Page 109 of Grown-Up Second Chance

They hadn’t liked Larry, but they appeared to like Joe. Well, why not? Joe was one of us, a kid raised in the open landscape of the fourth largest state in the country. Larry had been a Californian all his life, the son of an aerospace worker from LA. Sun, sand, and satisfaction had shaped his life.

But Joe was someone we understood. He had the same values of hard work and devotion to family. In a place where Mother Nature liked to toy with us every chance she got, we relied on our siblings and parents, and helped a neighbor out when he or she needed it.

It made us conservative in the old-fashioned sense of the word: conserving resources, not only money, but the land and wildlife around us. We were sustainable before it became a buzz word.

If I’d had the courage to talk to Joe after prom, my whole life might have been different. His sperm count was obviously just fine.

Shoulda, coulda, woulda.

The geyser began to spout.

I picked up my camera and concentrated. All around me people talked animatedly. The little girl was transfixed.

Snap.

I could always be a substitute grandmother.

The eruption became higher.

More snaps.

Finally, the water soared into the air, glinting with sunlight and spray. I took as many pictures as I could, periodically changing settings, trying to remember what I did so I could see what worked best. When I had enough, I put the camera down and stared, trying to fix the image in my mind’s eye. While there was a chance I may come back to this spot, I would never be here in this exact same moment, sitting next to my travelers through this life: my sisters.

A few minutes later, the geyser subsided. People stayed where they were, hoping for an encore, but the ranger began to move us along to prepare for the next group. I’d been right in my Disneyland analogy.

“Let’s get away from these crowds to find a picnic area,” I suggested.

“I’d like that,” Liz said.

We decided to take the road toward West Thumb. The first few spots were crowded, but as we moved up the mountain pass, there were fewer cars. We stopped near De Lacy Creek where there were several free tables.

Once again we had a small feast laid out: green salad, a selection of olives, tomatoes and mozzarella, sandwiches of turkey and cheese, bristling with sprouts and oozing with avocado. Different flavors of ice tea gave us choices to drink, and I spied a container of cookies at the bottom of the basket.

We were halfway through the meal when Kathleen asked, “So what are you going to do about Joe?”

“I told you,” I said. “It’s over and done with. No problem. Move it along.” I picked up a sandwich and took a bite.

“It’s your fourth sandwich,” she pointed out.

“They’re small.”

“You’re an emotional eater. Always have been. The last time you broke up with Joe, you gained ten pounds.”

“I did …” The protest died on my lips. Actually, it had been more like fifteen.

I dropped the sandwich on my plate.

“It doesn’t have to be over,” Liz said. “Let him know you made a mistake.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” Kathleen asked.

“Because I need time for me, that’s why!” I picked up the sandwich and took another bite. Glaring at them, I chewed and swallowed.

“You were right, okay? Larry was an ass. It was his fault we never had children. He hid the lab results from me. If I’d known, we could have …” I lost my grip and started to sob. It was all too much.

The few other picnickers stopped talking.

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