Back then, Dory couldn’t help bombarding her with unanswerable questions about why she’d joined Living Tree in the first place. But Elliot seemed to understand, without needing to be told, that Sarah just needed to be warm, and quiet. Safe. Still, she was grateful to Dory for never complaining within earshot about how she’d shredded the guest bedsheets to weave into rag rugs, or about the long, red hairs that had started to collect in all the drains. It wasn’t until three months later that Sarah seemed to wake up and notice that the spot on her brother’s couch she had been occupying around the clock had become a major depression in more ways than one.
Frank and Elliot had disappeared inside the cabin.
“And we’re in,” said Sarah, popping open the car door.
At some point in its history, her family’s cabin had reached a fork at which it could have come into its own as either an affectionate or mocking tribute to old-fashioned cottages, or as something comfortable but plain. But with its mismatched furniture and crockery, bare wooden bunks, and incoherent decor, Sarah thought that it had somehow become both. Hanging around the walls were old pairs of catgut snowshoes that Frank bought whenever he found them cheap at a garage sale. Gretchen had contributed a couple of amateur oil paintings of nude women sourced from junk shops, as well as a terrible, motion-activated singing fish advertised on late-night television. Then there were all the rag rugs, and the shutters with a pattern of hearts cut out at the top.
They carried everything in from the cars and took stock of the food they’d packed. Elliot turned on the electricity, then put on the lights. There was no question of anything festive. No eggnog. No turkey. Frank and Gretchen had adopted their strict anti-Christmas stance in the seventies, shortly after they were married, when they decided they took a dim view of people who weren’t even Christian but who still went in for all the hoopla. At first, they stayed in town, declining invitations to parties, inviting people over only to serve whisky and play jazz records. But the story was that once Elliot and Sarah started school, they became so disagreeable and demanding, always whining about not getting any presents, that their parents began the tradition of dragging them out to the lake, isolating the family in a holiday-free zone.
Frank and Gretchen had packed chicken breasts, spinach, four bottles of Perrier, one cucumber, and a large quantity of dried Italian sausage.
“I remembered to bring herbs this time,” said Gretchen. “And olive oil and salt.”
“And I remembered the essentials.” Frank revealed two bottles of wine and one of Crown Royal.
Elliot had a cooler filled with steaks, bread, eggs, pasta, bottled tomato sauce, oatmeal, and peanut butter. Coffee and beer. All in quantities enough to share. He had also bought two four-gallon jugs of water.
Sarah bent to retrieve her bag of supplies, exhaling as a small spasm stung her back. As she straightened up, she caught her mother looking at her with a critical eye.
“Have you put on weight?”
“Yes,” said Sarah. “I’ve really been letting myself go.” She unzipped her bulky coat and let it slip from her shoulders, revealing her pregnant belly. She cupped her hands above and below the bump, emphasis and embrace, and Frank and Gretchen stopped moving. Elliot put down a carton of eggs.
“This shouldn’t be a surprise,” she said. “I’m thirty-one years old, and I’ve been saying I wanted a baby ever since I came back from Bolivia.”
The comment seemed to unfreeze her parents.
“Well, you’ve been saying lots of things, honey,” said Gretchen, and Sarah’s eyes brimmed. When Elliot groaned, their mother turned up her palms like someone cornered. “What? She has.”
Elliot ignored her and crossed the room to give Sarah a hug. His stubble grazed her cheek, which he kissed again. “May I?” he asked. Sarah nodded, and he put a hand on her belly. “This is big news.” He said this as much to their parents as to her. A demonstration. “This is the most wonderful thing.”
Sarah’s heart went out to him in gratitude as she blinked back tears. She would think of this instance of kindness often in the years to come, as a foundational moment for everything that followed.
“Congratulations, sweetheart,” said her father, though he still looked bewildered.
Next to him, her mother nodded. “Yes,” said Gretchen, though it sounded grudging.
“I’ll help you with this,” said Elliot, taking the bag from Sarah.
Wiping her eyes,