Jake pulled the car into the driveway, slowing down over the icy bump left by the snowplow. He hadn’t been looking forward to the weekend, but a winter camping trip was the only thing Oliver wanted for his seventh birthday, and it was more fun than Jake expected. He and Esther even managed a starry walk together, after Oliver’s friend Kenny finally stopped crying for his mother and the boys fell asleep. The snow in the woods was clean and sparkling. Too bad Molly refused to come, but no big surprise there. To a twelve-year-old girl, a weekend at her best friend’s house won out every time over listening to two days of nonstop fart jokes.
After they delivered Kenny home, Oliver fell asleep in the back seat, surrounded by the smell of stale campfire and wet sleeping bags. Jake carried him up to bed, removing only his boots and snowsuit.
“Would you pick Molly up?” Esther asked. “I’m going to soak in the bathtub.”
Driving to Rachel’s house, Jake pictured Esther in the upstairs bath. The bay window, reaching from floor to ceiling, looked out into the heart of a swamp maple tree whose blazing red leaves heralded autumn every October. In lucky years, May brought a robin’s nest with startlingly blue eggs. They had searched for the right tub, finally found an antique cast iron clawfoot that was big enough to fit both kids and the necessary fleet of plastic tugboats and yellow duckies. Big enough for Esther to soak her whole body, up to her chin, one hand holding her book safe above the water, while the pages curled in the humid air.
Molly was waiting and slid into the back seat.
“Have a good weekend?” Jake asked.
“Yeah. You guys have fun?”
Jake heard the slight derision in Molly’s voice but decided to ignore it. She was still pretty reasonable for almost a teenager. Not that he was under any illusion that he had much control over the situation. At the office, he watched kids who had once listened with delight to their own heartbeat with his stethoscope become sullen strangers, unwilling to look him in the eyes or answer a simple question.
“It was great,” he said. “What’s the homework situation?”
“All done.”
“Good,” he said. Sometimes he wished Molly weren’t quite so serious and conscientious. “After I check in with work, you want to play some cards?”
“I guess,” Molly said. She leaned forward to rest her chin on the back of the front seat. “If I get to choose the games.”
His answering service reported no urgent messages, so he knocked on the door of Molly’s bedroom, tucked under the eaves. He smiled at the handwritten sign in curlicue letters with flower decorations. Do not enter without permission. This is Molly Green’s private abode.
“Who is it?”
“Sting. I’m looking for a female vocalist for my next album.”
“Right, Jake. Come in.”
Esther had always insisted that their kids call them by their first names. Jake hadn’t argued with her, but sometimes he longed to be called Dad. “Where’s the TV table?” he asked. “And what do you want to play?”
“Why call it a TV table when we’re not allowed to have TVs in our bedrooms, or watch TV when we eat?” She always asked that question, as if someday Jake would answer differently, but didn’t wait for his answer. “Steal the Old Man’s Bundle,” she said.
Jake shook his head. “It’s all luck. How about Gin?”
“No way. You always win. Casino or nothing.”
“You drive a hard bargain.” Jake shuffled the cards.
Halfway through the first game, Esther called from the bathroom, her voice muffled. “Jake, I need you.”
“Be right back,” he told Molly. Esther probably needed help getting out of the tub. She had low blood pressure and often felt faint after soaking in a hot bath.
Jake stopped just inside the bathroom door. Esther’s face was pale, not flushed pink from a hot bath. Both hands covered her left breast. He kneeled at the tub.
“What’s wrong?”
“I found a lump.”
Jake got Esther settled in bed, promising to call Ira after dinner. His med school friend specialized in breast oncology. He returned to Molly, sprawled on her bed with her worn copy of Rose in Bloom.
“Your mother isn’t feeling well. Come help me make tuna casserole for dinner?”
“I’ll be there in a minute. I’m at the best part. Charlie is dying and Rose is trying to be brave.”
Jake twisted the stiff metal opener around the cans of tuna fish. Most breast lumps were benign; this one was probably just a cyst. Nothing to agonize about. By ancient habit, he squeezed the water with little flecks of tuna into a bowl for the cat. But Mustard had died last summer. The memory undid him and his eyes flooded with worry.
Molly walked into the kitchen. “What’s wrong?”
