The Summer of No Regrets (25 page)

Dad lifted the leather pouch from around his neck—his medicine bag. He took out a small frame and tapped clinging bits of tobacco back into the bag. He opened the frame. In each side was a picture. One of Opa, one of Nonni. He slid the Nonni photo out and laid it on my palm. Nonni smiled up at me—her brown eyes gazing through her glasses, her halo of white hair.

Dad kissed my forehead and closed his flute back in its case. He climbed up the bowl-shaped ground and left me alone.

I drew my knees up and cupped the picture in my hands. I listened to my own breathing, to the squirrels chittering on the rail fence, to the rustle of rabbits. After a long while I unfolded myself.

I rummaged around in my pack until I found the candle stub and matches. I propped Nonni’s picture on the sweet gum root, weighting it with the feather. I pushed the candle into the soil in front of it and lit the wick. “Nonni.” I said her name into the air.

“Where are you?” I took a breath. “Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving? I’d have stayed with you. I’d have fed you ice cream. I’d have helped you get dressed. You know I would.” The smell of beeswax drifted up. “We could have walked through the woods one more time. We could have picked raspberries. I’d have brought you into the grove. We could have looked for cardinals.”

Without thinking, I moved onto my knees. “Where did you go?” I said. “You talked about heaven, but I don’t know where heaven is. And I’ve been searching and searching.” A zephyr set the oak leaves fluttering. The flame cast light on Nonni’s face. For a moment it was as if I was the picture, and she was looking at me. Her eyes held me. The earth cradled me.

And the air was filed with wings.

Suddenly, I was transparent, stretched thin like a veil. And Nonni and I were connected to roots and rocks and every constelation. And surging through me was something greater still constelation. And surging through me was something greater still

—an energy that filed up every seed and leaf and also sang my name.

I don’t know how long I was there on my knees before I blew out the candle, kissed Nonni’s picture, and slid it into my pack.

Gradualy the weightless sensation dissipated and the veil that had been me withdrew to some invisible place. I wondered if that invisible place was Eden.

Someone was knocking on the door. I roled over. “C’mon in,” I said before I thought better of it.

Luke stepped into the room carrying a paper bag. “It’s eleven in the morning, beautiful. Thought I’d see if you were still among the living.” He sat down on the edge of the bed.

“Mmph.” I roled over, burying my face in the pilows. “I look awful, Luke. I haven’t even brushed my teeth.” He took me by the shoulders and turned me around. “I don’t care,” he said, and kissed me full on the mouth.

I leaned back in his arms. “Agh,” I said. “How can you stand me like this?”

He brushed the tangled hair back from my eyes and kissed me once more for good measure. “It must be love,” he said lightly.

My heart did a triple axel. Had he just said what I thought?

He set me gently against the headboard before I could recover. “And now, perhaps mademoisele is hungry?” His French accent was all the more fantastic because it was real.

“Perhaps…
un
pamplemousse
?” He stood, reached into the

“Perhaps…
un
pamplemousse
?” He stood, reached into the sack, and puled out a grapefruit, waving it around like a magician.

I started to laugh.

“ B u t
non
, perhaps mademoisele would
préfère
une
orange
?” He withdrew an orange from the sack and began juggling it with the grapefruit. “Or better…
une
banane
?” He added a banana to the circle. “
Une
pomme? Un grenadier?

Des raisins?
” An apple, a pomegranate, and a cluster of grapes joined the whirl. He caught them one at a time and set them on the bed.

“Show-off.”

He grinned. “You know it. Took me two seasons of
Presto!

to get that down.” He popped a few grapes in his mouth I picked up the grapefruit and began peeling it, amazed that even with my puffy eyes the urge to dive for cover had passed.

Luke reached into the bag again. “There’s something you need to see,” he said, suddenly serious.

He handed me a copy of
Celeb’
magazine dated for this week. “Page forty-two,” he said.

In the top corner of the page was a photo—blurry, but unmistakably of Luke. And me.

“Trent’s Cheating Heart” blared the caption.

Caught on a lobby security cam, Trent and a mystery babe (who is definitely not Gwen), check in to a Washington coastal motel. “Must’ve been quite a night,” says a source,

“judging from all the champagne bottles and lingerie they left.”

A sobbing Gwen had to be sedated when the photos became public.

My stomach gave a lurch. “Champagne and lingerie?”

