I’m sitting in my VW van, adjusting the shawl I’ve thrown over a soft yellow coatdress I just love. My hair is up in a soft twist, so I really feel the cool lake wind on my neck. As the shore of Bayfield slowly comes into view, I scan the ferry parking lot for Helen’s silver car. She told me to look for the one with the red kayak on top. Shouldn’t be too hard to spot. Apparently, Ryan secured the boat with new locks and now he can’t find the keys.

I reach over and turn off the CD of David Gray the boys lent me. Howard thinks I listen to too much music sung by dead people. Can I help it if I like classic jazz? I would kill for a smoke or a six-pack—no, make that a big-ol’-bag of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. Unfolding a stick of crappy smokers’ gum, I pop it in and do my breathing. Should be happy as I can, I keep reminding myself.

While the ferry pulls up to the dock, I powder my oil-slicker nose, touch up the lips and then snap up my visor. Opening up the ashtray, I select several Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, then one more, and slide them into my purse. Revving the van to life, I pull off the ferry and head over to Helen’s waiting car.

She’s standing outside of it and waves me over. I park behind her and climb out.

“Have you been waiting long?” I ask after we hug. “They were having trouble unloading some mysterious-looking crates over in LaPointe.”

“I purposely came early,” Helen replies, tucking a waft of blond hair away. “Bayfield reminds me so much of Mystic, Connecticut, does it to you?”

“I’ve never been there. I honestly haven’t traveled much at all; that’s why I read so many books, I guess. You positive you want to drive?”

“Oh sure. Hop in.”

I sit down in her car and sink into the cushy seats. A seat belt loops up and around me. I adjust it a bit; the thing tried to clutch one of my boobs!

“Nice car—what is it?”

True, I could care less, but I’m still a little nervous around her and really nervous about seeing my dad. God, what if he slams the door in my face. I’d open it and slam it right back in his. I have to stop thinking like this.

“It’s a Saturn VUE, gift from my mom when I landed the professor position at Duluth. As far as taking this instead…to be honest,” Helen says, adjusting the radio, “I’m really sensitive to, well, I don’t smoke and your van…”

“Stinks to high heaven?” I ask and watch Helen’s face go pale. “Relax—we’re trying to quit, so keep any snacks out of my reach.” I pull my purse in closer.

“I didn’t mean to offend…”

“Don’t be silly, I’m just giving you a hard time. Let’s be honest, it does stink. Now follow this road up and over toward Highway 13.”

“My father used to smoke,” Helen says, making a right turn. “That’s what killed him, lung cancer. So I’m really happy to hear you’re trying to quit.”

“Heavy on the trying part—but thanks. Sorry about your dad.”

“It’s okay. What did yours say when you called him? He must have been very surprised.”

“Surprised? I thought he was going to choke to death. His wife, Kate-the-bitch, sorry, she had to have him call me back. Poor guy.”

“What’s wrong with—”

“He’s got pulmonary fibrosis, Howard researched it and this is not one of those things you get over. Damn diseases.”

Helen chuckles and then catches herself. “I have to say, Eve. I really like your coping skills.”

“It’s all a cover, but thanks.” I relax a bit. “What the hell are we listening to, sounds like the tape may be bad.”

“I’m a huge NPR fan. Garrison Keillor’s show, The Prairie Home Companion, is a favorite of mine, but I agree, that man should stick to storytelling and leave the singing to—”

“Singers!” I add and we laugh. It feels great.

We drive on, past the town of Ashland, and eventually we’re flying along south on US 63. The early morning sun’s brilliant rays are, well, brilliant. So we slip on sunglasses; while rummaging in my purse, I find a pack of cigarettes.

“What the hell?” I pull it out for a closer look. “I thought for sure I’d tossed every last one of these out—oh, for God’s sake—it’s bubble gum.” I open the tiny Post-it and read out loud, “‘I don’t suggest you light one of these, I tried and it’s most disagreeable. Love R.’” We giggle.

“I take it you and Ruby are in this together?” Helen asks.

“All four of us. Oh that’s right, you’ve not met Sam and Lilly yet—or the boys next door—for that matter. You’ll love them all. Talk about addictive.”

“How did you ever end up up there? I mean it’s a truly unusual place, but it’s so—remote, you must get lonesome.”

“It is and yet it’s not. I can’t explain it, ending up there. I think—no, I know—it’s where I belong.”

“That’s a feeling I’m working on.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I’m not sure if I belong in Duluth. I mean I love my job, my new place, which I’ll have to show you sometime…but the belonging part.”

