Liz Tichenor - The Night Lake

Contents

COUNTERPOINT | Berkeley, California

The Night Lake

Copyright 2021 by Liz Tichenor

First hardcover edition: 2021

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Works referenced, with gratitude:

Abide with Me : words by Henry Francis Lyte (17931847); music is Eventide by William Henry Monk (18231889). If We Live : text is Romans 14:8, NRSV, with gratitude for the music written by Rolf Vegdahl in Singing Our Prayer: A Companion to Holden Prayer Around the Cross 2009 Augsburg Fortress. Open My Heart : reprinted with permission by Ana Hernndez, 2005; www.anahernandez.org. Psalm quotations are taken from the Psalter in the 1979 Book of Common Prayer. Quotations from prayers and anthems are also taken from the 1979 Book of Common Prayer . Unless otherwise indicated, all Scripture quotations are from New Revised Standard Version Bible, copyright 1989 National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide. Scripture quotations marked (ESV) are from the ESV Bible (the Holy Bible, English Standard Version), copyright 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved. The Storm , Copyright 1994, 1997 by Wendell Berry, from Entries . Reprinted by permission of Counterpoint Press. Within our darkest night and Stay with me : chants written by Jacques Berthier; reprinted with permission from Songs from Taiz , copyright Ateliers et Presses de Taiz, 71250 Taiz, France.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Tichenor, Liz, author.

Title: The night lake / Liz Tichenor.

Description: Berkeley, California : Counterpoint Press, 2021.

Identifiers: LCCN 2020012011 | ISBN 9781640094062 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781640094079 (ebook)

Subjects: LCSH: Tichenor, LizFamily. | Episcopal ChurchClergyBiography. | ChildrenDeathPsychological aspects. | Mothers and sonsCaliforniaBerkeley.

Classification: LCC BX5995.T39 A3 2021 | DDC 283.092 [B]dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020012011

Jacket design by Donna Cheng

Book design by Jordan Koluch

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10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

For Alice and Sam

The Storm

We lay in our bed as in a tomb

awakened by thunder to the dark

in which our house was one with night,

and then light came as if the black

roof of the world had cracked open,

as if the night of all time had broken,

and out our window we glimpsed the world

birthwet and shining, as even

the sun at noon had never made it shine.

WENDELL BERRY

I did not know I could see what was not there. Not yet. But I could hear the absence.

Jesse, is Fritz breathing? I could not believe I was asking this question. I answered it myself, before he could: I dont think he is.

We were lying in bed, our new baby swaddled next to me. He and his sister were both finally asleep. This had taken hours. But

Should I wake him? I asked. Just to check?

Its the kind of move that young parents dread. Rule number one: You do not wake a sleeping baby, even one whos been sick, out of sorts. You dont wake them. Period.

I brought my head close to my sons, to listen, to be reassured, but I wasnt. I held my hand over his mouth. The air was still and dry.

Jesse, I really dont think hes breathing.

I was shaking. I pulled my son to the center of the mattress, the light blue flannel sheet looking suddenly sterile beneath him. I ripped open the Velcro on the mint-green fleece swaddle. I tried to jostle my baby awake. He was motionless.

Fritz! Jesse screamed, frantic. Fritz, Fritz, wake up!

Was this the moment? When, precisely, did everything change?

We flew into action in our tiny cabin. Jesse began CPRhe was trained for this, trained to train people for this. He directed the summer camp where we lived and worked, he taught and certified lifeguards. My husband had a piece of paper that said he could breathe life back into people who, for some terrible, inexplicable reason, had stopped. How could Fritz have stopped breathing? Why? Jesse began pumping this tiny chest, rocking our babys body, pushing air into his quiet mouth.

It was my job to call 911. Adrenaline was coursing through my body. I felt it everywhere, surging even through my fingertips, but I managed the three numbers, dialing well. I did not fumble. I remembered our address. I spoke clearly. My son isnt breathing. Hes just a little baby, not even six weeks old. The doctor said he was fine, but now hes not breathing. Yes, my husband is doing CPR. Yes, Ill flag down the paramedics, Ill help them find their way to our cabin.

I threw on jeans and a shirt while my husband, naked, kept pumping and then breathing for our son, then pumping again. Grabbing my coat and slipping into my muddy black clogs, I stepped out into the clear January night. The stars were a jumble on the black water of Lake Tahoe, a tenth of a mile down the hill. The bit of snow that remained crunched underfoot as I ran down our gravel driveway, as if my speed would make the paramedics come faster. Where were they? The fire station was right across the highway from our camp. I stayed on the line with the 911 operator, pacing, staring up the dark hill for the lights that would come to solve this absurd problem. That was their job, to fix this. If they would just get here faster, I thought, it will all be fine.

And they did come. I ran farther through the dark to meet the fire truck, so long it stretched the length of the parking lot, end to end. Please hurry! I exclaimed as they jumped down. My son isnt breathing, please, please hurry, I begged, as if they didnt know why they were there, as if otherwise they might think to slow down and take in the breathtaking view.

A tough woman led the men, duffel in hand, moving swiftly up the hill yet refusing to run. She must have known that running, slipping, falling, would not help anyone, but her deliberate pace infuriated me. How could she so carefully walk right now?

We burst through the dented metal door and into the cabin. At the other end of the six-foot hallway, we could see straight into the bedroom, finding the same scene I had left minutes earlier: my naked husband, unrelenting, unwavering, trying to coax life back into our motionless, breath-taken son. The two of them filled the rooms only open floorspace beside the mattress where I had so recently rocked my son to sleep. Fritz was still snug in his onesie, his cozy fleece pants, his minuscule white socks, and I was coming to see that these perfectly mundane clothes were becoming increasingly irrelevant. In one sweep, the paramedics moved him onto the little patch of open carpet in our cramped cabins living room, right next to the bedroom. Our cabins entire space340 square feetwas not enough to accommodate all this action, or this team of large people, or the pressure of turning this unfathomable night around. But it was what we had: a tiny, lifeless baby at the center of our tiny, packed home.