She watched the couple walk away, hand in hand, and for a second—in a city of millions—Arden felt so alone.
She shut her eyes and remembered taking a picture of her mom and dad in front of Lake Michigan at sunset. They had positioned their hands so it looked like they were holding the sun up to keep it from disappearing behind the water. Her parents’ faces were as bright and happy as the exploding sky. Arden smiled at the memory before the thought of her own failed marriage popped into her head.
I was happily married like that once, she thought. Before … everything …
A small group of youthful protesters suddenly marched by, excitedly stabbing the blue sky with picket signs and yelling about college loans.
The word “loan” floated across the Chicago spring air and landed in Arden’s ears, reverberating throughout her soul.
Arden’s pulse quickened. When is Lauren’s next tuition payment due? Arden wondered, feeling the familiar anxiety.
Arden briefly considered calling her ex to ask for additional help this month with the loan payment but quickly thought otherwise. She was about to stash her cell away in her purse when it rang.
Must be Lauren, she said to herself. Running late.
Arden glanced at the number. She was confused. It was coming from her mother’s area code, but it wasn’t her mother’s number.
“Hello?” she answered. “This is Arden.”
“I’m so sorry to bother you, Mrs. Warren…”
“It’s Ms. Lindsey now,” Arden replied icily at the reference to her former married name, thinking it must be a telemarketer. “I’m divorced. And I’m on the no-call list.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot about that,” the woman said in a Northwoods accent, adding uneasily, “Not about the no-call list, you know, but about the divorce.”
“Who is this?” Arden asked.
“This is Doris Van Voozle. I own the fudge shop in Scoops where your mother works. I know it’s been a long time since we’ve seen one another…”
“Oh, yes … yes,” Arden said, as she tried to remember exactly how long it had been. “How are you?”
“Gearing up for another summer in Scoops,” she said. “Our high season is almost here. And everyone’s looking forward to your mother again…”
“I bet they are,” Arden replied, trying to make it sound as if she meant it.
“The reason I’m calling is that your mother, well … she’s missed a few of her shifts recently,” Doris said, a hint of worry in her spirited voice. “She always comes in as soon as I call … and she always makes a joke out of it. Says she needs a lot more beauty sleep these days, or that her calendar is hard to update because she has to chisel it onto stone.”
Arden laughed. That sounded exactly like her mom.
“That’s so unlike her to miss work,” Arden said. “She loves you. She loves working at Dolly’s. It’s her whole life.”
“And we love her. That’s why I was a bit worried about her,” Doris said, before adding, “Oh, by golly, it’s Lolly! Forget I called. Your mother just walked in.”
“Look who the cat dragged in!” Doris yelled. Arden could tell her hand was over the receiver to muffle her shouts. But then Doris began to whisper, “Let’s just keep this between us, okay? I wouldn’t want to upset her. She’s here now. No worries. I sure hope we get to see you someday soon. Your mom said it’s been years.”
Arden’s worry about her mother immediately changed to guilt.
“I do, too,” Arden said, trying to keep her voice steady. “We’ll try and see you soon. Bye, Doris.”
“Bye, sweetie.”
Arden had just ended the call, but she was still thinking about her mother and what the call meant when she heard her daughter’s voice.
“Oh, Mom!” Lauren called, stopping beside Marilyn’s giant heels. “I didn’t see you there. You…”
“… blend with the concrete?”
“No,” Lauren said, immediately embarrassed. “Well, sort of.”
“You certainly don’t, young lady.”
Lauren laughed and pirouetted all the way around Marilyn’s giant gam.
She was wearing a lime-green, off-the-shoulder top that billowed in the Chicago wind; tight, cropped lemon-colored jeans; large hoop earrings; a jangle of vintage necklaces; and a stack of neon jelly bracelets that would have made Madonna jealous in the eighties. Lauren’s blond hair was tousled and past her shoulders.
“So? How are finals going so far?” Arden smiled at her daughter and asked.
“Intense, but fine. Business is … business,” Lauren sighed.
“Fine?” Arden asked. “You don’t sound fine at all. What’s wrong?”
There had been an infinite number of times Lauren could have spilled the beans about knowing how bitter her mother’s divorce had been and about finding all of the overdue bills and financial statements. So many times she could have told her mother she hated studying business, but she didn’t want to add to her mother’s pressure.
“Just stressed about finals, I think. I’m hungry. What do you want to do for lunch?” she added, changing the subject.
Arden raised her eyebrows, and Lauren knew that could only mean one thing.