“It’s been years since I’ve been there,” I say. “I always thought of Duluth as really remote and now look where I live,” I chuckle. “But really, things like that take time and having that handsome hunk around, well…”

Helen laughs, but sits up straighter. “He’s a great guy. I’m glad he’s not as serious as I am. I need that.”

“You do seem a bit—”

“Uptight.” Helen poses it as more of a statement. “I am. I’ve got this thing about doing everything perfectly. I got straight A’s all through college, but had a zero social life. Now I wish I had at least done a few things outside of studying like crazy.”

“I’ve always wished I’d gone to college, but it’s one more thing I did to spite my dad. Stupid, huh?” I sigh, thinking how stupid.

“You two really don’t get along very well, do you?”

I take a deep breath, remembering the tension. “No, there was always, I don’t know, something between my folks, like an invisible wall. I also just got along better with my mom.”

“Some Catholics can be so tense,” Helen says, reading my mind. “I can’t imagine not being in touch with my mother—or father, for that matter.”

“Do you ever, you know, talk to your dad? I’m only asking, ’cause I chat with my mom an awful lot—mostly in my head, but once in a while out loud. That’s the real reason I have Rocky around, so should someone walk in on me, I can say I was chatting with him.” Helen grins.

“I think of my father, but…” Helen pauses, “he was so strict with us. We had a lot of rules and limits and not much room for, well, fun things. He was very into discipline and routine and God forbid you didn’t finish a household assignment, as he called our little jobs around the house.”

“Probably why you’re so damn uptight!” I say and Helen shoots me a look and then we both laugh and I realize: “I’ve had a bit too much coffee; would you mind pulling into the next rest area? I’m about to explode!”

“Much better,” I say, pulling my door closed. “Nothing like midair peeing. Men have no idea what we have to go through. What I wouldn’t do to just pull over, pull it out and be done with it.” Helen gasps and then giggles.

“I think,” Helen adds, “you’re going to be a very bad influence on me.”

“Well, I sure as hell hope so.”

We settle in and enjoy the views flying by. Helen pulls down her visor, selects a CD from her perfectly arranged collection and slips it into the player. Soft orchestrations of violin and flute fill the air and carry my mind away.

I’m remembering being seventeen and pregnant and scared to death. The shiny floors of the convent, the cold stirrups—my legs trembling and the horrible tearing feeling. I just wanted it all to be over. I wanted to go home and be a teenager, but I never was again, not really.

Glancing over toward Helen—who knew this is what my little baby would become. All those years I’ve wondered what ever became of her and here she is. Some things are too amazing; it’s hard to put them in any kind of sense or order. I never dreamt she’d be this, this beautiful, intelligent person, and I had nothing to do with it. Hats off to her parents and thank goodness not everyone is adopting children from other countries.

Though, from listening to my clients explain the situation, the U.S. is the worst for the adoptive parents. I mean, can you imagine adopting a beautiful little baby, falling head over heels in love with it and then the birth mother changing her mind and taking it back? Talk about heartbreaking.

Helen reaches over and turns down the music. “I memorized the directions to your father’s home. But just to double check, would you get the printout out of the glove compartment?”

I snap open the little door above my knees and remove neatly folded papers. Instead of cigarette packs, lipsticks and poorly folded maps—nothing!

“Now if I read too much,” I inform Helen, “while you’re tooling along, I’ll puke my guts out all over your fancy car. But—I’ll give it a shot.”

“I get motion sickness, too,” Helen says as if it’s a good thing. “I wonder what other things we have in common. Genetics fascinate me.”

“Be glad you didn’t get these thighs, or these.” I heave my ample chest out for emphasis. “What am I going to do when I’m ninety and they’re down to my waist?”

“Actually…” Helen hesitates. I notice she grips the wheel tighter. “I used to be quite a bit heavier and I did have enormous, forty double-D’s, to be exact. I got to the point where walking into the shower was just awful and my shoulders were so sore and kids can be very mean and all the stares and giggles and—”

“You’re telling me!” I reply, wondering what it must have been like for her. “So you had a reduction? Good for you. Boy, that’s one gene that transferred to you exactly—sorry ’bout that. I’ve heard it’s a really intense operation.”

“It was worth it, all of it,” Helen says, a bit embarrassed. “Ryan asked me about the scars and he’s wanting me to put them back! He said he was kidding—but good grief.”

