35. These Are Days
These Are Days
Arden
May 15, 1999
E yes narrowed with suspicion, Henry steps out of our SUV and onto the gravel drive.
I drove us here, myself, which was enough of a change in routine to make him uncomfortable, but I wasn’t about to bring a driver here. The team following directly ahead and behind is enough coverage. I’m aiming for “normal” for Charlotte and Bronnie.
Before we go inside, we wait for Reese to check the cabin.
Henry eyes the peeling green paint on the front porch. “Dad. You can’t be serious.” His voice is a loud whisper of horror. “What is this place?”
I smile at him gamely. “It’s called a cabin. Haven’t you ever read any stories about staying in a cabin? It’s going to be fun. We have our own little dock there. Our own little beach on the lake.”
Henry scratches his head. “We own a house on the beach in the Hamptons, but we’re taking a vacation in a shack on a lake?”
“A lot of people take vacations like this. It’s exciting to try new experiences.”
“Who’s cooking our food?” he asks.
I lift an eyebrow in challenge. “I am.”
He squints at me. “You don’t know how to cook.”
“I read a book about it last week.”
He shakes his head.
“This will be good for us.”
Henry pushes his glasses up his nose. “It smells strange here.”
“It’s fresh air and lake water.” And possibly a hint of mildew . I take a bracing breath. “Smells good, doesn’t it?”
Henry looks as though I said the weirdest thing he’s ever heard. “No.”
Gabriel pipes up. “I bet that smell is fish pee.”
He takes off running for the dock. “What’s this weird silver floatie thing?”
“It’s called a pontoon boat.”
Gabriel slows and turns, propping his hands on his hips. “That’s not a boat.”
I crouch down and indicate that he should come back to talk with me. When he’s beside me, I put an arm around him and point out the parts of the pontoon and how it works. “So, you see,” I conclude, “people consider it a kind of party boat.”
“Just take the yacht,” Gabriel says.
I glance toward Henry, who gives me the same look of confusion as his brother.
I could tell them that not everyone can afford a yacht. That’s a conversation I need to have with them soon, and often. But right now, I need to sell them on this experience as a good time, not necessarily impart life lessons. “They’re great for when you want to have a small party. You don’t have to take any staff or crew at all. You can take it out on the lake all by yourself. And you can turn the engine off and float in silence with just the sound of the waves and the birds.”
Henry eyes the pontoon with new respect. “I’ll try it.”
Gabriel wiggles his behind to a beat only he can hear. “Pontooooon. Yeah. Pontoooon. Yeah. Gonna ride a pontooooon. A shiny floatie pontooooon. Yeah.”
I ruffle his hair. “We’ll get settled in. Charlotte and Bronnie will be here tomorrow afternoon. We have to make sure everything is ready for them.”
Henry scowls. “I don’t want strangers on my vacation.”
“We already talked about this. Charlotte is my friend, and Bronnie might be frightened in a new place. We want to make her feel welcome. You two can share your toys and play with her.”
Gabriel twists his face up. “You want us to play with a baby?”
Henry crosses his arms over his skinny chest. “Not just a baby, a girl baby.”
“Since when do we judge people based on things like age or gender or any other prejudice?”
Henry drops his arms. “Sorry.”
Gabriel scuffs the toe of his shoe against the gravel and looks down. “Sorry.”
I pull Gabriel into a hug and squeeze Henry’s shoulder. “I know change can be scary, but you’ll like Bronnie and Miss Charlotte. I’m sure of it. Besides, Bronnie’s not a baby. She’s four. That’s only two years younger than you, Gabriel and four years younger than Henry. It’s not that big of a difference.”
Henry adjusts his glasses. “Four years is an immense difference.”
“You may find you like having her around. You won’t know until you give her a chance.”
From his position on the porch, Reese gives the all-clear to enter the cabin. My last-minute change in venue went over like a lead balloon with my security team.
I straighten and smile down at the boys. “Now, let’s see if the people I hired to stock this place did their jobs.”
Gabriel bounces. “The man at the gas station said they have pop here.”
“That’s what they call soda. It won’t taste any different than what you’d get in New York.”
Henry grabs his backpack from the backseat and trudges his way up the wooden steps to the front door of the cabin. “It’ll taste different,” he predicts darkly. “Because we’re in Michigan, and the air smells like fish pee.”