Chapter 2 - Welcome to ParadiseBy the time I reached the highway, Derek had called six times.
I did not answer.
This was a new experience for both of us.
For nearly forty years, if my son called, I answered.
When he was nine and forgot his lunch, I drove it to school.
When he was sixteen and his ancient Honda died twenty miles from home, I came.
When he was thirty-three and Madison went into labor two weeks early, I crossed three counties in a snowstorm because Derek sounded terrified.
Being available had become part of my identity.
But availability, I was beginning to understand, could become a trap when other people started treating it like a legal requirement.
My phone rang again.
This time it was Madison.
I let it ring.
Then came a text.
Eleanor, this is incredibly rude. Everyone drove a long way.
A second arrived before I reached the next traffic light.
At least tell me where you keep the extra towels.
I laughed so hard I had to wipe tears from my eyes.
Then my guilt arrived.
Of course it did.
Mothers are talented at guilt.
We can feel guilty while being taken advantage of.
We can feel guilty while saying no to something outrageous.
I pictured the children standing around hungry.
I pictured Derek embarrassed in front of his in-laws.
Then I reminded myself that there were four supermarkets within twenty minutes of the house.
Derek was forty-one.
Madison was thirty-eight.
Nobody was stranded in the wilderness.
They had credit cards, vehicles, smartphones, and two dozen adults capable of opening sandwich bread.
They would survive.
Ruth lived two hours north in a small cottage overlooking Grand Traverse Bay. When I pulled into her driveway, she was waiting with two glasses of white wine.
She took one look at my suitcase.
“You actually did it.”
“I actually did it.”
She handed me a glass.
“I have never been prouder.”
“You’re a terrible influence.”
“I’ve been waiting forty years for the opportunity.”
Ruth had known me since nursing school.
She also knew my greatest weakness.
Derek.
When Thomas died, Derek became even more protective of me at first.
He called every day.
Fixed things around the house.
Insisted I spend Christmas with him and Madison.
But gradually, concern became assumption.
“Mom won’t mind.”
“Mom can watch the kids.”
“Mom has plenty of room.”
“Mom loves hosting.”
Sometimes I did love hosting.
What I didn’t love was discovering my role after everyone else had made the decision.
Ruth listened while I explained the meal schedule.
When I finished, she silently refilled my wine.
“That bad?”
“I’m choosing not to say what I’m thinking because Thomas liked your son.”
“So do I.”
“You can love someone and still want to shake them.”
My phone buzzed.
Derek again.
This time there was a voicemail.
I played it on speaker.
“Mom, call me. Seriously. This isn’t funny. Madison’s uncle parked his camper near the drainage field and we’re trying to figure out where people can shower. Also, do you have the Wi-Fi password? Call me.”
Ruth raised one eyebrow.
“You didn’t give them the Wi-Fi password?”
“It’s written beneath the router.”
“Shame.”
I laughed.
Then another message arrived.
The downstairs toilet isn’t flushing right.
I stopped laughing.
The septic system.
I had warned Derek about it repeatedly.
The house had been designed for four people.
Maybe six for a weekend if everyone was careful.
Twenty-one people for ten days?
Impossible.
I called him.
He answered before the first ring finished.
“Mom.”
“Listen carefully. You cannot have twenty people using that plumbing continuously.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I did. Three summers ago, when you wanted to host your fantasy football weekend.”
“That was different.”
“No, Derek. Pipes do not care about fantasy football.”
He exhaled.
“What are we supposed to do?”
“Reduce water usage. No long showers. No laundry all day. And move that camper away from the drainage field.”
“Madison’s uncle says it’s fine.”
“Madison’s uncle does not own the septic system.”
I heard voices behind him.
Then Madison grabbed the phone.
“Eleanor, everyone is exhausted.”
“I imagine so.”
“We need you to come back.”
“No.”
Silence.
It was the first time I had ever said the word to her without explaining myself afterward.
“No?”