“What is it with guys and big boobs? I’ve considered having my girls taken down a cup or two, but I just chickened out. Growing up, my parents would never have even considered such a thing.” I think my mom was jealous, though; can you imagine?

“It’s really odd, how your father was a professor of mine in college and I’ve walked right by your salon in Eau Claire. Really makes you wonder about things, the statistics and—the odds—astronomical, really.”

“No kidding—now, I can take a peek at this map, but I pretty much know the route by heart. I have to confess, I used to drive all the way out to my dad’s house and then just drive by really slow. Could never bring myself to stop.”

“We’ll be picking up Highway 53 soon and the next stop will be a turnoff at the Birch Street Exit. That will lead us to North Shore Drive and—to him. Isn’t that weird; I live on North Shore Road?”

“How are you feeling?” Helen carefully asks. “I’ve kind of met him, more or less, but for you, it’s much more emotional and, well, I’m really grateful we’re going together.”

“To be honest, I should have gotten over myself and gotten in touch with him years ago. I’m only glad that he’s—that he’s still around and I can maybe make some sort of peace with him. I only hope his wife won’t be there. I don’t want to go too overboard here.”

“I’d be very proud of you—I am proud—if you were my daughter.”

“Thanks, Helen, that’s really sweet of you,” I reply. I feel odd, young and foolish somehow, but strong, too. “I originally named you Amy. I bet you didn’t know that, until you got my note, that is.”

“Amy.” Helen tries the name on. “I knew an Amy once in high school. She was short, had long, beautiful hair, and all the boys were crazy about her. I hated her for being short and beautiful and—not me—basically.”

“Boy, do I know that feeling. Not only was I short, but chubby, too, and then, to top it off, I had this hair. I prayed and prayed for it to turn straight and become blond, but no. Why is it that when you’re different in high school, instead of kids thinking you’re, well, interesting, they say and do terrible things to you?”

“We really have had similar experiences,” Helen comments and we fall silent for a moment.

“You know,” I say, thinking, “I wonder if there isn’t something I could do—the crew, too—to maybe help pregnant teenagers up in my neck of the woods. Now that I’ve found you, I feel like doing something, you know, so other kids don’t have to go through what I did.”

Helen looks over and then sighs. “Would you have kept me, I mean, had things been different?”

“I’m not a believer in regrets or looking back,” I reply. “But I have to admit I wondered—I wasn’t given a choice though and…and maybe if there was a place that could provide, well, hope and support and—”

“I’d like to help,” Helen offers. “Ryan, too.”

“I was kind of hoping you’d say that.”

As we continue on into the northern part of Eau Claire, my stomach is starting to clench. I’m more tense than when meeting Helen for the first time. I’m almost sick with worry, but glancing over to her, I feel better. I honestly can’t understand, what took me so long?

We turn onto North Shore Drive. The houses take on a “lake home” look as most all of them are overlooking Lake Altoona. I can spy a few docks still in the water, some boats up on trailers parked in yards and canoes hanging from rafters. Every so often you can glimpse the water through trees or someone’s breezeway. I used to wonder what it would be like, living by a lake—now I know—it’s heaven.

“I think we passed it,” I mention and wonder if we should just keep going and say the hell with it.

“Oh shoot,” Helen says. “I’ll pull around in this driveway.”

“Nice place,” I say. There’s a hand-painted sign out front, I read it out loud, “‘The Hoffes.’ Good German name.” A dark-haired woman looks up from a lace-curtained window and waves at us; I imagine a dish scrubber in her other hand.

Heading back to my dad’s house, I point to the rather large home and Helen pulls in, parking beside a brand-new black Hummer. I’m checking my face in my compact, add a dab of lipstick, pat my curls and wish I could wait in the car. Helen checks her perfect makeup in the visor mirror and then snaps it back up. We both jump and then nervously giggle.

“What if he doesn’t recognize me?” I ask, sighing deeply. “I’m kidding, let’s go, he’s expecting us.”

Stepping out of Helen’s car, I smooth my dress, while taking in his huge home. It’s several stories high and all done in cedar. A new-looking RV is parked over to one side of his three-car garage. I know university professors don’t make this kind of dough. She must have money. We head over to the porch and up to the beveled glass double doors. You can see in and through all the way to the lake.

“You do the honors,” I suggest. Helen presses the doorbell and then we wait.

“I’m coming,” we hear a man’s voice say through the door.

The massive door swings open and there stands my dad, only he’s so much older, his white hair has all but disappeared. There’s a little cart next to him with a clear tube going from a silver canister right up into his nose.

