While I wouldn’t claim to have the permanent cure for any specific ailment, I am confident we can help quell Gemma’s nonspecific angst, if only momentarily. I dab lavender oil on the women’s foreheads and instruct them to gaze into the fire as I lead them through some simple breathing exercises. The flames pop, and suddenly the room that often feels too quiet (when it’s just my dad and me) now feels charged with possibility. I am enjoying being the master of ceremonies, and I feel a little high on my own authority.
After a few minutes, Paula enters the room and I leave Gemma and Inez under her jurisdiction while I go to get my dad. I can hear their exhales as they begin to flail around the space.
My father is awake and sitting in the armchair in his room, staring out at the pond.
“Dad, we have two guests who would love your advice,” I say.
“Do we? How nice,” he says. I help him up from the chair and offer him his shawl-collar cardigan—the one with the leather buttons that gives him a professorial air. Once outfitted, he follows me out to the great room, where the ladies have just completed their dance meditation.
I make the introductions, and the two women regard my father with eager reverence as he settles into his usual chair by the fire.Dominic hops into his lap and regards the women warily, his green eyes wide.
“We’ll start with some bibliomancy,” I say, handing my father the dusty poetry anthology we often read from.
He takes it, contemplates the cover, and then hands it back to me. “I think we’ve exhausted this one.”
I didn’t expect this. For a moment, I’m nervous, but I decide to roll with it. I replace the anthology in the bookshelf and begin to run my hands along the spines. “Tell me when to stop, Dad.”
When I reach a small gray book, he claps his hands. “Bingo.”
“This one?”
He nods. I look down and see that it’s an instructional guide calledWhen Duct Tape Just Isn’t Enough, and I immediately regret not curating the shelves better. I brace myself, fearing that this is when our experiment will go off the rails, but I bring the book to my father nonetheless. He looks at the cover and then flips it around so Gemma can see it. Her eyes widen and she bursts into tears.
We all sit in silence for a moment, allowing her to experience whatever it is that’s happening. She looks to Inez, who nods in understanding.
“It’s about my marriage.” Gemma sniffles, gesturing to the book. “When duct tape isn’t enough. Isn’t it obvious? It’s a metaphor.”
“There, there,” says my father.
“We weren’t perfect, Jared and I, but I always had this belief that we werefated. Because we met at Burning Man, and it was beautiful in the beginning. So ever since then, I’ve told myself that the pain is worth it somehow. But when is enoughenough? I know relationships are hard work, but is this the right kind of work? Is marriage supposed to feel like this?”
I worry that my father will be overwhelmed by Gemma’s outpouring, but he seems steady and engaged. He leans forward and looks at Gemma. “Sometimes the marriage has a problem. But sometimes the marriageisthe problem.”
Gemma gasps and nods, tears falling fast down her cheeks. I look at my father in near disbelief. That was real. He nailed it.
“So what should I do?”
“You already know. Or you will before long.” He strokes Dominic’s fur and gets a far-off look in his eye. “Kierkegaard said something… What did he say…”
We’re going full Kierkegaard? I hold my breath, praying that my father remains coherent.
He looks at Gemma. “Ah, yes:Life can only be understood backwards, but it must be lived forwards.”
Holy shit. Somehow, the abstractness of my father’s thinking and speaking has found its natural outlet. He is drawing on recesses I didn’t even know were there. Whereas he is often lost in day-to-day conversation, this is a space where he can wax in any direction and still hold authority. We have created an experience, but the supplicant must make her own meaning.
I’m confident that Gemma has already gotten what she came for, but suddenly, I am struck by an idea that might round out her pilgrimage. I excuse myself and run down the path to the pond, where the afternoon light is low. At the end of the dock, I check to see if Nils’s plunge hole is still in decent shape after all the snow we’ve had. A thin layer of ice has formed across the top, but after I poke it with a stick, it gives way. I run back up to the house.
When I enter, the conversation has lulled and Gemma’s tears have dried, though she is now smiling. “Gemma, I wonder…” I say. “We don’t offer this to just anyone, but would you like to do an ice plunge in the pond? The experience was designed by a Swedish consultant, and the Adirondack waters are very healing. It’s not for the faint of heart, but I think you would really benefit.”
“Say no more,” says Gemma. I had a feeling she would rise to the challenge. Extreme wellness is her preferred sport, after all. I offer her a swimsuit but she insists she would prefer to experience the elements in the nude. I give her a robe to change into. When she returns, we leave my father in his seat by the fire, and Gemma, Inez, and I walk down to the water.
Gemma doesn’t need much coaching—she’s done her share of ice baths—and she drops her robe and slips into the water withouthesitation, eager to be baptized by ice. When she pops up to the surface, she is calm. She lays her forearms on the edge of the hole and breathes steadily as I time her. After three minutes, Inez and I help hoist her out of the water and wrap her in her robe. As the three of us make our way back up the hill to the house, the change in Gemma is palpable. The edginess that oozed from her when she arrived is gone, replaced by a centered calm. When we reach the porch, she grabs my arm and pauses before we enter the warmth of the house. She seems unbothered by the cold, though the long strands of her hair have frozen into solid shards.
“This is a magical experience, Cricket,” she says. “You’re going to change people’s lives.”
Once Gemma and Inez finally leave, my father turns to me with a befuddled look and asks, “Who were those flibbertigibbets?”
Carl, Paula, and I dissolve into laughter. “Friends from the city. Actually, I used to work for the one with the long hair. She was my boss.”
