One

May 2016—

Rose Hoffs leaned in to her bathroom mirror and pushed at the bags beneath her eyes.

She sighed and reached for some moisturizer and then for the foundation.

More water, more sleep, more exercise, more … everything, Rose thought. I’m 26 going on 107.

Rose took a deep breath and even bigger swig of coffee, and continued to “put on her face” as her mom used to say. Her nose twitched instinctively, just like a rabbit, and she sniffed the air.

Spring, Rose thought. The town is alive again!

It was a beautiful spring day in Saugatuck, Michigan, and the windows were open in Rose’s tiny five-room cottage, letting in the warm air that Michiganders wait so long for after interminable winters. Carried along on the wind was the sweet scent of blueberry streusel muffins, cinnamon scones, and roasting beans from Lake Effect Coffee located a few blocks away.

Rose’s mouth watered.

Rose’s cottage on Butler Street sat perched behind a row of larger resort homes, almost like a carriage house. But it wasn’t. The home was one of the town’s original fishing cottages—which came with a tiny square lot big enough for some rhododendrons and a couple of bikes. The Hoffs never dreamed resorters would come in droves to the little artists’ colony on the dunes of Lake Michigan, buying every available plot of land and building houses that reached up, up, up for seasonal peeks of the river and lake.

In fact, the Hoffs’ house had become known in town as the “Up” house (the level of sarcasm or affection for the nickname depended on whom you talked to and their net worth) because their adorable little cottage sat in the midst of gentrification just like the elderly widower’s home in the Disney movie.

The film Up came out just before Rose’s mother, Dora, died, and she had loved the movie and moniker.

“Up,” she would say, laughing every time the cartoon movie house took flight thanks to the hundreds of helium balloons attached. “Our house is like that one: filled with hope and adventure.”

The wind again wafted the scent of freshly baked treats into Rose’s house—Those are definitely blueberry muffins, she thought—making her mouth water again. Rose wondered how many blueberries her parents, Dora and Dave, had sold over the course of their lifetimes from their tiny farmers’ market on Blue Star Highway.

We couldn’t afford to buy this house today, Rose thought. I couldn’t even afford to keep their stand going. I can barely pay the taxes.

Rose’s mind drifted to all the resorters who owned land around the Hoffs’ house and their offers to buy the house and property.

How much longer can I hold out? Rose wondered. My mother would never forgive me if I lost it. I need this job.

Rose shook her head and reached for her lipstick.

“How about this one, Mommy?”

Rose looked over at her daughter, Jeri, seated on a cushioned chair at the vanity, happily holding up a tube of lipstick. In the few minutes Rose was not paying attention, her seven-year-old daughter painted her whole face pink, her favorite color. She resembled one of the Doodlebops, from the cartoon she loved to watch.

“Very Deedee Doodle,” said Rose, smiling, despite Jeri’s misbehavior, referencing one of the colorfully painted children’s band members who teach kids social lessons.

“Yeah!” giggled Jeri. “Better than one of the boys.”

Jeri stopped and looked at her mom with a serious expression. “How come I’m named after a boy? All the kids in Mrs. Hooper’s class made fun of my name this year. I’m glad it’s summer vacation!”

“Well…,” started Rose, who always had trouble explaining this fact to her seven-year-old.

Do I tell her that her father had wanted a boy? And that he had been disappointed with a girl? And me? And with pretty much everything in his life? And that her name was a compromise to keep him happy?

“We wanted a name as unique as you,” Rose said, reaching over to muss her daughter’s curly red locks. “Don’t worry. You’ll grow into it. It wasn’t easy being named after a thorny flower, either.”

Rose dampened a washcloth and leaned down to clean her daughter’s face.

That won’t cut it, Rose thought, before grabbing some makeup remover as well as some makeup remover towelettes. As she was scrubbing Jeri’s pink, round cheeks, her daughter said, “A rose is beautiful, Mommy. Just like you.”

Rose’s lip quivered, and her eyes filled with tears.

“You’re so sweet. Thank you. You’re going to make me cry.”

“Don’t cry, Mommy,” Jeri said. “It’s a very big day.”

Rose nodded, as she finished scrubbing her daughter’s face. “Yes, it is,” she agreed.

She was putting on her lipstick when Jeri asked another question.

“Are you nervous?”

Rose stopped with her lipstick in midair, as if she were conducting an invisible orchestra. Her lip quivered again.

“I am,” she said. “It’s a very big interview for me … for us.”

“Wait here,” Jeri said, hopping off the little seat at the vanity. Rose could hear Jeri’s padded footsteps run into her bedroom. A few seconds later, her daughter was back, her tiny hands hiding something behind her back.

Jeri’s face broke into a wide smile.

“Here!” she said with conviction, handing her mom her favorite doll—a beat-up, hand-me-down Raggedy Ann cloth doll. “She was sleeping, but I woke her up. I think you need her more than I do today.”

Rose smiled and, without thinking, hugged Jeri and the cloth doll tightly.

“Thank you, sweetie,” she said.

“I want you to take Ann with you on your … what’s it called again?” Jeri asked.

“Interview,” Rose said.

“Yeah, inner-blue,” Jeri said. “She’ll keep you company.”

Rose smiled at her daughter, feeling calm for a split second, before she felt her nerves kick in again.

I have no friends or family to watch Jeri today, Rose thought, and no extra money for a sitter. I’m a bad mother.

“Remember, you’re going to have to babysit Ann in the car while I talk to the nice people for a few minutes today, okay?” Rose said to her daughter. “You’re going to have to be a very big girl today.”

“I will! I promise!” Jeri said. “And you’re gonna have to be a big girl today, too!”

Rose smiled and again hugged the doll, which smelled of her daughter.

I can’t recall a time Ann hasn’t been part of my life, Rose thought.

“I promise to be a big girl, too,” Rose said. “But now I have to find some big girl clothes to wear. We’ve got to hurry.”

Rose and Jeri scurried over to the closet, and Rose began to scour through her clothes, tossing slacks, suit jackets, and blouses onto her bed.

Jeri’s words—You’re gonna have to be a big girl today—ran through Rose’s head as she tried to pick out something to wear.

Why do I still feel like such a little girl? Rose thought, still clutching the red-haired doll that looked so much like her and her daughter.

Copyright © 2017 by Viola Shipman