“No.”
“We’re family.”
“Yes.”
“That’s what family does.”
I stared at Ruth’s lake through the window.
“That sentence seems to mean I work and everyone else relaxes.”
“That is not fair.”
“You handed me a ten-day chore schedule five minutes after arriving.”
“That was organization.”
“It was conscription.”
Ruth nearly spit out her wine.
Madison lowered her voice.
“You’re embarrassing Derek.”
“No. Derek embarrassed himself by inviting twenty people to a house he doesn’t own.”
“He said this place would eventually be his anyway.”
There it was.
The sentence changed everything.
I sat straighter.
“What did you say?”
Another pause.
“Nothing.”
“No. Repeat it.”
“Eleanor—”
“You said Derek told you the house would eventually be his.”
“Well, obviously.”
“Obviously?”
“He’s your only son.”
I looked down at my hand.
My wedding ring was still there.
Five years after Thomas died, I had never taken it off.
That lake house had not fallen from the sky.
Thomas and I had bought the original property when we were thirty-nine.
We spent years paying it off.
I worked nights.
Thomas took overtime.
We skipped vacations.
We rebuilt after the old cabin suffered a fire.
Every board carried a memory.
And apparently, while I was still alive, my daughter-in-law had already mentally transferred the deed.
I spoke quietly.
“Madison, I am not dead.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did.”
Derek came back on.
“Mom, she didn’t mean it like that.”
“How did you mean it?”
“Can we not do this now?”
“When would you prefer?”
“I’ve got twenty people standing around.”
“Nineteen besides you, remember?”
He groaned.
“Mom.”
“You told Madison this house would be yours?”
“Eventually. I mean… I assumed.”
“That’s interesting.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means assumptions are expensive.”
I ended the call.
Ruth watched me.
“What are you thinking?”
I didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, I opened my banking app.
Then the folder where I kept scanned copies of legal documents.
The lake house.
The deed.
The trust Thomas and I had created twelve years earlier.
Something Derek had apparently forgotten.
Or perhaps never fully understood.
Because the lake house was not scheduled to pass directly to him.
Not anymore.
Thomas and I had changed that after Derek married Madison.
Not because we disliked her.
Because we had watched three friends lose family properties during divorces, lawsuits, and financial disasters.
The house belonged to a family trust.
Derek was a beneficiary.
But he was not the owner.
And the trust contained conditions.
Very specific conditions.
My phone buzzed again.
This message came from a number I didn’t recognize.
Mrs. Mercer? This is Madison’s sister Jenna. I’m really sorry to bother you, but there’s water coming up in the downstairs shower.
I closed my eyes.
“Oh, dear.”
Ruth leaned toward me.
“What?”
“The septic system.”
“That sounds expensive.”
“It will be if they keep using water.”
I called Derek immediately.
“Turn off the washing machine.”
“What?”
“The washing machine. Now.”
“I’m washing towels.”
“You?”
“Yes.”
I smiled despite myself.
Progress.
“Turn it off. Stop showers. Tell everyone not to flush unless necessary. Call Henderson Septic. The number is on the refrigerator.”
“We can’t live like this for ten days.”
“No.”
He waited.
Apparently he expected me to solve the rest.
I didn’t.
Finally he said, “So what do we do?”
“You invited twenty people.”
“Yes.”
“You figure it out.”
“Mom!”
“I’m going to dinner.”
“You’re going to dinner?”
“Yes.”
“With who?”
“Ruth.”
“You left us here for this?”
“No, Derek.”
My voice stayed calm.
“You put yourself there.”
I hung up.
Ruth lifted her glass.
“To boundaries.”
I touched mine to hers.
“To expensive assumptions.”
Back at my lake house, however, the plumbing problem was only the beginning.
Because Madison had made another promise to her relatives.
One I would not discover until the next morning.
She had told them the lake house wasn’t merely available for ten days.
She had told them they could come every summer.
May you like
For free.
Forever.
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