The Charm Bracelet (35 page)

So each time you open up,

A little box from me

Remember that it really all

Began with You and Me.

“That's right,” I say. “Now, here you go.”

My mother tears open the tiny box, and there, sitting atop a little velvet throne, is a silver charm.

“What is it?” my mother asks, squinting in the darkness.

“It's a book,” I say.

My mother pulls it from the box and studies it, rubbing her old hands over its delicate outline.

“What's it mean, Arden?”

“It's to a story that will never end,” I say.

I smile and lean into my mom. She is warm, safe, and smells of summer, a mixed bag of scents, from perfumed peonies to firewood from making s'mores.

“I put all of our initials on the back of the charm,” I say. “We are forever the authors of our very own book.”

There is silence as my mom adds the charm to her bracelet. Finally, I say, “And I'm writing again, Mom. Not only at
Paparazzi
but also the story of your charms. The story of us … all of us. I finally found my voice again.”

I can hear my mother cry softly.

“I'm so happy,” she finally says, before adding, very seriously, “Promise me something, girls.”

“Anything,” we reply in unison.

“Promise me you will always wear your charm bracelets,” she says. “That way, we'll never be apart. That way, you'll never forget.”

“We'll never forget, Mom,” I say.

My mom looks out over the lake as fireworks illuminate the sky once again, and she puts her arms around our shoulders, drawing her girls even closer. As colorful fireworks explode overhead, she kisses our cheeks.

“I will always love you, Arden,” she says. “I will always love you, Lauren.”

“We love you, too.”

A breeze as soft as my mother's kisses rushes across the water and over the lip of the dock to jangle our bracelets.

“You know, some people say they hear the voices of their family in this lake: In the call of the whippoorwill, the cry of the loon, the moan of the bullfrog,” my mom whispers. “But I hear my family's voices in the jangling of our charms.”

The way she says this makes goose bumps cover my body.

I turn to look at my mom. In the distance, fireworks explode again, a strobe of light illuminating her aging face. I can see her rosy cheeks dotted with summer freckles, even under all that makeup. It is as if a million paparazzi have arrived to capture her image, so I will never forget how she looks at this very moment.

Beautiful. Happy,
I think.

I look even closer, and I can still see tears streaming down her face.

“Are you okay, Mom?” I ask.

“Sixty-one years ago today,” she whispers over the echoing booms of the fireworks, “was my last birthday with my mom. But you two … you two have given me the greatest gift ever. You are my living history. My stories won't die with me.”

My heart leaps into my throat, and I can feel myself begin to choke up, too.

I take a deep breath and force my tears to stop their rise.

For I am not sad. I am
blessed
.

I am the keeper of my mother's memories.

And when I am her age, I hope to sit here with my daughter, and my grandchildren, as the fireworks explode.

I will sit patiently and wait for the wind to rattle my charm bracelet—which will be even heavier than my mom's is now—and I will shut my eyes, and I will listen to the voices of my family.

 

Acknowledgments

I always preach to aspiring writers that they should write what calls to them, no matter what anyone else thinks, because that writing will truly become inspired work and thus inspire others. Moreover, that work will call to you—if not haunt you—until you finish it.

I also tell writers that the end goal of success or money is never the most important thing when you come from this place: Writing
is
the reward. You do it because, well, there is no other choice.

This is so true with
The Charm Bracelet
.

My grandmothers and their charm bracelets were the inspiration for this highly personal novel that honors and pays tribute not only to them (the book bears my grandmother's name as a pseudonym) but also our elders, who we too often take for granted and whose incredible lives we too often overlook.

As I grew older, I—like most of us do—got caught up in things that seemed important but really weren't. In my quietest moments, I could still hear in my mind the jangling of my mother's and grandmothers' bracelets, and that sound reminded me of what was truly important in life, that the smallest things are the greatest gifts.

I spent my summers with my grandparents, usually at an old log cabin in the Ozarks, always without a phone, a TV, a microwave. It was the time before cell phones, wireless, and laptops. We only had inner tubes, books, fishing poles, and one another. But I received the greatest gift of all those summers: I got to know my grandparents as people, beautiful, flawed, wonderful humans whose sacrifices and journeys helped make me who I am.

What I ask of you is this: Take a moment, if you have yet to do so, and ask your elders about their lives. Put down your phones and listen. They will astound you.

I couldn't be prouder of this novel, which took me many years (and tries) to perfect. After writing four memoirs, I learned that writing a novel is—as my esteemed agent, Wendy Sherman, told me—akin to wrestling a bear to the ground. Well, I wrestled the bear to the ground and got pretty torn up along the way. But I learned a lot, too. The journey has been so worth it. An artist, I believe, should always be a bit uncomfortable in their work. It makes you question, worry, wonder, stretch, and ultimately, better.

That's a great transition to Wendy, whom I just can't thank enough … not only for being a great agent and friend, of course, but also for being much more than that. See, I didn't think I could do this. And you never stopped believing in me. You guided, you coached, you taught, you listened, you cheered, you worried, but you never dished out false BS. Did you send me packing quite a few times? Yep. But I listened. Over and over. And when I knew you liked it, when I knew you were ready, when I said, “I'm scared,” you said, “Let me be your parachute.”

