The Charm Bracelet (4 page)

“Would you mind…?” the cherubic-looking couple asked Arden at the same time.

“Sure,” Arden said, standing to reach for the outstretched digital camera. “Smile!”

The couple pointed their fingers up Marilyn's skirt and laughed uneasily.

“That's a keeper,” Arden said.

She watched the couple walk away, hand in hand, and for a second—in a city of millions—Arden felt so alone.

She shut her eyes and remembered taking a picture of her mom and dad in front of Lake Michigan at sunset. They had positioned their hands so it looked like they were holding the sun up to keep it from disappearing behind the water. Her parents' faces were as bright and happy as the exploding sky. Arden smiled at the memory before the thought of her own failed marriage popped into her head.

I was happily married like that once,
she thought
. Before … everything …

A small group of youthful protesters suddenly marched by, excitedly stabbing the blue sky with picket signs and yelling about college loans.

The word “loan” floated across the Chicago spring air and landed in Arden's ears, reverberating throughout her soul.

Arden's pulse quickened.
When is Lauren's next tuition payment due?
Arden wondered, feeling the familiar anxiety.

Arden briefly considered calling her ex to ask for additional help this month with the loan payment but quickly thought otherwise. She was about to stash her cell away in her purse when it rang.

Must be Lauren,
she said to herself.
Running late.

Arden glanced at the number. She was confused. It was coming from her mother's area code, but it wasn't her mother's number.

“Hello?” she answered. “This is Arden.”

“I'm so sorry to bother you, Mrs. Warren…”

“It's Ms. Lindsey now,” Arden replied icily at the reference to her former married name, thinking it must be a telemarketer. “I'm divorced. And I'm on the no-call list.”

“Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot about that,” the woman said in a Northwoods accent, adding uneasily, “Not about the no-call list, you know, but about the divorce.”

“Who is this?” Arden asked.

“This is Doris Van Voozle. I own the fudge shop in Scoops where your mother works. I know it's been a long time since we've seen one another…”

“Oh, yes … yes,” Arden said, as she tried to remember exactly how long it had been. “How are you?”

“Gearing up for another summer in Scoops,” she said. “Our high season is almost here. And everyone's looking forward to your mother again…”

“I bet they are,” Arden replied, trying to make it sound as if she meant it.

“The reason I'm calling is that your mother, well … she's missed a few of her shifts recently,” Doris said, a hint of worry in her spirited voice. “She always comes in as soon as I call … and she always makes a joke out of it. Says she needs a lot more beauty sleep these days, or that her calendar is hard to update because she has to chisel it onto stone.”

Arden laughed. That sounded
exactly
like her mom.

“That's so unlike her to miss work,” Arden said. “She loves you. She loves working at Dolly's. It's her whole life.”

“And we love her. That's why I was a bit worried about her,” Doris said, before adding, “Oh, by golly, it's Lolly! Forget I called. Your mother just walked in.”

“Look who the cat dragged in!” Doris yelled. Arden could tell her hand was over the receiver to muffle her shouts. But then Doris began to whisper, “Let's just keep this between us, okay? I wouldn't want to upset her. She's here now. No worries. I sure hope we get to see you someday soon. Your mom said it's been years.”

Arden's worry about her mother immediately changed to guilt.

“I do, too,” Arden said, trying to keep her voice steady. “We'll try and see you soon. Bye, Doris.”

“Bye, sweetie.”

Arden had just ended the call, but she was still thinking about her mother and what the call meant when she heard her daughter's voice.

“Oh, Mom!” Lauren called, stopping beside Marilyn's giant heels. “I didn't see you there. You…”

“… blend with the concrete?”

“No,” Lauren said, immediately embarrassed. “Well, sort of.”

“You certainly don't, young lady.”

Lauren laughed and pirouetted all the way around Marilyn's giant gam.

She was wearing a lime-green, off-the-shoulder top that billowed in the Chicago wind; tight, cropped lemon-colored jeans; large hoop earrings; a jangle of vintage necklaces; and a stack of neon jelly bracelets that would have made Madonna jealous in the eighties. Lauren's blond hair was tousled and past her shoulders.

“So? How are finals going so far?” Arden smiled at her daughter and asked.

“Intense, but fine. Business is … business,” Lauren sighed.

“Fine?” Arden asked. “You don't sound fine at all. What's wrong?”

There had been an infinite number of times Lauren could have spilled the beans about knowing how bitter her mother's divorce had been and about finding all of the overdue bills and financial statements. So many times she could have told her mother she hated studying business, but she didn't want to add to her mother's pressure.

“Just stressed about finals, I think. I'm hungry. What do you want to do for lunch?” she added, changing the subject.

Arden raised her eyebrows, and Lauren knew that could only mean one thing.

“Garrett's popcorn?” Arden asked.

Lauren laughed and pulled her mother away from Marilyn. For most mothers and daughters, popcorn wouldn't constitute “lunch.” But when Lauren and Arden were feeling stressed and when it was Garrett's famed corn, it did. “I'm guessing you want the Garrett Mix? Caramel and cheese?” Lauren said.

“You must be a mind reader,” Arden joked. “I'll just double up on my spinning classes this weekend, or go for some really long runs.”

“It's Garrett's!” Lauren said. “Totally worth it, and we'll walk as we eat it anyhow, right?”

The two zipped over to Michigan Avenue and got in the long line to nab a large, hot bag of the savory-sweet corn combo.

As the line snaked its way up to the counter, Arden thought about the many times they'd gone to Garrett's to ease breakups, setbacks, and disappointments. There had been Lauren's loss at the state debate tournament, her split from her boyfriend right before prom.

How many times did I come here after fighting with my ex, or after convincing myself I didn't need to finish my book?
Arden thought.

