Everyone’s life looks fun on social media; that’s the sorcery of it. Your soul may be slowly decaying, but there’s a filter for that.
“We’re doing the right thing—moving Dad to a home,” Nina continues. “Maybe it’s a little soon, but he’ll have a chance to acclimate and find his groove. If we wait until he’s really far gone, it will be too jarring for him.”
“You’re right. It just snuck up on me—the severity of his dementia. I always thought I would have a chance to mend things, but it never seemed like the right time. I can’t believe it’s been nine years since I was last here.”
“I can,” says Nina.
“I’m not even sure what I’m avoiding anymore—Dad’s illness or Seth’s memory.”
For a moment, I feel myself return to that night—the frozen pond, the icy blue air, the sharp winter stars. It was ten years ago, but for me, it’s still happening. If something doesn’t shift soon, I could spend my whole life in this rut, just drifting from thing to thing, avoiding thepossibility of heartbreak, avoiding possibility altogether. A hollowed-out, half-assed kind of life.
“Cricket? Do you think about him a lot?” When I’m slow to answer, Nina clarifies: “Seth, I mean.”
“I know who you mean. And yes, I think about him all the time.”
“Well, maybe this will be the closure you need,” says Nina. “Finally selling the house. Really turning the page—and letting Seth go.”
I know she means to comfort me, but it’s not exactly closure that I’m seeking. It’s something more complex: acceptance, integration, a metamorphosis. I want to be able to acknowledge the tragedy without reliving it. I want to be able to remember Seth without being haunted by him.
“Maybe,” I say.
“It will be bittersweet, leaving here. But it’s just a place. There are plenty of other places to live, things to see, jobs to do, people to love. Life is long, Cricket. The best things are still ahead of us, I promise.”
When I look at her, she meets my gaze confidently. Nina possesses something I have never had: a determination to thrive. When I am struggling to believe in myself, I can always believe in her, and that’s usually enough to get me through.
After she has gone to bed and the fire has died, I walk out to the porch that wraps around three sides of the house. The moon is on the wane, but its light is strong enough to silver the treetops and reveal the ice-covered pond down the hill. The landscape is still, as if waiting for something. My exhale creates a bloom of steam in the darkness as I descend the porch steps. Careful not to slip, I make my way across the sloped grass to the path, rippled with wet roots, that leads down to the water. There is still a drift of snow against the boathouse, and the wide rectangle of the dock is wet underfoot. Its splintered slats need replacing, but that will be someone else’s burden to bear once we sell the house.
The end of the dock hovers a foot above the thin ice below. Leaning down, I turn an ear toward the surface. From deep under the ice comes a muted sound, like the noise a cartoon space-gun makes:pew-pew-pew!Fast and insistent.Pew-pew, pew-pew!
It’s the sound of the thaw: water seething around contracting ice. It’s the moaning and cracking of the pond as it wrestles with itself, reluctantly softening from solid to liquid. In the distance, a heavy crack rends the air and my heart leaps. Again, it’s just ice shifting, but for a moment, I think I see a single headlight coming toward me from the distant shore.
It’s an illusion,I tell myself. But there’s an urgent energy in the damp air. Something wants me to listen; something wants to emerge.
Chapter 3
“So what did you think, Dad?” Nina asks from behind the wheel of her Subaru.
“Very nice,” he says, gazing out the passenger-side window as we zip along the state route that leads from civilization back to our town.
“And…?”
He looks at her blankly. He had seemed perfectly affable and at ease while we toured the two memory-care facilities, but now that we’re back in the car, it’s clear he did not really understand the intention of the visits.
“Which one did you like better?” Nina presses.
“Hmmm…” He doesn’t elaborate. I sense that he can’t distinguish between the two.
“Did you like the one with the screening room?” I offer from the back seat. “The movie theater?”
“Oh sure. You’ve got to have that.”
“Figures. That’s the more expensive one!” Nina bats his knee.
We drive for a few moments. I stare at my dad’s wispy hair, his thin left shoulder in his plaid shirt. I miss him. I’ve missed him for a long time, but now there is more intensity to it. He turns his head as far as he can and says in my direction, “So when will you be moving in there?”
I lock eyes with Nina in the rearview mirror.
“No, Dad,” she says gently. “Remember? Those are potential homes foryou. Because you’re going to move to a new place with lots of people and doctors and interesting things to do.”