To Laurie Chittenden:
Reunited and it feels so gooood
 … Sorry, but I'm a Peaches & Herb–era guy. Honestly, I couldn't have dreamed of a better fit for this novel, and to be back with you a decade after
America's Boy
—after we have both grown and changed so much—seems as if it has always been part of a bigger plan. Your early enthusiasm for
The Charm Bracelet
(I mean, you have a charm bracelet!) has meant the world. You have also helped make this book infinitely deeper, richer, and more resonant. It's never “work” to work with you.

Speaking of early and ongoing enthusiasm: To the entire team at St. Martin's Press and Thomas Dunne Books—Sally Richardson, Tom Dunne, Pete Wolverton, Jen Enderlin, and Lisa Senz—huge, heartfelt thanks. I have never been met with such a warm embrace, and it means the world. Thanks also to Melanie Fried (a Michigan girl!) as well as Cameron MacLeod Jones, whose charm illustrations were (pardon the pun) absolutely charming and truly captured the beauty and sentimentality of the novel and my family's charms.

To Jenny Meyer:
Gracias! Danke schön! Grazie!
How many ways are there to say thank you? You seem to have found plenty! Truly, an author's dream is to see their work published around the world, and you have made that dream come true. To see offers for
The Charm Bracelet
to be translated into German, Russian, Italian, Polish, Spanish, and on and on has made me cry every time. You are amazing at what you do. And a wonderful person to boot. (Same to you, Shane King!)

Heartfelt thanks to Kim Perel, who offered wonderful early insights and directions for making this book come to life.

Huge hugs to McLean & Eakin Booksellers (Jess, Bess, and Kirstyn … and, of course, you, too, Matt!) and Jill Miner and Jody Chwatun at Saturn Booksellers, who were also early readers of the manuscript, and who took time from their insane schedules to offer key, critical feedback that made this book better. I would not be here without you.

Caroline Leavitt: Your talents know no limits. You are not only an amazing writer, you are also a gifted editor. You pushed me, encouraged me, and—more than anything—believed in me when my soul needed a major hug. You also helped me at the drop of a hat more times than I can count with more things than I can count. I am so proud to call you a friend. We are manic, creative, kindred spirits.

Nancy Thayer: I remember how nervous I was reaching out to you. I remember how gracious you were in return. Thank you isn't enough. I adore you.

Debbie Macomber: Reaching out to Debbie for an early blurb was sort of like me saying, “I'm going to fly to the moon.” It didn't seem possible. But that's the thing about dreams: They often come true. Thank you, Debbie. Your early support was instrumental in this book's momentum and success. For you to squeeze my book into your insane schedule is beyond humbling. And to Renate Roth: Thanks for helping every step of the way!

Adriana Trigiani: To see a flurry of exclamation points and
x
's and
o
's from you and then seeing you would love to blurb my book nearly landed me in the hospital. But being hoarse the next day was so worth it. You are one of my inspirations. Your kindness equals your talent.

To my mutts, Doris and Mabel: You keep me sane. Along with wine, coffee, and lots of running. And wine.

Finally, to Gary: I wouldn't be here—quite literally—without you. I asked you over and over and over if I could write a novel. You never wavered in your support. You never said I was crazy. You never told me to stop. You said, “You can do anything, and you will. Dream big. Write small.” You have often joked that you are “my muse.” Well, I have news for muse: You are. And you are my heart, soul, spirit, codependent copilot and love of my life. Here's to the next chapter. And the next …

As much as
The Charm Bracelet
celebrates my love for my grandmothers, it also celebrates my love for Michigan, its beauty and its people. Michigan isn't just the place where I live. It's also a main character in my writing. It is as real and human and alive and breathing as any of my protagonists. I am my best in Pure Michigan, author, human, husband.

And a final note regarding the poem in
The Charm Bracelet
: Over the years I spent writing this book, many friends sent me photos of their charm bracelets as well as the stories behind their charms to inspire me. Some sent poems that had been given to them by their mothers and grandmothers. Oftentimes, though the poems varied, some of the lines were the same. I pulled some of those beautiful lines together to create the poem, and then, thinking there might be an author behind it since there were so many similarities in what was sent to me, went in search of the poet. But I could never find an attribution. The closest I could come was a link on Yahoo Answers many years ago, in which someone had asked for a poem to go along with a charm bracelet they were giving their stepdaughter. I reached out to the person who had posted that poem, which also contained similar lines, but never received a response. I also posted the poem far and wide, but never found the source.

 

About the Author

VIOLA SHIPMAN
is a pen name for Wade Rouse, a popular, award-winning memoirist. Rouse chose his grandmother's name,
Viola Shipman
, to honor the woman whose charm bracelet and family stories inspired him to write his debut novel, which is a tribute to all of our elders. Rouse lives in Michigan and writes regularly for
People
and
Coastal Living
, among other places, and is a contributor to
All Things Considered
. To date,
The Charm Bracelet
has been translated into nine languages. He is at work on his second “heirloom novel,” which will be published in 2017.

 

You can find
Viola Shipman
at
www.ViolaShipman.com
. Or sign up for email updates
here
.