The Charm Bracelet by Viola Shipman Page B

the Roadmaster like an old sea captain changing the direction of his ship. Arden watched her mother—in her long, bright-white wig, a geometrically patterned scarf tied around her head like Doris Day—drive while singing “That’s Amore.” Arden gulped, fighting her instinct to grab the wheel and force the Woodie to the side of the road so she could take over.
    Suddenly, a canopy of ancient sugar maples and pines choked out the sunlight, as the road suddenly cut through a dense forest that led to Lake Michigan, and Arden yanked off her sunglasses.
    â€œLook!” Lauren said, pointing out both sides of the backseat window.
    On the left, a family of deer stood at attention, like wax figures at Madame Tussauds, while on the right, a wild turkey high-stepped through the woods.
    The Woodie slowly crawled down the other side of the dune, the brakes moaning loudly, until it was suddenly drenched in sunlight.
    Lake Michigan stretched out in front of them like the ocean, the surface still as glass, sun illuminating the greens and blues of the water. Boats motored along the lake, Jet Skis zipped by, and some very brave souls had actually ventured into the still-frigid water. A golden-sand beach stretched out, dotted by bright umbrellas and towels, picnic baskets and sand buckets, people lounging in the sun. Dunes towered in the background, and dune grass danced in the wind. The Woodie stopped as cars ahead slowed pulling up to the one-room weathered guard shack to buy a beach pass.
    â€œHello, Dolly!” a young, blond girl in a red lifeguard T-shirt yelled from the guard shack. “Sorry … I mean, Lolly! Time for a new beach pass, I see!” she added, stepping out of the shack. “But the big question is: Where to add it this year?”
    The girl giggled as she scanned the front and back windows of the Woodie. Decades of beach pass decals—designed in colors, fonts, and images that reflected the passing eras—were adhered to nearly every square inch of bumper as well as the front, back, and side windows, leaving Lolly only gaps through which to see the road.
    â€œEver thought about removing some of those, Mom?” Arden said, pointing to a window.
    â€œNever!” Lolly said. “It would be like erasing a year from my life.”
    After a few seconds, Lauren called, “Found a place,” and began thumping a few square inches of open glass on the back passenger window.
    The lifeguard adhered the new beach pass and said, “That’ll be sixty bucks for another year at Scoops Beach.”
    Lolly unzipped her jacket and reached into the top of her swimsuit, her hand disappearing, going deep into the unknown, as if she were a magician.
    â€œHere we go,” Lolly said happily, pulling out a wad of damp, crushed bills. “Let’s just say my piggy bank has lost some of its oink over the years.”
    Arden’s face turned red, but Lauren and the lifeguard laughed.
    As Lolly began to pull away, the lifeguard yelled, “We all love you, Lolly! Have a great day at the beach with your family.”
    Lolly waved back and guided the Woodie down the narrow sand-covered road—people honking, yelling, and waving as if she were the queen of England—until she found a faraway parking place in a back row near a dune.
    â€œWe can probably get you a handicapped sticker, Mom,” Arden said without thinking, popping open the trunk.
    â€œNever!” Lolly said defiantly. “Now, make me a pack mule. Start piling it on, Lauren.”
    This was a game Lauren and Lolly used to play: After a day at the beach when she was little, Lauren would become so worn out and sleepy that Lolly would have to carry her and all the beach gear back to the Woodie. And she did, piling towels over her neck, chairs onto her back, all while carrying Lauren, beach bags, and a cooler.
    Lauren spent a few weeks every summer with her grandmother, while her father worked endless