“I was hoping it wouldn’t start this soon.” He smoothed the paper bag. “Brigitta, you may be about to get a lot of unwelcome attention. It’s only a matter of time before these weasels find out attention. It’s only a matter of time before these weasels find out who you are.”

“How would they find that out?”

“Believe me, they have ways.” He looked at his hands. “I didn’t think…when I lied to you…what it might cost you. I told myself I was protecting you. But I was protecting me.” He gave a short laugh. “I
am
a conceited slimebal.” I tickled the back of his hand. “No, you just play one on TV.” He caught my eye.

“Luke, I shouldn’t have written things like that in my blog. I was just”—I blushed— “being a fan.”

He winked. “With fans like that…”

“I know.”

He rubbed my fingers. “I have to go back to LA.” My heart crashed. I’d known we were leaving. I’d even accepted that it was tomorrow. But somehow I’d thought Luke was coming back to Kwahnesum. “When?”

“I begin shooting on Wednesday.”

“How long?”

“Two months. I may get a weekend here and there.”

“Okay.” I put on my “brave face.” Obviously it wasn’t very convincing.

Luke fell back on the bedspread, staring up at the ceiling. “I will be completely miserable.” He puled the banana out from behind his head. “Oops,” he said. “Don’t eat that.” I scooted my feet under his leg and wiggled my toes.

“Hey!” He roled onto one elbow, laughing. “Maybe you could—do you think your dad would let you—no.” He frowned.

“It would be worse for you in LA.”

“You’re asking me to come to LA?” My heart started beating faster.

“I couldn’t put you through that.”

“Isn’t it up to me what I volunteer to go through?” He frowned. “It can be realy brutal.”

“Maybe I’m tougher than you think.”

“Maybe I’m tougher than you think.”

His blue, blue eyes gazed at me. That slow smile spread across his face. “Maybe you are.”

July 29

Exclusive Interview

with Trent Yves

Mystic:
Trent, do you think there is a spiritual aspect to your work?

Trent:
Wow, you don’t start with small talk, do you?

Mystic:
Nope.

Trent:
Spiritual. Well, we’re all trying to live a good life, do good things in the world.

Mystic:
That is such a cliché! You know you can do better than that.

Trent:
I can, huh?

Mystic:
Yes.

Trent:
Okay, well, I do yoga for conditioning. That’s kind of spiritual.

And I think that whole Kabbalah thing is pretty fascinating. But no Scientology. I stay away from that.

Mystic:
You are impossible!

Trent:
What are you after?

Mystic:
Life and death.

Trent:
Life and death…Okay. Well, one thing I’ve figured out is that life works better when you don’t think you’re the only one on the planet.

You’re only here for a little while, so if it’s just a giant grab for glory, You’re only here for a little while, so if it’s just a giant grab for glory, you’re going to be disappointed. We’re here to take care of each other.

Mystic:
Wow, Trent.

Trent:
Not the Trent Yves you know and love, eh?

Mystic:
Just keep your shirt on.

Trent:
Have I made even the slightest mention of my beautiful abs?

Mystic:
I’m sure your abs make the world a better place.

Trent:
I like to think so.

Mystic:
Okay. Spirituality. Is there anything spiritual about making movies?

Trent:
Geez, you like to go for the jugular, don’t you?

Mystic:
Sorry.

Trent:
’sokay. Any good movie asks “big questions.” Heck, even bad movies ask them. Things like, “Why is there evil?” and “What’s my purpose?” I like to figure out what questions the movie is asking so I can try to answer them.

Mystic:
You do? I mean, what have been some of the questions in your films?

Trent:
Well,
Imlandria
was all about, “How do you find what is lost and restore it?” and
Rocket
was mostly about forgiveness.

Mystic:
And how did you answer those questions?

Trent:
Sorry. Something has to be sacred.

Mystic:
So, is there a God?

Trent:
Yes. I think so. See “something sacred.”
Mystic:
Where do you feel most spiritual?

Trent:
I like to have some trees around. In the woods, I think.

Mystic:
Why the woods?”

Trent:
Well, it’s amazing what you find there. In fact, a while back, I found a goddess.

Mystic:
Thanks so much for your time today, Trent.

Trent:
Don’t mention it.

One more thing. You’ll notice a lot of deleted entries in this blog. I’ve figured out a few things about spirituality, and one of them is you don’t trash your friends.

N, you’re smarter than I ever gave you credit for—and you are a true friend.

My sister, M, I don’t know how to say how much you mean to me.

Trentsbabe
responds:

mystic, u are so lucky! i hope u live haply ever after.

