Chapter One

 

Charlotte

 

 

Is this actually happening?

I stared out of the window of the car at the trees that were sweeping past as we bumped and bounced our way through the dips in a road that had taken a decidedly disheartening shift from smoothly paved to uneven gravel to worn dirt. The woods around me looked like it had to be teeming with starving artists ready to burst out from behind the trees and hunker over their canvasses to paint the undeniably picturesque scene as quickly as they could before withering beneath the sheer weight of their artistic angst and the disappointment from their family. We continued on through the woods and suddenly the trees broke at the end of a curve, revealing the cabin that my parents had rented for our Thanksgiving celebration. The driver brought the car to a stop and I didn't bother to wait for him to open the door. I stared at the cabin incredulously as I stepped sideways out of the car and let the door remain open as I took a few steps forward.

There has to be a tiny old woman holding a massive turkey at a ridiculous angle around here somewhere, expecting the magic of the season and the admiration of her family to defy the physics that were making her presentation of their feast a potentially dangerous impossibility.

"Isn't it wonderful, Charlotte?" my mother said with a distinct trill in her voice.

I knew by that sound that she wasn't entirely convinced by the whole concept of the rented cabin, either. That was one of the things about her that no one who knew her for more than a few days could get around, likely because she didn't even realize that she did it. It was her tell. The higher that her voice got, and the wider that her eyes grew, the more she was either straight out lying or at least trying to convince the people around her of something. At this point it seemed that she was in full denial, but if an entire lifetime of knowing her had taught me anything, it was that she wouldn't let up her charade throughout the trip. She would go to her grave swearing that this was the best Thanksgiving that we had ever spent as a family. And, lord help us, she would fully expect us to agree with her.

"It's definitely something," I said.

"I think it's lovely," Mom said, her voice creeping up even higher.

"Explain to me again why you thought that we needed to come all the way up to the top of a mountain to celebrate Thanksgiving."

"Well, we aren't really at the top of the mountain," she said.

Of course not. Because that would just be ridiculous.

"All right. Then explain to me again why you thought we needed to come all the way up to almost the top of a mountain to celebrate Thanksgiving."

"Your father and I just thought that it would be nice to have a change of pace. It's so beautiful up here," she said, looking around the woods and trying her best not to shudder.

My mother was many things, but a nature-lover was certainly not one of them. The most in touch with the Earth that I think that I had ever seen her get was when she participated in stomping the divots back during a polo game. Come to think of it, even that was somewhat traumatizing, and I couldn't remember attending another game with her after that. Whatever her motivation for renting this cabin and bring us all up here for the week, it must be something serious. It wasn't that we didn't celebrate the holidays together. We were a family like any other. It was just that us celebrating Thanksgiving generally meant my sisters and their families all going to our parents’ home and sitting at an almost comically long table to eat a feast prepared not by our mother or grandmother, but by members of our staff. In all honesty, they might as well be members of our family. Many of them have been with my family since well before even my oldest sister was born, so in a way I suppose that was almost traditional. That made it seem even stranger when at the beginning of November my mother and father suddenly announced that they had rented a quaint little cabin in the woods so that we could get away for the Thanksgiving holiday. It would be so much more personal, they assured us. So cozy. We would be able to focus so much more on each other and making memories.

These are all things that I would have liked, of course. I would have loved to think that we would spend the week bonding, laughing and enjoying each other's company. Unfortunately, there was not a doubt in my mind that there were other reasons why they had planned to bring us up here. I could only imagine the gears were turning in my mother's mind even as I walked up the drive towards the steps that led on to the wide porch of the cabin. There was a reason that we were here. Soon enough I would find out what it was.

