“Bye. I love you.”

“Me, too,” he replies, suddenly yelling, “Mom?” in the phone before I hang up.

“Yeah?”

“What’s the first rule of the summer cottage?”

“Leave your troubles at the door,” I say, smiling.

“Let’s both remember that,” he says. “Oh, and, Mom? Don’t sit in the car and cry like you did when I started kindergarten, and grade school, and middle school and high school and college?” He is laughing.

“How did you know that?”

“Mom,” he sighs, “the whole school knew.”

“I get emotional sometimes. It’s nothing to apologize for,” I say. “And I promise. I won’t. I’m getting stronger every day.”

“I know you are,” he says. “Bye, Mom.”

“Bye, honey,” I say.

I hit end on my cell, think of how proud I am of my son, glance in the mirror at my former life in the trunk of my car, and then lower my head onto the wheel of my Volvo and weep just like I did on Evan’s first day of kindergarten.

THREE

As soon as I round the bend from Chicago to Michigan, I see a wall of clouds over Lake Michigan. Half of the sky is bright blue, the other half is steel gray, as if Mother Nature has hung a banner announcing, Nightmare Ahead!

Lake-effect snow. My hands immediately tighten around the wheel.

I see a Pure Michigan billboard, touting the beauty and landmarks of the state, and laugh.

Lake-effect snow is Pure Michigan, I think, my former ad exec coming out, but I don’t see any billboards touting that.

Without warning, the world goes from clear skies to total blizzard. I slow the car, tighten my grip even more and turn on my headlights. Lake-effect snow is not just snow, it’s as if the winter skies have opened up and are weeping centuries of frozen tears upon the earth. Within moments, the highway is covered and slick, and trucks and cars are moving at a snail’s pace. My heart is thumping like a jackhammer, and I immediately lament my life change.

How could I have forgotten that winter lasts longer than summer, fall and spring in Michigan? Combined! What have I done? My earnings season will be shorter than the one my parents had to grow tomatoes on the back deck.

I crank up the defroster and crack a window, realizing my near hyperventilation is fogging up the entire car. And then, from the depths of nowhere, I laugh, crazily, like a madwoman.

How long has it been since I’ve been this nervous, excited, uncertain? I wonder. It’s a shock to the system. And it feels good.