Malibu1
responds:

Thanks for what you wrote, Mystic. I haven’t always been the best sister. I really love you, and we’re so much alike. Let’s spend more time together: “Birds of a feather move in mysterious ways.” together: “Birds of a feather move in mysterious ways.” M

Nattycat
responds:

I miss U.

—Starlet

Discussion Questions

1. Why do you think Luke came to Kwahnesum?

2. What does Brigitta find so fascinating about celebrities?

Why does she keep it a secret?

3. Why does Brigitta feel it is so important to find a religion? What do you think about this? Does Brigitta find a religion by the end of the book?

4. Brigitta’s dad, Paul, has made some dramatic changes in his life. Why? How has this impacted his relationships?

5. Why is religion a source of conflict in Brigitta’s family?

Have you ever found it to be a source of conflict in your life?

6. Why is the image of the Garden of Eden used over and over? What does Luke mean when he says he wants to find Eden?

7. Was the wildlife center wrong to handle the situation with the cougar kittens as they did? Were Brigitta’s actions wrong concerning the kittens? What “should” have been done? What would you have done?

8. Why is Cherrywood so important to Brigitta? Do you have a place that has strong emotional significance in your life?

9. If you were to ask several characters in the book what happens after we die, how would they reply? What would Brigitta say? Malory? Nonni? Natalie? Paul? Luke? What do you think?

you think?

10. If you have ever lost someone close to you, how did it change the way you view life and death?

11. Why did Luke keep such an important secret from Brigitta? What would have happened if he had told her earlier?

12. Brigitta talks a lot about being “known.” What does she mean by that? In what ways do you want to be “known?” 13. Brigitta says she loves Luke. Is it possible to love someone after knowing them such a short time?

14. Do you think Brigitta and Luke have a relationship that can “go the distance?” Why or why not? What does a romantic relationship need to survive?

Acknowledgments

Mom and Dad, for encouraging my writing from “A Cookie Named Gaggy” onward.

My amazing husband and soul mate, Fr. Andrew Bond, for your steady presence these last three decades.

For my kids, Sarah, Taelor, Aaron, and Tom Bond, for cheering me through all the many incarnations of this book.

My beautiful agent, Sara Crowe, who believed in the book.

My fabulous editor, Leah Hultenschmidt, and all the wonderful people at Sourcebooks, for taking a chance on me.

Artemis: Janet Lee Carey, Heidi Pettit, Jill Sahlstrom, Dawn Knight, and Lisa Sheets, for being my muses.

Dawn Pontious for keeping me organized in mind and body.

Bet Alef Meditative Synagogue, Belevue, Washington, for welcoming me at your Shabbat service.

Paul Bokor, Sr., for Holywood advice.

Paul Bokor, Sr., for Holywood advice.

Mary Eliza Crane, for astrology advice.

The Diviners writing group: Peggy King Anderson, Moly Blaisdel, Judy Bodmer, Janet Lee Carey, Holy Cupala, Dawn Knight, Justina Chen, and Nancy White Carlstrom for holding my hand through eighteen years of the writing life.

Rabbi Mark Glickman, Congregation Koll Ami, Woodinvile, WA, for advice on Hebrew and Jewish traditions.

Dr. Briggs Hal, Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife, for pointing me in the right direction.

Beth Harris, for insight on child actors and Holywood culture.

Connie Hsu, for your paparazzi expertise and your support of this project.

Dr. John Huckabee, PAWS Wildlife Center, for advice on the behavior and needs of cougar cubs.

Paula Kinzer and family, for letting me stay in your Earthship.

My friends at Living Hope Ministries, for believing for me, even when I stopped believing.

Sheila MacDonald, for sharing your story about the cougar kittens who came to you, and for advocating for them.

Ahnday Meweh for shamanic advice.

Kalon Randal for Brigitta’s Tarot reading.

My manuscript readers: Annika Browne, to whom I gave Luke as a present, Laura Hunter, who hugged the manuscript after reading it, Moly Blaisdel, who stayed up all night reading and decided the book wasn’t lame after al.

My TEENWriters and all my students, for helping me hold on to my sixteen-year-old self.

Ted Wiley, Guardian of Cherrywood, for putting your life on hold to care for Nana and Grampy in their final years.

The Wilderness Awareness School, Duval, Washington, for inspiration.

Eric Kitching for seeing the eyes of the cougar.

Jenn Wolfe, for taking me tracking.