Dressed in a sporty sweater and golfing pants, he’s not the tall, commanding man I remember, but then I see the eyes and recall how they often studied me, like now. He stands there and then he starts to weep. I step forward and take his frail body into my arms.

“Hey, Dad, ’member me?” I pat his thin back and pull him closer. “It’s been a long time, huh.” I pull away. “I have someone very special for you to meet.” I can’t fall apart right out here on the porch, but I really would like to.

Helen steps forward, wiping tears away. “Grandpa?” she says and then they embrace and the tears start and there goes everyone’s makeup.

“You certainly are a tall one,” he says, finally finding his voice. It’s whispery due to the oxygen, I suppose. “You have your mother’s nose—her mother’s nose.” He looks over toward me, like he wants to say something, but doesn’t. An awkward silence follows and then he adds, “Where are my manners? Please come in and let me offer you something to drink.”

He leads us down a long, stone foyer and into a huge living room. It’s the kind of room with swathes of material looping artfully across and down lake-view windows. Expensive-looking furnishings of dark woods and carefully chosen accessories add to the moneyed feel.

We sit on love seats facing one another, in front of a marble fireplace. The coffee table between us has a crystal vase bursting with fresh flowers that I’m sure are replenished way too often. My dad returns with three mugs of coffee, then goes and retrieves his oxygen cart.

“Sure can tell winter’s on its way,” he offers and we nod.

I’m not sure if the air could be thicker with years of, what, regrets and time lost. How in the world can a father and a daughter stray from one another and live in the same fricking town? Easy, trust me. But that doesn’t make this moment any less important and besides—we’re different now. Yet why do I have this feeling I’m suddenly ten and helpless? I have to push that stuff away and try and be here now.

“Sorry to hear about that.” I point to his tank, like it’s that thing’s fault. “At least you can get around.”

“I do okay,” he offers unconvincingly. “I miss being able to be more active, but I thank the Lord for each day.”

“You have a beautiful home,” Helen says. “I noticed all the photographs as we came in. Are those all your wife’s…”

Dad shifts uncomfortably, avoiding my eyes. “Kate, that’s my wife, had six children when we married—and there’s eleven grandchildren and many dogs and cats between them all.” He chuckles at his own joke.

Wonder what would happen if I turned off his precious air? Bad Eve, I’m realizing how damn jealous of all of them I am.

“Tell me,” Dad begins, “what have you been up to, Eve? How’s your salon doing?”

“It’s a really long story,” I offer, “but I no longer work there. In fact, I don’t even live here anymore. I’ve moved up to Madeline Island with a good friend of mine. I started a business, have a great crew and now—a daughter, too.” I give Helen a grin.

“My, my,” he replies, then sits back in order to catch his breath. “I had no idea—to be honest, I try to keep abreast of your whereabouts, but I hadn’t realized you were no longer living downtown.”

“She and Ruby,” Helen adds, “live in this beautiful cottage that sits right on the edge of Madeline Island and it’s just an amazing place.”

I can see the wheels turning in my dad’s mind. Let’s see, my daughter is now a bona fide lesbian, living in a backwoods cottage with a woman named Ruby. Should I just let him think that? It’s kind of fun, watching him process this.

“Ruby and I,” I toss out, “have been close friends for years and years, and since she offered her cottage and I had gotten into a rut, well, it just seemed the natural thing to do. We have such a great time together, even started a little cottage company together.” I sigh for effect. Ruby would be smacking my arm silly.

“That’s—that sounds very nice for you, Eve…are there…are there any, you know, men in your life? I certainly don’t mean to pry, but…” But pry he doth, or is it dooth?

“There’s a wonderful couple next door,” I offer. “Howard and Johnny—they’re practically family, actually they are family. I don’t know what we’d do without them.” Someone stop me!

“What’s the business you’re in?” he reluctantly asks.

“We, there’s six of us all together—we make aprons. I know how silly that sounds, but it’s really taking off. One of the women, Sam, she’s been a gigantic help as far as looking for Helen.” I glance toward Helen and wink.

“Eve mailed me a note,” Helen explains. “I have it here in my purse.” She shows it for proof. “The reason it’s all worn, I’ve read it a million times, showed it to my friends and then read it some more and then—finally—I wrote back.” She looks from Dad to me.

“May I?” Dad asks and she hands him the care-worn note.

He glances over it—he’s a speed-reader—and then tears start to roll down his face. Shaking his head, he sighs.

