Back at West Waters, only marginally calmed down, I slip out of my clothes, into my bikini and dive into the water. Its coolness strips me of at least one layer of anger, but I need to swim at least half a lap before my head clears and I can appreciate my surroundings. I let the bright green beauty of Oregon in late summer back into my heart, let it erase the agitation inside of me. Because this is not a new experience by a long stretch. It’s an endlessly repeated cycle. The profound misunderstanding and miscommunication between me and my parents.
When I was thirteen and still firmly in my mother’s camp, I once asked her why she stayed with my dad if he made her so unhappy. My friend Kelly’s mom had gotten a divorce, much to Kelly’s relief.
“What makes you think I’m unhappy, Darling?” sh