“Mustard,” Jake said. “I poured the tuna water for him.”
Molly put her arms around Jake, hugging him without saying anything. The top of her head reached his chin, and he rested his cheek against her hair. Molly had gone with him to the vet that last day. Mustard couldn’t eat or drink or even lift his head, and his breaths came slow and jerky. He was so light his bones seemed empty. The vet asked Molly if she wanted to hold the cat and she said yes, even though Jake could tell she was scared. She cradled him and Jake stroked the pale yellow fur. The vet shaved a little rectangle of fur from his front leg and slipped the needle into his vein. She pushed in the clear fluid and then Mustard didn’t breathe at all. Molly’s cheeks were flooded and Jake realized that his were, too. The vet gave Molly an old towel, and she cradled Mustard’s body on the drive home. They buried him in the corner of the backyard, behind the black-eyed Susies, covered by a heavy piece of slate to remember the spot.
Jake poured the tuna water into the sink. He hadn’t thought of Mustard in months.
Six weeks after the mastectomy, Esther raised the issue of Loon Lake Camp. She had been moving food around her dinner plate, even though Jake had served her a tiny portion.
“Molly,” she said, “how would you like to go to camp this summer? Loon Lake Camp, it’s in New Hampshire.”
Jake stared at her, but Esther’s eyes remained fixed on the lopsided slab plate Oliver made her for Chanukah, holding salt and pepper shakers and extra napkins.
Molly frowned. “I won’t know anyone there. I want to—”
“Stay home. We know.” Oliver bounced from his seat. “But I want to go to camp. Why can’t I go?”
“You’re too young, Ollie,” Jake replied automatically. “In a few years.”
Esther’s red bandana had slipped on her smooth head and she tugged it down over her ear. “I told you about Loon Lake, Molly, remember? It’s where I heard about Sadako?”
Molly had been crazy obsessed the year before about Sadako and the cranes. Jake figured it was probably the contemporary version of girls and horses. But really, Sadako was just what they needed in this family, another tear-jerker. They might as well rent the Love Story video and give up. Jake reached for the bowl of veggies and ginger stir fry. “Anyone want more?”
“It’s the third time this week,” Molly groaned. “Can’t we have burgers?”
“Ginger helps the chemo nausea,” Esther said. “What about camp?”
“I’d rather stay home this summer. Ride my bike and—”
“And hang out with Rachel,” Oliver said.
“Think about it.” Esther pulled a folded brochure from her pocket and placed it on the table, next to the brown rice. “Take a look at this.”
Molly ignored the brochure and slapped her brother. “Stop finishing my sentences. You talk too much.”
Oliver balled up his napkin and threw it at Molly. “Do not.”
Jake intercepted the napkin without comment and stared at the Loon Lake photo on the front of the brochure. When did Esther get that? Why hadn’t she mentioned it to him? Because she knew what he’d say, that’s why.
He looked at Molly and grinned. “Did I ever tell you about the time I was an intern and a mom in the pediatric ICU climbed into the crib to comfort her sick baby? When she had to go to the bathroom, she couldn’t figure out how to get the side rail down. She pushed the code blue button instead of the nurse call button. You wouldn’t believe the confusion.” Jake knew he’d told that story far too many times before, and his family couldn’t care less about confusion in an ICU. A desperate measure, but it worked. They stopped talking about Loon Lake.
After the kids went up to bed, Jake brought Esther a cup of chamomile tea. The kitchen window was cracked open and the murmur of the peepers was loud in the dark room.
Jake cleared his throat. His voice had become a foreigner to him these past few weeks, breaking and cracking without warning like a boy in puberty.
“For crying out loud, it’s a crazy summer to send Molly away, with you sick. But even if she does want to go to camp, let’s send her somewhere else. Any place but Loon Lake.”
“It’s our history, Jake. Her legacy. I want Molly to know where she comes from.”
“Why tear open old wounds? You need to concentrate on getting well.”
Esther took a sip of tea. “Maybe I know what I need better than you. Maybe it’s time to reconnect with my old life. I’ve got to make my peace with her, in case I die.” She put her hand on his. “This is the first step.” “You’re not going to die.”
He didn’t mean to shout, but his voice betrayed him again. Esther murmured calm words, but he felt no calm. He let his head fall into the cradle of his hands.