“Oh, that’s right,” Helen says, “my mom recently came across this.” I can tell she doesn’t want to embarrass him. She pulls a yellow bundle from her purse, unties a ribbon and holds up a tiny yellow sweater. “Do you know anything about this?”

“My God in heaven!” Dad turns pale; he sits back in his chair and pants for air.

“Are you all right?” Helen asks with alarm in her voice. Both of us stand and start to head over to him.

He waves us to wait; slowly his breathing resumes back to normal. “Eve’s mother knit that for the baby and you’re that baby—of course you are—dear child—you truly are Eve’s daughter.”

“Okay,” I say, unwrapping another Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup. “So maybe I was a little hard on the guy, but he wasn’t exactly apologetic for his disappearing act either!”

“What have you done,” Ruby asks, “with your manners? Now hand one of those over and be quick about it!”

I hand her a Reese’s out of my stash. We’re sprawled on pillows, facing one another way up in the tower room. Rocky is making a lot of racket, chasing a ball he found, back and forth across the wood floor, and I am about to suggest he go find a nice juicy mouse.

Even though it’s night, the moonlight is pretty bright, and there’s a beach ball–sized light way up in the center of the ceiling. It’s very odd in that it’s got stars punched out of the metal and light comes through them so the walls are covered and the thing is revolving! Who thinks of these things?

“I simply can’t”—Ruby’s voice is garbled with chocolate—“get over the yellow sweater part—to think that your mum made it and you never knew a thing about it. Truly telling.”

“I suppose—what do you mean?” I ask and force myself to put the cover on the tin I keep my precious hoard in. I’ve actually got many secret hoards of these around, but I’m not telling.

“Even though your parents couldn’t completely accept the fact that you—their precious daughter of seventeen—was pregnant, they—your mum—took the time to create that sweater. Why, I bet the entire time she was wondering what her granddaughter would look like. Can you imagine anything more painful?” Ruby takes a sip of wine to consider this.

“Yes,” I answer quickly. “I get your point and it really is touching of my mom, but the fact is…they never once even visited me! Not once. That’s hard to forget.”

“Perhaps so, darling,” Ruby says in her kindest voice. So I listen. “But that was such a long time ago. Aren’t you tired of holding it against them—him? You’ve a newfound daughter, you’re at long last on speaking terms with your father, and—the best part—you have me.”

I grin and we clink our goblets. “I’m beyond grateful for that.” I pause for a moment. “When we got back to the car, Helen said some really odd things about Dad.”

“Oh?”

“She couldn’t see any resemblance between us at all—and that’s not all that unusual—but the really weird thing is that she felt he was looking at me with resentment—and to be honest I felt it, too. I wonder if he always has, and I just never got that. Must be that I was so close to Mom or something.”

“Perhaps she simply saw what she chose, or perhaps she did notice a bit of resentment in his eyes. I should think you were far more jittery than she and, oh, I wouldn’t give it another thought—Miss Worry Wart.” She pats my arm.

But I noticed something odd, too. Like an uncertainty or—“Ruby—look!” We both stand up and look out toward the lake. “It’s snowing.”

“What are we waiting for, then?” Ruby asks.

We scoot down the narrow staircase into my bedroom. Ruby zooms down the hall to change and I get busy and rummage around in my wardrobe for something “snowy.”

Minutes later we’re both down in the kitchen making an umbrella selection when the phone rings.

“The boys,” we say in unison.

I answer it on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Can Eve and Ruby,” Johnny’s little boy voice asks, “come out and play?”

“Get over here—meet us out on the dock and that’s an order!”

Grabbing our umbrellas, zipping up our huge winter coats, and after stepping into our “snow booties” as Ruby refers to them, out the back door we dash. The snow is coming down in big fluffy flakes that glitter, reflecting the outside lamp’s glow. It’s beginning to accumulate, so a white carpet is quietly being put down. Rocky mournfully meows from the porch. He hates snow on his paws—who can blame him?

Off toward the boys’ cottage, we can see two bouncing lights headed our way. We trot down the path, pass the boathouse and head for the dock. The flakes hit the water with a very soft “pat” sound and then melt away. We fold up our umbrellas to enjoy the soft coolness as the flakes thaw on our hair and face. I hold out my hand and marvel at the complexity of each flake.

“You obviously,” Howard pants out, coming up and standing with us on the end of the dock, “had the same thought as we did.”

“The first snowfall,” Ruby informs us, “is simply not to be missed.”

“So many firsts,” I say, facing out to the moonlit lake.

“Trust me, darling. This is only the beginning.”