I stared in awe at the porch as I climbed the steps. It was deep enough that even if there was a storm, we could stand at the door and watch it without being affected. To either side at the far end were what looked like hand-hewn rocking chairs. They looked almost like props. I'm sure that there were some people who would rent this cabin and immediately see the chairs as a wonderful place where they could relax and enjoy their time away. To me, however, I had a difficult time imagining a lifestyle, even during a holiday vacation, that was calm enough that I would ever contemplate curling up in a blanket in one of these rocking chairs with a cup of hot tea and gaze out over the beautifully changing fall foliage. Even when I was home, relaxation was something I had very rarely, if ever. I woke up in the morning, got ready, went to work, and kept myself busy every moment that I was there. When I returned home, I either continue to work or I spent time organizing and reorganizing, decorating and redecorating, trying to make the little house that I had recently moved in to feel like a home. I very rarely sat for longer than a few minutes. Sitting down meant my brain had a chance to wander, and that was something that I didn't want to let happen. I didn't want any room for the thoughts that would try to creep in.

I stepped up onto the porch and turned around to look out of the trees. They were truly breathtaking, and I had a flicker of guilt at the distrust and suspicion that had colored my view of this trip with my family. Maybe my parents really had noticed that all three of their children were now adults and they were eager to make some of those cozy, warm memories of the holidays that other families enjoyed. Maybe they even recognized that this holiday season might be harder for me and wanted to be there for me, to comfort me and try to make it as happy as they could. I wanted to believe that. I wanted to think that their focus of all that had happened over the last several months had turned away from what society thought, from what they perceived as public opinion, and instead turned toward me and how it all impacted me and my life.

"Let's go on inside, Charlotte." My mother said as she hurried up the path from the driveway to the steps. "I'd love to show you around. I chose the smallest bedroom for you.  I figured that you wouldn't mind. You know that your sisters just need more space."

Well, damn. Never mind.

I wasn't really disappointed by the confirmation that my mother had more on her mind than a greeting card worthy setting for eating our turkey. There wasn't any malice in it. She didn't mean to hurt me. I knew that. But that didn't change the frustration that I felt coursing through me as I let out a deep sigh and stepped through the door of the cabin. I figured that I had two choices. Either I could do my best to smile my way through the week and deflect all of the comments about my woefully single state so that I had some hope of a holiday that was worth remembering with my family, or I could take off running through the woods and hope that I made it down the mountain. I figured that the latter wasn't the most practical choice, so I took a breath and let my mother give me a tour of the cabin.

"You know," she said, as we walked through the living room and toward the kitchen. "This is the very cabin that Dr. Smith rented for his 30th anniversary party. When your father and I were thinking about this trip, I remembered how beautiful it was and knew that I wanted this particular cabin." She sighed. "I felt so lucky that it was still available."

I looked around. Dr. Smith was one of the wealthiest and most sophisticated people that I knew. I had a difficult time imagining him in this setting, especially having a party here. The cabin was lovely, I had to admit. But it was a cabin, in every sense of the word. Every room seemed to be a study in muted colors and whittled wood. With every turn I was worried that I was going to come face-to-face with the head of some unfortunate previous inhabitant of the woods. I wondered if there was some sort of themed element to the party that my mother was just not mentioning.

We continued through the house, my mother gesturing toward various features like she was displaying the grand prize on a gameshow and me giving little sounds of acknowledgment as we went, until we reached a tiny bedroom tucked in the corner of the lower floor. I could only imagine that this had once been a nursery or even servants' quarters. My luggage was already sitting there waiting for me and I plastered a smile on my face as I turned to look at my mother.

"Thanks, Mom," I said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. "This is going to be great."

The truth was, it actually could be great. As different as this holiday season was going to be, I was looking forward to the opportunity to spend time with my parents and my sisters without distractions.

"Madeline and Miranda should be here soon. I hear that there is some exciting news!"

She was grinning at me again as if she had no idea what the news could possibly be, but if I was to take my guess, there wasn't going to be any real surprise in the news that was coming. Both of my sisters had done exactly as was expected of them and went to college with more of an intention of getting their MRS than any other assortment of letters, and within weeks of graduation both were dutifully wed and on their way to starting families.

"I look forward to seeing them. I should probably get started unpacking."

