I was awakened by the buzz of hummingbirds and squawks of blue jays. Here in the Northern Arizona mountains, the morning air was crisp and clear as white wispy clouds floated across the sky above the lake. The day greeted me with a brilliant display of colors outside my window, from the deep greens of the Ponderosa pines to the blue of the sky reflected upon the still water of the lake. Nestled among the trees, I could spot the fiery red clay along the unpaved roads winding among the cabins and the bold splashes of yellows, reds, and blues of the summer’s array of wild flowers. When I came downstairs that morning to start breakfast for the tribe of relatives, I thought the day would follow the usual pattern.
During our week together, my older brother Doug and I had settled into a routine of hiking every day in search of the elusive arrowhead while our daughters gathered and dried wild flowers. As I descended the last few stairs that morning to enter the living room of the family lodge, I spotted Aunt Martha and Mom silhouetted in the bay window as they sat in their overstuffed chairs sipping the first brew of coffee. I decided to grab a cup of tea from the kitchen and join them for a few quiet moments before the crowd started to assemble.
"I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings," Aunt Martha, my Dad’s sister, was saying to my mother as I plopped down in one of the chairs alongside of them. Uh-oh, I thought. The chill in the conversation clashed with the warmth of the morning sun floating down upon us through the window.
"Oh, it wasn’t that you hurt my feelings; you really offended Glenn," Mom replied. When I heard these words, I cringed. Mom, did you really mean to say that?
"Wow! Look at the time! I better get the bacon started!" I blurted and quickly spun around to escape back into the kitchen. With Mom’s words playing in my mind, I knew this was not going to be another relaxing family-vacation day.
My eleven-year-old daughter and I had looked forward to spending these two weeks with my parents, two brothers, and all our relatives on Dad’s side. When Mom and Dad announced their annual trip to the old homestead on Stoneman Lake near Flagstaff, Michelle and I gladly hitched a ride because we knew Bill was not going to be able to go anywhere with us again that year. Having made the trip the previous summer, Michelle and I were looking forward to more of the laughter and good times. Last year, we had hiked Oak Creek Canyon, perused the view from the Apache Maid lookout, and scouted the Ponderosa pine and mesquite for arrowheads and heritage. Every afternoon we had watched the thunderstorms roll over the rim of the Stoneman Lake crater, and we had stayed up every night to count the falling stars. Whenever my brothers joined us, we could be assured of continual entertainment with Jeff’s dry wit and Doug’s hilarious stories. The banter between our cousins and us was continual from the first cups of coffee until the final poker hands at midnight.
This summer we had the usual crowd, which only Stoneman Lake could accommodate. Over twenty years ago, Aunt Martha’s husband had devised the ill-fated scheme of turning the old ranchhouse into a bed and breakfast inn. The inn never made it, but the lodge has proved handy for family reunions. At one end of the homestead, off of the old dining room, he had knocked out the screened-in porch and added a two-story lodge with a huge living room downstairs and six bedrooms with baths upstairs. Along with the three bedrooms in the original home, we could easily host the entire clan including five cousins and their families.
One day around sunset Mom and Dad, Doug, Jeff, Michelle, and I sat on the front porch of the old farmhouse laughing our way through childhood tales and adult dilemmas. Jeff and Doug competed in recounting the most dangerous adventures on the ranch, always managing to tattle on the cousins who so often chickened out in our childhood escapades. Dad recounted other stories, taking us way back to the early days of rounding up cattle on the range. With Michelle comfortably curled up on my lap, I thought to myself, "This is what family is all about." We talked until dusk when the mosquitoes came buzzing at us in droves. This was what I expected of this vacation, a time to relive memories and reunite as a family. Unfortunately, that was obviously not going to be how this visit played out.
Mom’s sniper words that morning were the culmination of a season of anger. About a year ago, Aunt Martha and Uncle Art had brought Dad’s cousin DeeDee to visit us. After entertaining them for a week, my parents discovered several pieces of Mom’s jewelry were missing. Upon thoroughly searching the house, they concluded that DeeDee must have taken them. Finally, after numerous telephone conferences with Arizona, Dad and Aunt Martha confronted DeeDee who denied everything. In Mom’s mind, DeeDee should have been stricken from the bloodlines. However, only a few months later, my aunt and uncle sent her a cheery Christmas card. When Mom found out, she was furious. In her mind, that card represented one more glaring example of how Dumas family loyalty took priority over her feelings. When I stepped into the conversation that morning, I knew Mom was seeking her revenge. Unfortunately, her ploy did not work out as planned.
Breakfast had people scattered throughout the kitchen and dining room. Of the more than fifteen people dining that morning, no one knew what had happened except Mom, Aunt Martha and me. Only I could sense the tension hovering around their forced smiles and polite chatter. Soon after breakfast, Doug and I prepared for our daily foray into the mountains. As our daughters dressed, I returned to the dining room to retrieve my tennis shoes and came upon another conversation.
"Glenn, I had no idea that Christmas card would upset you so much. Will you ever forgive me?" Aunt Martha whimpered as she slapped down card after card in her solitaire game. Geez, she is pouring it on a little thick, I thought.
"I don’t know what the hell you are talking about! I don’t care what you do," Dad replied. "I wish Diddy wouldn’t put words in my mouth! Let’s just forget about the whole thing." Dad was pacing back and forth in front of the table, obviously uncomfortable with his distraught sister’s sniveling.
