“Helen was lucky to have you,” Jane said. Mercifully, she seemed to sense Jenny’s desperation to change the subject.
“I was lucky to have her.”
Jane nodded. “I went to the Sky River Bakery on its opening day back in 1952.”
“You’re kidding.” She tried to picture Jane as a young woman in Avalon.
“Not at all. And I have to tell you, the minute I set foot in that place, I had a good feeling. It was everything you want a family bakery to be.” She studied the tiered tray of petits fours and truffle butter canapés, but didn’t take one. “I had a jam kolache. And within a week, my parents had made a contract with your grandparents to supply Camp Kioga with baked goods in the summer.”
The memory filled Jenny with both warmth and sadness. She felt so distant from that world. She pictured Helen and Jane together, younger than Jenny herself was now. How strange that they had met, that Helen had created Jane’s wedding cake, and then unknowingly, they had both become grandmothers at the moment Jenny was born.
“Did you know my mother?” Jenny asked.
“Mariska? Oh, my, yes.” Her hands fluttered down into her lap.
“I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable—”
“I’m not at all. I dearly wish I had known her better. I understand you haven’t seen her since you were very young.”
To this day, Jenny could still smell a whiff of perfume—Jean Naté—and hear her mother’s voice: I’ll see you when I come back around again. It was what she always said, never explaining where she was going or when she’d be back.
“Helen and Leo were extremely proud of her,” Jane said. “She was a beautiful girl—you look very much like her. She was smart and hardworking. And she liked going fishing with her father, which seemed curious to me. They used to come up to Willow Lake, year-round.”
“Why was that curious?”
“She just didn’t seem the type. She was lovely, and very feminine, and she was utterly determined to see the world. I believe she was what’s known as larger than life,” said Jane. “Prettier, more fun-loving, more daring. No wonder Philip fell in love with her. I’m quite surprised they were able to keep it secret all summer long.”
The summer Jenny had been conceived.
“And all this time,” Jane said gently, “there’s been no word? Nothing?”
Jenny shook her head. “It’s as if she dropped off the face of the earth.” She helped herself to more tea. “If I decide to pursue this book, I’ll be writing about it.”
“Is that what you want to do?”
“Yes.” Even knowing the memories she’d have to explore, she wanted to do it.
“That’s very brave of you. When I was young, I used to dream about publishing my poems.”
“And did you?”
Jane smiled and shook her head. “They were extremely bad poems. Your father always wanted to write,” she added.
Jenny felt a jolt at the words your father. Discovering a whole new world of relatives was like finding a hidden door in a house she’d lived in her entire life, and learning that it led to new places she never knew existed. “I haven’t made any progress, though. Here in the city, I feel…distracted,” Jenny said, unable to be anything but honest. “Philip introduced me to Martin Greer, a literary agent who thinks I might actually have a book in me. Unless he was just saying so out of respect for his friend.”
Jane shook her head. “I know Martin. He would never be so disingenuous. He understands a book has to stand on its own merits.”
“That’s good to know.” Jenny hesitated, then confided, “The truth is, I’m having trouble with the project.”
“What sort of trouble? Perhaps I can be of some help.”
Jenny took a deep breath. “Being here in the city is not quite…what I’d expected. I mean, I knew it would be noisy and full of life, but I’m letting myself get distracted.”
“Perhaps you’re a peace-and-quiet sort of writer.”
Jenny recalled the endless silent hours in Avalon. She would become so absorbed in what she was doing that hours would pass, unnoticed. She used to work late into the night, when the only sound was the wind sighing in the leaves, or in springtime, the chirping of frogs. Here, there was no silent time of the night. She acknowledged, though, that it wasn’t just the noise distracting her.
“I’d like to offer a suggestion,” Jane said. “It’s one of the reasons I wanted to see you today. The winter lodge, up at Camp Kioga, is vacant. I’d like to offer it to you, for as long as you like.”
Jenny set down her teacup with a clatter. Camp Kioga? That would mean leaving the city, going back to Avalon. Was she ready to call it quits after just a few weeks in the city? “I don’t know what to say. It’s very generous of you. In fact, it’s too much.”
“Nonsense. The lodge is perfect for a winter guest. It’s simple but quite lovely and comfortable.”
Jenny was aware of this. She hadn’t seen the place in years, but she remembered sneaking in one Fourth of July. It was the place where Rourke had kissed her for the first time. She remembered the kiss far better than she did the lodge, though.
“Last fall, we lent the place to a woman recovering from cancer and her family,” Jane went on. “They needed some time away to get over the ordeal of her illness. It’s been vacant since then. The road up the mountain is impassable after a big snow unless it’s plowed. Both your grandfathers used to go up there by snowmobile, for ice fishing on Willow Lake.” Jane pushed a copper key across the table to Jenny. “Think about it. You could get a lot of writing done, without distraction.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
By the time she went for her appointment at the clinic