I opened my suitcase and was surprised to see my mother step up beside the bed and reach in for one of the shirts that I had carefully rolled and tucked inside. She unrolled it and shook it, carrying it over to the closet to hang it almost as if this was a normal activity for her. I doubted that she had done her own laundry more than a handful of times in her life. Violet was very secure in her place as a member of high society, a position that she fulfilled with a level of enthusiasm that belied the fact that up until her father got very fortunate and very rich, she lived a firmly middle-class lifestyle. That was something she never talked about and preferred if everyone pretended didn't exist. It might tarnish her reputation if people started acknowledging that she was among the newest of the new rich.

"You know, Charlotte, your father and I were really hoping that this Thanksgiving we'd be able to celebrate your marriage."

And there it is.

"Please, Mom," I said, dropping my hands onto the top of the clothes still in my luggage and looking at her pleadingly. "Please, don't."

"Please don't what?" she asked, innocent as though she really had no idea what I was talking about.

"We've already talked about this. It's been months since Daniel and I broke up, and that's it. It's over. I know that you really like him, but…"

"We loved him," Violet emphasized. "He was wonderful."

"Don't you think that it should be more important whether or not I loved him?" I asked.

"You didn't?"

I sighed. This wasn't a conversation that I wanted to have. Not now. Not again.

"Can I just unpack, please? I'm here alone. We all know it. That's not going to change this week. Please, let's just try to enjoy Thanksgiving."

My mother finished hanging up the shirt that should have gone in the drawer with the pajama pants that it matched and nodded.

"I'll just go downstairs and get supper started." She walked to the door, then paused just before leaving. "Will you be coming down soon?"

I nodded, giving her a small smile.

"Sure. I'll just finish unpacking and I'll come down."

"Good."

She closed the door behind her as she left and as soon as I heard the click of the doorknob engaging, I stalked across the room to the closet, pulled down the shirt, and brought it back to my suitcase. I tried not to think about my mother's less-than-subtle prodding while I put away my clothes and changed into the stretch pants and oversized sweater that had become the source of my obsession as the cold weather crept in. The cabin smelled like the bold, rich spaghetti sauce that I knew was my parents' cook's family recipe. I could only imagine that she had packed up a few jars of it for Mom to bring along and heat up for us. I found her leaning over the open oven, staring into it in bewilderment.

"Are you looking for something in particular?" I asked.

She backed up and looked at me.

"I don't want to burn the garlic bread."

I laughed, remembering the one meal that my father had attempted to prepare for us when I was younger. It was one of three days during which the vacations of the kitchen staff all overlapped, and my mother was pregnant with my younger sister Madeline. She was craving Italian food and my father decided that it couldn't be but so challenging to make spaghetti. He boiled the pasta. He opened a store-bought jar of sauce and warmed it. He even opened a container of grated parmesan cheese. Things went fairly well, until he attempted to make the garlic bread. Rather than turning on the oven, he blasted the broiler, and within minutes the kitchen was full of black smoke and Dad was running through the back door holding a baking sheet with a flaming loaf as far ahead of him that he could. He had never tried to cook again and more than twenty years later Mom was still traumatized.

She suddenly grabbed an oven mitt and snatched the pan out of the oven. I peeked at it and smiled.

"It looks perfect."

She gave a relieved smile and I couldn't help but cross the kitchen and give her a squeeze around her shoulders. I kissed her cheek and picked up the bowl of pasta from the counter, following her into the small dining room. I had just set the pasta on the table when I heard the door to the cabin open. I turned and looked over my shoulder to see my older sister Miranda walk-in, quickly followed by her husband Seth, and her two young children. They were still going through the rounds of hugs and taking off coats when the door opened again, and Madeline and her husband William came in. Excitement swelled through the cabin as family who hadn't seen one another in months started to catch up. I could see a grin on Miranda's face, and knew that she was the one with the news that my mother had mentioned.  That smile clung to her lips as we all settled down around the table and began to pass plates and cups.  My mother accepted the plate that I held out to her and placed it in front of her before turning an almost giddy smile to Miranda.

"So... What's this big news that you were talking about?"

Miranda and Seth exchanged glances and then stood. He looped one arm around his wife's waist and held up a glass of champagne. Miranda mirrored his gesture, but with a glass that was conspicuously filled with the apple juice that had been purchased for the children.

"Well," she said, looking up adoringly at Seth. "We are going to be having another baby."

