike my mother, who loved the cottage and all it stood for, who would have been a real-life pioneer if she could, with her knitting, her maple syrup making, the strawberries and raspberries and apples she picked and made into jam and sauce and pies. “We only picked the strawberries that one year,” I finish, on a small, apologetic sort of sigh. “After that the pine trees grew up over the meadow and so the strawberries didn’t grow there anymore, without the sunlight. We never found them anywhere else.”
And for a second, I’m hit by a sudden wave of grief, so intense and overwhelming that it feels like slamming into a wall. It leaves me breathless and reeling, so I’m simply standing there in the parking lot, the cold wind blowing over me, as Daniel and the girls keep walking to the car.
“Alex?” Daniel asks, frowning a little, as he sees that I’ve stopped walking.
“Yeah…sorry.” I smile at Mattie, and I ruffle Ruby’s hair. I tell them we can get poutine—chips with gravy, a Canadian specialty—if the chip wagon by the gas station is still open in November. I slide into the passenger seat and stare out the window, and I remind myself that my mother is alive, even if in moments like this I feel as if I’ve already lost her. I used to visit her at least once a week, back in Connecticut; her nursing home is half an hour from our old house. Before we left, I explained to her that we’d be away for a little while, but I’m not sure she understood. Even though she’s always glad to see me when I visit, time doesn’t seem to have any real meaning to her anymore.
Back at the cottage, we all help to unload the groceries; there’s now so much that I have to stack some things on the floor. Already I’m thinking about Thanksgiving, the pies I’ll make, the turkey in the freezer that will need to defrost for three days, at least. Maybe Mattie and Ruby will want to help me; I can teach them to make pastry, my mother’s recipe, with vinegar and an egg, a tablespoon of brown sugar to sweeten the crust.
“We’re certainly well stocked,” Daniel says, and I nod, feeling satisfied, almost happy at the sight of all those sacks and cans.
“We should call Sam tonight,” I say. “Tell him to make sure to pack some warm clothes.”
“I’m sure he will, upstate New York has got to be as cold as here, or almost,” Daniel points out. “But yes, let’s call him.”
That night, with the fire blazing merrily, the curtains drawn against the icy night and, thankfully, no wolves howling, we call Sam on the old-fashioned wall phone, the kind with a rotary dial and a curly cord. My parents never upgraded this, along with so many other things here.
“Hey, are you up there already?” he asks, sounding so cheerful it heartens me, makes things feel easy. “How is it?”
“Good. Rustic.”
“Rustic, huh? Is that codeword for, I don’t know, a wreck?” He laughs; everything is fun to him, as well as simple. I’m envious as well as proud.
“No, not exactly,” I answer on a laugh, and Mattie grabs the phone and says into it, “Basically, yes.”
I hear Sam chuckle, and I find I’m smiling. I miss Sam so much, and the thought of seeing him again fills me with joy. Ruby takes a turn on the phone, standing on her tiptoes to speak into it. “We’re pretending to be pioneers.”
“Pioneers,” Sam repeats, sounding impressed. “Cool, Rubes.” I take the receiver back to hear him ask, “So, are you really going to stick it out until Christmas?”
“I think so.” We haven’t told Sam the specifics of what happened—the loss of Daniel’s job, as well as the house, Mattie’s suspension from school. It felt like too much to burden him with just as he was starting his first semester away from home, and also I felt too humiliated. I’d failed on so many fronts. So had Daniel.
Instead, we constructed some rambling story about needing to take some time out, Daniel deciding to do something else, the girls needing a break from school. We didn’t mention the house at all. Daniel wanted to tell him the truth, which was a bit rich, considering he didn’t tell me the truth for nearly six months, but I was adamant. We’d tell Sam what had really happened when we were face to face, when we could explain, reassure, promise. It wasn’t the kind of conversation you could have over the phone.
“Well, it’s all pretty wild,” Sam says, sounding so cheerful that I wonder if he’s simply not letting himself think about it. After all, it’s pretty strange to have your entire family decideto up sticks and move to rural Canada for six weeks. He must suspect something, but he sounds untroubled, taking it in his stride. He’s got his own life to live now, after all, with all the pleasures and pursuits college has to offer, a subsuming universe that’s a world away from high school, family, the life he lived only a few months ago. And thankfully it's not at risk, since he’s got a scholarship and some financial aid. The knowledge of his life apart from us makes me happy for him, as well as sad for myself. This is how it’s meant to happen, the natural order of things, and yet as a parent it can still feel wrong, or at least hard.
“We’ll see you on Tuesday,” I tell him. “Just four days! Your flight gets in in the morning, right, to Ottawa?”
“Yeah, eleven or so. I’ll email you the info. Can’t wait.” He pauses. “It’ll be weird to be up there, without Grandpa or Granny.”
“I know.” My voice is soft. “But it’s good too. Better than I expected, in a lot of ways.”
“Good. I’ll have to get the fishing rods out. The lake hasn’t frozen over yet, has it?”
“No, not yet.”
“Cool.”
We share a few more pleasantries and then we say goodbye, and I feel that little rush of sadness, like an emptiness blowing through me, as Sam ends the call. Like my mother, but in an entirely different way, it feels as if I’ve lost him too.
Daniel must sense something of this because he puts his arm around me, and we go back to the living room, where the girls are curled up in chairs by the fire, Ruby reading, Mattie on her phone.
“How’s the Wi-Fi working out?” I ask her, and she rolls her eyes.
“It’s atrocious,” she says, but she doesn’t sound nearly as scathing as she once might have, and I wonder if the detoxprocess is already happening. Away from the bad influences of social media, Drew, the in-girls she was so desperately trying to be friends with, thedrugs, my daughter can finally start to thrive. The cottage can work its age-old magic. I’ll take that vision of the Hallmark movie now, all the sweet, sappy sentimentality. Bring it on. Let it bring us together, healing and helping us to grow. Cue the movie montage, the swelling music right now.
I’m smiling at the thought as Daniel and I sit on the sofa, his arm still around me. I let my head rest against his shoulder and close my eyes, enjoying the novelty of us being together like this, another new beginning, just like he said. I believe him now; at least I am starting to.
I listen to the comforting sounds of the fire—the crackle and hiss of the logs, enjoying the way the flames cast dancing shadows across my eyelids. Maybe I’m being too hopeful, but tonight I’m happy. I’m at peace.