When Doug came down with the girls, we scurried them out the front door as Martha and Art exited out the back on their way into Flagstaff. I hoped that with them gone all day, everyone would have time to calm down. By this time, Mom had disappeared upstairs, and Dad had left to take a walk. When I told Doug what was going on, he feared things might escalate into atomic proportions. We were especially glad to escape on our hike up the ridge that day onto the open expanse of the pines beyond. As our daughters wandered here and there, we tried to decipher the family history and discern what we might need to do next if word got out to the rest of the relatives.
Later that day, when I was sitting by myself on the porch, Dad came out the front door and offered, "Let’s go for a walk."
Heading down the road, he confided, " I need your help."
"Sure, Dad, what do you need?" With Dad’s hand conspiratorially placed around my shoulder, he guided us down the road and away from the house. Dreading what might be coming next, I walked with my head down and my hands stuffed in my jeans pockets. Obviously, he wanted to get out of earshot of any windows before he began to talk.
"Your mother has opened up a hornet’s nest! She is putting words into my mouth, and she is going to do some irreparable damage. I need you to talk to her. Help me keep a lid on this thing." As we walked further, he continued to give me his version of what took place that morning. Since Dad had never confided in me before, I was not sure I liked this new dimension to our relationship with me as his counselor and confidante in a difficult situation. Although I promised I would do what I could, I wasn’t at all sure I could accomplish anything.
What on earth could I say to Mom in this situation? She and I have always been close. We could talk for hours about anything -- life, religion, philosophy, politics, society, etc. Although we giggled secretly about some of the things our men and other relatives did, we enjoyed sharing our frustrations and supporting each other as we worked through our individual problems. What if this uncomfortable pact with Dad damaged my friendship with Mom?
Mom had remained hidden in their bedroom ever since breakfast. Taking a deep breath, I went upstairs and knocked on her door. "Mom? Can I get you a soda or some lunch?"
"We need to talk," Mom replied. Didn’t I hear those words from Dad? I tensed knowing I was going to get further embroiled. She went on, "I have had it! I have put up with over fifty years of this family and of your father taking their side on every issue. Not once has he ever defended me. I am finished with this marriage."
"Mom, calm down. It can’t be that bad," I muttered.
"It can’t? Your father just ordered me to keep my mouth shut. Well, I’ll show him! I am not going to say one word to anyone but you or Doug for the rest of the trip. See how he likes that!" She declared viciously.
The angry words continued to flow for over a half an hour. Evidently, after Doug and I had left that morning, Dad had yelled at her. I sat stiffly on the bed with her, listening to her anger pour forth. Soon she was sharing details of their marriage I did not want to know. The more she spoke, the more uncomfortable I felt. Mom was crossing the boundary lines of our relationship, lines formed early in my childhood.
My parents had always been a united team before us kids. Even if they disagreed about some decision they were making, we never knew. We only saw the outcome, never the discussions, and we could never play one off of the other. By the time all three of us hit college, we knew that Mom and Dad did not always see eye to eye, but we would have never questioned the solid foundation of their marriage. They were always mom-and-dad in our view. Now Mom was splitting those hyphens right in front of me as if I were a partner to the decision. Surely, I could and would support her if I only knew all of the years and details. Unfortunately for her, I had too much respect and love for Dad to be able to suddenly turn on him with the force of her bitterness. Although I tried to share ideas and to lighten the mood, Mom would not hear of it. She was an angry dog, with her head lowered and her teeth showing menacingly, ready to lash out at Dad or any Dumas who dared to come too close.
When I left her room, I snuck out the back door in hopes of avoiding Dad, and I took a long walk around the lake. Halfway around, I sat down upon a large granite rock warmed by the sun and listened to the sounds around me in hopes of hearing some secret wisdom. One lone hawk floated upon the air just above the crater’s rim. I could hear the afternoon breeze playing among the pines as I watched the faint ripples upon the lake’s surface. Amidst this incredible Eden, my heart was in turmoil.
Mom’s conversation with Aunt Martha kept echoing in my head. I knew Mom never intended for her to go groveling to Dad. Mom had thrown a sneaker punch, hoping to gain just a little bit of advantage. Ah, but Aunt Martha is no fool either, having had years of experience manipulating men with her own husband and five sons. She had taken the jab and sent a crosscut at Dad’s heart, and he in turn spun around and kicked the dog, so to speak. The dog, my mother who had been known to retreat in the past to repair her dignity, was ready to bite this time. All the words and events swirled in my mind as I watched the ramifications of those few choice words continue to unfold with every new conversation, just as the ripples spread from some bubble bursting upon the lake.
Although I had come to enjoy the adult dimensions of my relationship with my parents, I had never expected to be asked to take sides or to be the peacemaker in any of their squabbles. Somehow, they now assumed that I had become mature enough and objective enough to mediate their differences. I was not sure I could make such a quick role shift in our relationship. It did not seem so long ago that Dad had held me on his lap when I was crying over engagement spats, and Mom had helped me make career choices and other difficult decisions. These parents had supported me when I had separated from Bill once and did not want to know the details so that they could support us. Could I hug my mom and say, "Hey, Mom, I’ll help you find a lawyer"? I cringed. I wanted to take us back to that afternoon on the porch, back to those wonderful family memories, back to the innocence of not knowing what went on behind their public lives.
Having sat upon that granite rock long enough to watch the crater shadows creep across the lake, I got up and slowly made my way back around the other side of the lake. I needed to get dinner started before Uncle Art and Aunt Martha returned from Flagstaff; I needed to laugh and chatter with anyone who might join me in the kitchen. I knew too that I needed to hug my daughter and call Bill.
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