My mother gasped and clapped her hands together, her eyes sparkling with a joy that was almost enough to make it seem that she didn't predict the news. I smiled and started to stand, wanting to hug my sister, but before I had the opportunity, I noticed Madeline stand up. She, too, was holding a glass of apple juice and her cheeks were high with color. She smiled at each of us and then at William.

"Then I guess this may be the perfect time for us to make our little announcement," she said.

"Really?" My father asked, sounding nearly overcome with excitement.

"You, too?" My mother asked.

My little sister nodded, smiling so hard her blue eyes were nearly shut. Another round of hugs and kisses commenced with questions about due dates and morning sickness and birth plans and all manners of other things that I felt I had nothing to do with, taking over the dinner table conversation. I was thrilled for both of my sisters and content to sit back and watch their lives unfold in front of me. Both of them had taken the path that was expected of them, and neither looked like they could possibly be happier. I had taken another path, but I felt like I was making progress, taking steps towards finding a place in my life where I might find that type of happiness.

"So, Charlotte, when are you going to have news for us?"

All of the happiness and levity that had filled me from the moment that I saw my mother trying to prepare dinner drained out of my body. I felt cold and my stomach turned. I looked at my mother, incredulous that she would ask me that question.

"Didn't we just have this conversation?" I asked, fighting to keep my tone calm.

"Well, yes," she said, "but I thought that hearing your sisters' news would motivate you a little more."

"Motivate me?", looking between my parents and then to each of my sisters. "What's that supposed to mean? What is it supposed to motivate me to do?"

"Maybe it should motivate you to grow up and have your own life," my mother said.

"I have my own life,” I protested. “I did grow up. I live in my own house. I have my own career. I have my own life. Just because I don't have a husband and children that are a part of it, does not mean that my life is not my own. In fact, maybe that means that I have more of my own life than either of them do. Or that either one of you do."

I heard one of my sister's gasp, but I didn't turn to see which one. My father held his hand out over the table as if trying to create a barrier between me and my mother.

"Alright," he said, "maybe we should all just calm down. Violet, I thought we agreed that we would bring this up more delicately."

"Bring it up?" I asked. "So, I was right. You actually did plan this whole Thanksgiving week trip as some sort of bizarre intervention."

"Now, Charlotte, don't think of it that way."

"How else do you want me to think about it?" I glanced over at my sisters who were both leaned on their husbands, their hands rested protectively over their bellies in mirrored displays of maternal concern. I gestured at them. "You two are just mad that I didn't get married in time to be a part of the gestational hat-trick. Well, I'm very sorry that I ruined any plans for a triple baby shower. I'll make sure to keep everyone's social calendars in mind the next time I contemplate making decisions about my own life and own future."

I stepped away from the table and stalked down the hallway and into my tiny bedroom. I was nearly trembling with anger, but there were tears stinging in my eyes. This was exactly what I didn't want to deal with when my parents suggested we spend the holiday in this cabin. I was proud of how far I had come. I was proud of myself for pulling out of Daniel's clutches and finally claiming exactly what my parents thought that I didn't have: my own life. They claimed that they loved him, but they didn't know him. They didn't see the person that I did. They didn't understand what I went through with him every day. I had tried to tell them. So many times, I tried to find the right words, to explain to them the pain that I was in or the terror that I faced whenever I knew that I would see him at the end of a bad day. Even when I was able to tell my mother, she seemed to filter it out, as though she wasn't processing what I told her. Now that I was finally away from him, I looked back on those days and wondered what could have kept me there, what could have allowed me to let the years slip past.

I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders resolutely. This was the same thing. I was just continuing to give Daniel power over me, and I didn't want to give him another minute. I wiped the tears from my eyes and walked back into the living room. My family was talking in hushed tones and fell quiet as I approached. Their eyes turned to me and I paused just inside the doorway.

"I apologize for my behavior," I said. "It's the holidays and we shouldn't be fighting."

My father stood up and wrapped his arms around me for a hug, then guided me back to the table. I sat down, and we slipped back into our meal, all of us skilled at the art of glossing over unpleasant moments and moving on.