Chapter 5 - Safe Haven
The remaining three days of our trip in Maine transformed into the vacation I had originally hoped to give Toby when we first left home. Removed from the toxic, suffocating atmosphere of my family’s constant demands and complaints, the heavy fog of anxiety that had lingered over my shoulders since Michael’s death finally began to clear.
The lodge I had chosen was a rustic, family-run establishment nestled along the quiet shores of Sebago Lake, surrounded by ancient birch trees and hiking trails that smelled of pine and damp earth. There were no designer attire requirements, no schedules dictated by Evelyn’s shopping desires, and no expectations for me to quietly pick up the check at the end of every meal.
On Tuesday morning, Toby and I rented a small aluminum rowboat from the lodge dock. As we drifted out onto the glassy, mirror-like surface of the lake, the morning mist slowly lifting off the water, Toby leaned over the edge, trailing his fingers through the cool wake.
"Mommy?" he asked, looking up at me with his large, serious brown eyes—eyes that were so achingly identical to his father’s. "Are we going to see Grandma and Grandpa for Thanksgiving this year?"
I stopped rowing, letting the oars rest quietly in the oarlocks as the boat bobbed gently on the ripple of a passing loon. I had spent so many months dreading this kind of question, terrified that setting boundaries would make my son feel abandoned or unloved. But looking at him now, relaxed and safe in his orange life jacket, I realized that the only person who had been afraid of the truth was me.
"No, buddy," I said softly, reaching out to smooth his damp hair back from his forehead. "We aren't going to spend holidays at their house anymore."
Toby tilted his head, considering this with the solemn, analytical processing of a five-year-old. "Because Aunt Evelyn was mean to me in the hallway?"
"Because Aunt Evelyn was mean to you, and because Grandma and Grandpa didn't stop her," I explained clearly, refusing to use the adult euphemisms that disguise cruelty as misunderstanding. "My job as your mommy is to keep you safe and cherished. And anyone who makes you feel like you don't belong, or anyone who locks a door when you need help, does not get to sit at our dinner table. Even if they are related to us."
Toby was silent for a long moment, watching a dragonfly skim across the surface of the lake. Then, his shoulders visually dropped an inch, a tiny tension I hadn't even realized he was carrying completely evaporating.
"Good," he said simply, picking up his small plastic fishing rod. "I didn't like it when Uncle Richard told me my sneakers were cheap anyway. Can we have Thanksgiving with Uncle Arthur and his big dog instead?"
May you like
I smiled, feeling a hot tear of pure relief trace a path down my cheek. "We can have Thanksgiving wherever we want, Toby. Just you, me, and the people who love us loud and clear."
For the next forty-eight hours, we fished for sunfish off the wooden pier, ate toasted marshmallows around the lodge's stone fire pit, and read comic books by the light of a brass reading lamp until our eyelids grew heavy. I didn't open my work email once. I didn't check the news from Boston. I existed entirely in the present moment, building a fortress of safety around my son that no biological tie would ever be permitted to breach again.
