Page 2 of Entangled in the Woods
Sitting in the emergency room while the back of my father’s head had been stitched up by a doctor, my mother and father had begrudgingly explained to me how he’d been getting weaker over the last couple of years. They’d kept this from me during my holiday visits home, as his weaknesses hadn’t been as visible as they were now. He’d gone from occasionally stumbling or tripping to having trouble with stairs and sometimes suffering from such bad vertigo he had trouble staying seated upright in a chair.
Dad had been to two different doctors, both of whom could not find the reason for his sudden health failings. Even though his health continued to deteriorate, there was no money for expensive specialists or extensive testing. His body was weak—Mom had to help him use the bathroom every couple of hours and assist him in the shower. He spent most of the day on the couch with Bessie on his lap, trying not to be a burden. Mom never made much money as a sculptor. The few people whobought her art we knew or had taken pity on my family after news had spread about Dad’s health.
My dad had worked in road construction since I’d been born. He had made decent money—enough for us to afford a place to live and food to eat, but nothing special or extraneous. As his health had failed and he couldn’t physically do the manual-labor part of the job anymore, he’d had to quit. Neighbors and friends had given him the odd job here and there as a handyman to keep my parents afloat for the last couple of years. Then they’d received a letter from a lawyer up in the northern part of the country. When I’d first read it, I’d thought they were being conned. It seemed too good to be true—my father’s great uncle had left him a house. A small house in a small town, but a free home nonetheless.
Seeing my doubt, my father had explained that this great uncle had been, in fact, a real person from the Wilson side of the family he had met a handful of times growing up. He hadn’t seen him in over thirty years and hadn’t even known that he’d passed. But this seemed to be a miracle—one my parents had greatly needed. With no other choice, they’d signed the papers and the deed to the house in the hospital room. The house was theirs, and the one that I’d grown up in was now the property of the bank.
Several weeks later, I’d graduated with my undergraduate degree and helped my parents pack up what little belongings they had. We couldn’t fit much in the compact car and trailer we were taking to the new cabin. Mom had jammed most of the trailer with her sculpting supplies, and we’d filled the car with clothing and miscellaneous items from the house. I had all my clothing and personal items in a single duffle bag and laptop bag that contained my computer and research I had completed over my undergraduate studies. My small plant collection I’d tuckedinto the rear deck, hoping it would get some sunshine on the drive.
I collected plants with healing properties like aloe and yarrow. There was something about the ability to heal your body with nature that had always intrigued me. Before we’d left, I’d rescued a few plants from the garden I’d tried to maintain in the backyard. My mom wasn’t a gardener, but she had kept it watered for me when I’d been at school. I hoped to expand my collection of plants with ones I found during my research this summer. Pushed close to me in the back seat, these were all the items I had to my name.
A squeal from the front seat of the car made me lift my head and open my eyes.
“Well, isn’t this the most darling town you have ever seen? It looks like a movie set!” My mom was practically beaming sunshine, poking at my dad as if he couldn’t see what she could. I couldn’t argue with her.
The town had a long main street that was lined with shops and a couple of restaurants. Each shop had its own personality. Different-colored shops selling handmade items or homemade foods lined each side of the street. Every several feet there was a black lamp post with a large basket of multicolored petunias hanging from it. Tilting my head up, I noticed string lighting that hung across the street between the lampposts in a zigzag pattern. The street would look nothing but magical in about an hour when the sun set.
As we neared the end of the street, there was more space between the buildings. Small homes with white mailboxes replaced the businesses that lined both sides of the street. Dad carefully lifted his hand, and his index finger pointed to a house on the right side of the road.
“Oh, look at it! East-facing to get all that morning sunshine. It’ll be so wonderful to work in the morning light,” Mom said.
The Subaru groaned up the short gravel driveway, parking in front of the two-car garage. Even the car seemed to be happy our trip was over.
Stepping out of the car, I stood holding the door open while the blood rushed back into my legs. A low “meow” had me glancing back into the car. Grumbling, I grabbed Bessie’s kennel. That cat always made sure not to be left behind. Holding the kennel, I made my way up to the house.
Typical of the town, the house was a cute little rambler with a wide front porch. The wood siding could use a fresh coat of paint, but other than that, the house seemed to be in good condition. Scrambling by me, my mother ran to the front door, holding the key. With a quick push, she was in the house.
“Roger! You have to come see it!” Mom said from inside the house.
“Well, I need a bit of help,” my father mumbled, still inside the car.
She flittered down the steps and past me, helping my dad out of the car. With one arm wrapped around my mom and the other holding his cane, Dad slowly made his way down the sidewalk and up the two steps onto the porch.
With fresh energy, I stood ready to help my mom unpack the car. The sooner we unloaded and I got my parents settled, the sooner I would be on my way tomynew life. I sounded like my mother.
There weren’t many boxes to carry in. Two or three were clothes, a couple were home decor, and the rest were my mom’s sculpting supplies. Mom directed her sculpting boxes to be put in the garage, where she would set up her new studio. We put the clothing in the primary bedroom and placed the decor boxes in the living room.
“Elise, come help me hang the clothes in the closet before you leave us,” Mom said. “Who knows when we’ll see you next.”I followed her into their bedroom, rolling my eyes. My eyeballs were going to be sore after spending this much time with her. My father smirked at me as he pet the purring orange cat on his lap.
“I know you want to get on the road, but I just wanted to talk to you.” Handing me a plastic hanger, Mom’s eyes tried to look into my soul, and I just knew what was coming. “We’re so proud of you, Elise. You went to college all by yourself and did so well. And now a full ride to graduate school? It’s just amazing. I know you want to get on with the next part of your life, but just know that we’re a couple hours away if you need anything.”
“I know, Mom,” I replied, slipping a T-shirt onto a hanger. “Just make sure you keep me updated on Dad. I don’t want to be surprised again.”
She got a serious look on her face and said, “We won’t do that again.”
We continued hanging clothes in silence, getting closer and closer to the bottom of the cardboard box. Lifting a small wooden box with a hinged lid from the bottom, Mom sighed. “Oh good, I’m glad your father’s junk has followed us here,” she said sarcastically. “I’m going to put it up on the highest shelf in the closet so that it can collect dust until the next time we move. Your father’s so sentimental.”
“My ears are burning out here on the couch,” my father called out from the living room.
“Yes, well, I’ve moved that darn box from house to house since we met. A dust collector is about all that it’s good for.”
As Mom finished hanging the last of the clothing, I opened the wooden box that held a few baseball cards, a stone the size of my fist, a bag of my baby teeth, and a plant journal I had made in third grade. I picked up the rock and passed it between my hands as I paged through the journal. I had spent so much time on the journal, carefully taping the flowers inside the pages after I had pressed them flat. Some of the nectar had soaked throughthe printer paper I’d used, staining the paper. I used better paper for collecting samples now. My handwriting had also been terrible. I could barely make out what I had written. It was sweet that my dad had kept it.
Sighing, I closed the journal. I put all the contents back into the wooden box and put it up on the highest shelf in the closet for my mom to find, covered in dust, years later. Following Mom back into the living room, I switched on the lamp that sat on one of the end tables. It was almost dark out, and I still had a two-hour drive ahead of me.
“I need to get going,” I said as I gathered the car keys from the table. “Please let me know if you need anything. I’m planning on coming back at the end of the summer once the semester ends, but if you need anything before that, I want you to call me.”
“Of course we will.” My mom walked across the room and gave me a big hug. “I have the number for the satellite phone at the cabin already in my cell phone. Are you sure it’s safe up there with no cell service? I don’t want you to get into any trouble and not have a way to contact help.”
