SPRING, 1968
The loons came back to Chippewa Lake the last week of March. They announced their arrival with a night concert of tremolos and yodels. Frank had come back to Fort Colson that week too. His reentry was quieter, just a man in a rusted pickup truck full of his few earthly belongings.
He’d sold his business in Bliss and rented a cottage a block or two from us, promising not to bother us too much. Still, he came for supper most evenings.
Mom had decided against taking Frank’s offer of divorce. But she did accept his invitation to the occasional Friday evening movie or Sunday afternoon drive. She made no promises of happily ever afters. But she also didn’t refuse to entertain the possibility.
Not long after Frank moved back she started wearing her wedding ring again.
We’d visited Mike’s grave every week since his funeral. Oma had planted tulips on either side of his headstone, bulbs she’d brought with her from the Netherlands. Each time we went, the searing pain of losing him lessened, replaced by an aching longing for him.
Even a million years wouldn’t heal that. I wouldn’t have wanted the cure anyway.
On the last Saturday of March, I borrowed Bernie’s boat and rowed out to the middle of Old Chip. It seemed like a year since Mike and I had sat in that boat together. I felt of the oar handles, the sides of the boat, remembering my brother.
I believed that, as Oma had said, we were meant for eternity. That life on this side was a prelude to the real life ahead of us. At least that was what I hoped for.
Mike is.
Those two words in her thick accent had gotten me through more than a handful of really tough days.
I spotted the loons gliding along the surface of the water, tucked away in the safety of their usual cove. Lifting Mike’s camera to my eye, I took a picture, hoping that it would come out clear, crisp once it was developed. I snapped a second just in case.
Taking the camera away from my eye, I saw a waving motion in my periphery. Turning, I saw David, his arms in the air. I slipped the camera strap around my neck before grabbing the oars and rowing back to the public access.
“Hi,” I said, letting him take my hand to help me up on the dock.
“Hello,” he said back. “No life jacket?”
“It’s not that deep.”
“You do know that somebody can drown in a teaspoon of water.”
“That’s not true.” I pointed to the loons. “They’re back.”
“So I heard.” He helped me tie the boat to the dock. “Do you think they’re the same ones that were here last year?”
“I don’t know,” I answered. “I like to think so.”
We sat on the dock, side by side, looking out over the water. I put my hand on my thigh, hoping he’d catch the drift that I wanted him to hold it. I wasn’t disappointed.
“My mother’s coming for a visit next week,” he said. “She wanted to make sure she’d get to meet my girlfriend.”
He peeked at me sideways with a silly grin on his face.
“You mean me?” I asked.
“Of course I do.”
“I’m your girlfriend?” I couldn’t help but smile. It felt so good to be happy.
“If you want to be.”
“Sure I do.”
He leaned toward me and I took in a sip of breath before he pressed his lips against mine. It was short but as perfect as I could have ever imagined. When I opened my eyes, his face was still so close. I couldn’t help but giggle a little.
“Was that all right?” he asked, touching my cheek.
I answered by grabbing a handful of his shirt and pulling him in for just one more kiss. It was longer than the first, but only slightly. I still wasn’t sure if I was doing it right.
“I sure do like you, Annie Jacobson,” he said.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because you are unlike anyone else in all the world.” He winked at me. “I mean that in a good way.”
He stood and took both of my hands, raising me to my feet.
Mike would have approved of David. I had no doubts.
“Do you want to come over for dinner?” I asked. “Frank’s grilling burgers.”
He nodded. “I can walk you home.”
“All right,” I said. “Just give me a minute, okay? I’ll be right there.”
He let go of my hands and I watched him walk to the end of the dock.
From where I stood I could see the house we’d lived in when I was a little girl, the dock jutting out into the water. I imagined my younger self sitting there, beside Frank, each of us with a cup of coffee in hand. His black and mine mostly milk and sugar.
Then I pictured my little-girl self alone, waiting for him to come back. I still felt the loneliness of those days, just after Frank went away.
All those years later, on that late March day, I realized I’d never been alone after all. My Father had been there all along, smiling sunshine at me from behind the clouds.
I turned, joining David at the end of the dock.