“What do they say to each other?” Lolly would ask.
“Well, it depends, my love, just like us … on their mood, what they have on their minds,” he would say in his husky rumble. “That sound we hear right now—that wail that sounds like a wolf’s howl—is the way they talk during their night chorusing. It’s just like what we’re doing now: It’s their own way of saying, ‘Good night. I love you.’”
Lolly would sigh and spoon even tighter to her husband’s side as he continued.
Lolly knew all of this, by heart now, but she was comforted hearing her husband’s voice hum in her body, his heart beat in her ear, just like hearing the loons call.
Whooo-dooo-ooooh-ooooh!
“I guess it’s now time for me to do my night chorus to you, my dear,” Les would whisper, before softly singing “Let Me Call You Sweetheart.”
Lolly would hum along, until her husband would stop and say, “If you live to be a hundred, I want to live to be a hundred minus one day so I never have to live without you.”
The screen door banged, jolting Lolly from her memories.
“Why is the reception so spotty out here?” she heard her daughter say.
Lolly’s heart sank as she thought about Arden’s confession that she had no friends, only work. Lolly never felt Arden had married for love, and since her divorce, Arden had been married to work.
Will she ever find what we had, Les? Lolly worried.
Lolly’s memory of her husband’s nightly lullaby recalled when she used to sing “The Bare Necessities” from The Jungle Book to Arden. She had sung it to her very intense little girl to calm her and get her to sleep, but she had also chosen the song to try to teach Arden to be happier with the simple things, as when a cheerful Baloo explains in the song how “a bear can rest at ease with just the bare necessities of life.” But—even at a young age—Arden had not seemed to care much for her mother’s stories or songs, and seemingly only wanted to get moving, to leave her mom, this cabin, this lake, her home.
Lolly heard the loons sing “good night” to one another: Whooo-dooo-ooooh-ooooh!
Will she ever find what they have?
Suddenly, Lolly’s heart began to beat rapidly. She panicked and sat straight up in bed.
Whooo-dooo-ooooh-ooooh!
What are their names? What are their names? Oh, Lolly, you old fool!
She began to bead in sweat, so much so that she got out of bed and opened the window all the way. A cool breeze calmed her, and she inhaled.
Whooo-dooo-ooooh-ooooh!
Lolly felt again for the charm of the loon on her bracelet. “Fred and Ethel!” she said. “Fred and Ethel!”
Lolly repeated the loons’ names as she nestled back into bed. She grabbed her husband’s pillow and held it tightly.
“Les,” she whispered to herself. “Les.”
Lolly never regretted a day she had with her husband. No regrets. She knew few could say that.
No, Lolly didn’t fear dying alone, because she wouldn’t. Les would always be with her, until they were reunited.
“For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.”
No, Lolly’s fear was much deeper: She worried there would come a day when she would not be able to remember her husband, or the loons, no matter how much their voices tried to remind her.
Lolly shut her eyes and whispered, “Good night, I love you,” into her husband’s pillow.
And then she dreamed of standing beside Les—just like in the picture on her nightstand—the loons alongside, all four mates forever in love, forever home, forever together.
Nineteen
“Be ready by seven!” Lolly announced, walking onto the screened porch the next morning.
Arden was furiously texting and jumped when she heard her mother’s voice.
“For what?”
“I’m taking you and Lauren to dinner after work. My treat! Rendezvous has music on Thursday nights!” Lolly said, holding up two aprons. “Now, which one?”
Arden had returned to texting and gave her mother a distracted look. “Aren’t they the same?”
“No!” Lolly said. “One has dancing cherries on it, and the other has dancing strawberries on it!”
“Too early for cherry season,” Arden said, without looking up.
“You actually have a point. What are you doing, by the by?”
“Working.”
“On…?”
“Work.”
“A conversation involves conversing, my dear,” Lolly replied.
Arden stopped and looked up at her mother.
“I’m texting my boss to see how things are going.” She looked up at her mom and then back down at her phone. “Without me.”
“I thought you were going to take some time off?” Lolly asked, concerned.
“I need the hours, Mom,” Arden said. “I need the money.”
“You need to stand up for yourself, then good things will follow,” Lolly said. “Don’t send that message. Just be in the moment for a bit. Then clarity will come.”
“I can’t,” Arden said. “I wouldn’t know how.”
“Just be,” Lolly said. “Just be, my dear.”