“One large bag of the combo,” the two said in unison when they reached the counter.

The duo rolled down the sides of the giant grease-stained paper bag, chomping, walking, and window shopping, leaving a trail of popcorn down the sidewalk.

“Look at these shoes, Mom!” Lauren yelled excitedly. “You should get them.”

Arden stared at the strappy, sky-high heels. They were the kind celebrities wore in paparazzi pictures, but not Arden.

“Too dangerous,” Arden said. “Too sexy.”

The two were still studying the window when they heard, “Arden?”

“Zoe?” Arden said, surprised, her mouth filled with popcorn.

“Lookin' good, Arden,” Zoe said, laughing and pointing at her mouth.

“You, too,” Arden replied, swallowing hard. And she meant it: Zoe Sherman—all sassy, tousled blond hair, Pilates body, and glowing face—looked stunning.

“How long has it been?” Zoe asked.

Arden stammered for a reply.

Arden and Zoe had been members of a Chicago writing group called The Algonquin Wine Table, a humorous takeoff of the famed New York City writers' Algonquin Round Table that had included Dorothy Parker.

The writing group had been Arden's salvation at one time: They met once a week at one another's homes to write, talk, drink wine, and dream. When she was married, it had been literary therapy to Arden, although her then-husband had poked fun at the group and at her writing. And then came the divorce. It was the lowest point Arden had ever been, and it left her feeling like her writing was silly, and a book with the mounting expenses seemed frivolous when she didn't have any guarantee it would turn into anything concrete.

“Four years,” Zoe finally said, answering for her. “Lauren was still in high school. How's Northwestern? Still focused on art?”

“Northwestern's great,” Lauren said. “I'm a business major now.”

“Business? I thought you were going to be an art major?” Zoe asked. “You and your mom were going to be artists. What happened?”

Lauren shrugged, looking back and forth between her mom and Zoe. “Life, I guess.”

“And how's your book?” Zoe asked, turning to Arden. “Are you finished yet?”

“No,” Arden replied too quickly, forcing a smile. “How about yours?”

“I did,” Zoe said, breaking into a huge smile. “And I got an agent! She's going to shop it around once I do final revisions.”

Arden felt as if she were going to faint.

“Congratulations,” she said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.

Arden suddenly caught her reflection in a storefront window, and the past few years flashed in front of her eyes:
I have a few more grey hairs and wrinkles but not a single new page in my book.

Time had passed. So quickly,
she thought again.

“You two look like you were on your way somewhere,” Zoe said. “I don't want to keep you. I just wanted to say hello. And, Arden, we still meet every week. We'd love to have you back.”

Arden tugged at her earlobe.

“I'll definitely try to do that,” Arden replied. “It was great to see you, too.”

“Stay in touch,” Zoe said, hugging her friend. “I miss you.”

Arden and Lauren continued their walk, making their way along the underpass below Lake Shore Drive.

“How
is
the book coming along, Mom?” Lauren asked encouragingly. “I think it would be great for you to go back to the writing group.”

“Here,” Arden said, handing the bag of popcorn to her daughter. “I'm not really hungry anymore.”

Arden and Lauren walked in silence the rest of the way, before emerging on the running and bike path that stretched the entire length of the Gold Coast, the skyline and lakefront glimmering, Chicago coming back to life after a long winter.

Lauren stopped, kicked off her shoes at Oak Street Beach and tested the temperature of the sand with her toes.

“It's warm again!” she said happily, running toward the shoreline and finding a place to sit on the beach.

“C'mon, Mom!” she yelled back at Arden.

Arden slowly took off her shoes and sighed.

“I can't be sandy for work,” she said, hesitating.

“Why not?”

Arden thought about it carefully before making her way over to her daughter.

“Impromptu beach day,” Lauren said, yanking her mother to the sand.

Arden looked at her daughter, and followed her gaze out over the lake. Though the sun was shining brightly and the temperatures were warming, the waters of the Great Lake were still chilly, and the differential between the water and the air created a ghostly mist that seemed to haunt the waves. Arden wished she could relax, but between work and financial obligations, she had too much on her mind. Her body was always tense, her mind a hummingbird. And now she was worried about her own mother.

“I haven't shown you what Grandma sent me today, have I?” Lauren asked.

Lauren held up her wrist and jangled her charms. “A hot air balloon … for a life
filled with adventure!
”

Arden looked out over the lake and thought about her mother alone and so far from them. The Great Lake separated her from her mother, but it also connected them.

Lauren added, “I'm worried about Grandma. She's getting so old, Mom.”

“Me, too,” Arden admitted. “It's been awhile since we've gone to see her.”

“Then let's have an adventure!” Lauren said suddenly, standing. “Let's head up there for Memorial Day. What do you say?”

With each sentence, Lauren's voice shot higher the more excited she became. “I miss her! I'll finish finals, and you request vacation. I mean, they owe you. You haven't taken a day off in years.”

Arden hesitated. “But what about your internship?”

“I'm talking a week or two off, Mom,” Lauren said. “Maybe head north the Sunday before Memorial weekend? Give ourselves a real break.”

“But I have so many things to do,” Arden said, thinking of Van and his veiled promise of a promotion. “How will they manage when I'm gone?”

“You deserve it, Mom. Let's surprise Grandma!” Lauren stopped and shook her bracelet in her mother's face. “Let's be
adventurous
.”

Arden thought of the charm her mother had just sent her.

A mad hatter from the mad hatter.

The words from her mother's note echoed in her head:

Remember, we all must go a little crazy sometimes to find our happiness.

That's when some forgotten voice in the back of Arden's head—one that sounded an awfully lot like her mother's—overrode her logical one for the first time in a long time, and all she could say was, “Okay. Let's do it.”

 

part two