Story of My Life (Story Lake #1)

21. My dinghy’s bigger than yours

21

MY DINGHY’S BIGGER THAN YOURS

HAZEL

Me: What am I supposed to wear for that secret thing tomorrow?

Cam: How the hell should I know?

Me: Well you could at least tell me where we’re going.

Cam: I repeat. How the hell should I know?

I’d had every intention of running home to shower and change before meeting Laura, but Cam’s curt texts annoyed me, and I decided to ride straight to her house. It was, of course, a mistake because now I was even less fit to be seen in public.

But what was done was done.

I pushed my bike up to the walkway of the white-brick two-story with classic bones and rock-and-roll touches. It sat on a whimsical garden of a corner lot a few blocks back from Main Street. There was a basketball hoop in the driveway, a bird feeder hanging in one of the big windows next to the front stoop, and a resin dragon spitting water into a small burbling pool.

I left my bike in the grass and dragged myself up the walkway. The gothic purple front door opened before I reached the top step.

“Hey,” Laura said by way of a greeting. She was dressed casually in shorts, a tank, and Nikes—all in black. But her smoky-eye makeup, red lips, and platinum-blond hair made her look ready for some kind of fashion photo shoot.

I, on the other hand, looked like I was ready to be rehydrated with an IV.

“Thank you so much for driving,” I wheezed. “I honestly don’t think I could have pedaled another block.”

“You should really think about getting a car,” Laura observed.

“Things didn’t exactly end well with the last one,” I reminded her.

“I saw the video. I think we can both agree that Goose was more to blame.”

“Yeah, well, now I’m emotionally scarred.”

“Aren’t we all? Come on in. I’ll grab my bag and we can go.”

The small foyer opened directly into the stairs to the second floor. There was a large living room to my right and a small den that looked as if it had been converted into a cramped bedroom on the left.

Laura led the way into the dining room. I spotted a family photo gallery that looked frozen in time. Laura and her groom—a very handsome Black man in formal military uniform—danced under rows of glowing string lights in front of a band. I recognized a younger, though still teenaged, Wesley smirking at the camera as he jogged down a basketball court. Harrison mugged in frame, holding a sizable fish on the end of a line. And a girl who had to be their sister smiled shyly from a stage in tights and a leotard.

The dining room opened into a tight but orderly kitchen. A folding table held a hot plate and electric griddle shoved up against the island in place of barstools. Clean dishes and cooking paraphernalia were stacked neatly on every available flat surface.

Laura grabbed a belt bag off a hook on the wall and slung it over her shoulder. “You want some water or maybe a second to clean up a little bit before we go?”

“I would really appreciate both,” I admitted.

“I’ll get the water. Powder room’s through there,” she said, pointing at a door off the kitchen.

“Oh my God. I had no idea that many kinds of tile existed,” I said, sagging against the leather seat of Laura’s snazzy adapted Jeep Cherokee hours later. We’d powered through tile, carpet, wallpaper, and kitchen and bathroom fixtures. I couldn’t remember half of the things I’d picked. “Do you think the swan head tub filler is too over-the-top?”

“Yes. Which is why it’s perfect,” Laura said as she transferred from wheelchair to driver’s seat.

She reached around and snatched a flyer off her windshield. It was another rump for chief sign promising strict enforcement of grass height and a ban on all house paints deemed “too colorful.”

“Wow, she sure gets around,” I noted.

She rolled her eyes as she began to efficiently disassemble her wheelchair. “She probably organized a leaflet drop from a crop duster. Here, put this in the back seat,” she said, handing me the backrest.

Once the chair was stowed, Laura shut her door and glanced at her smartwatch.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. What do you say we get?—”

“Food? Please tell me you were about to say food because my stomach has already eaten through its own lining.”

“There’s a decent place a couple blocks from here. Just don’t tell my brothers I took you there,” she said and shifted the SUV into gear.

“I would never betray a confidence that feeds me. Though you’ve kind of piqued my author nosiness.”

“We’re in Dominion right now,” Laura said, as if that explained anything.

“Uh-huh. I see.”

Her smirk was a mirror of Cam’s as she pulled onto the road.

“Dominion is the county seat. We share a border with them. The line goes right through Emilie Rump’s place. Dominion has a bigger lake, a busier town, and a hell of a lot more tourists. And they’re pretty much assholes about it,” she explained. “They’re kind of like the cool, entitled jock in high school who thinks he’s God’s gift to everyone and Story Lake is like the cute, quirky dork that gets shoved into their locker.”

“Ugh. I hated those kids,” I said.

“Dominion’s attitude is even worse now that we had to contract with their police department. It’ll be nice to take back a little power with Levi as chief.”

I nodded at Emilie’s flyer. “Do you think he’ll win?”

“He better,” she said grimly.

A minute later, she turned onto a main thoroughfare. Unlike Story Lake, there were plenty of cars here, jostling for parking, honking at jaywalking pedestrians carrying shopping bags and cases of beer. The storefronts were all occupied, most with neon signs promising that life was better at the lake or offering free shots of Jaeger.

Laura squeezed into the last accessible parking space at the end of a block jam-packed with restaurants, bars, and souvenir stores. I stood guard against a never-ending parade of electric scooters, motorcycles, and cars while she quickly reassembled her chair.

“I don’t like this,” I said as she wheeled herself into traffic in order to catch the ramp at the end of the sidewalk. I could only imagine how pissed Cam would be if his sister got hit by a teenager on a scooter just for trying to feed me mozzarella sticks.

“I’m not a fan either,” she said as we ate the exhaust of an Escalade. “But you gotta go where the ramps are. Come on.”

The restaurant was thankfully slightly easier to navigate, though the wooden planks of the ramp were warped and split. It made me think of the accessible entrances I’d seen at the lodge and Angelo’s. They were newer and in significantly better shape.

All thoughts of accessibility flew out of my head when a hot pants–clad hostess led us through a gauntlet of tables and people. We lost her when I had to clear a path between a cluster of rowdy high-top tables but finally found her waiting for us on the covered deck where music blared from overhead speakers. A wide expanse of lake unfolded in front of us. There was a staircase that led down to a dock that was full of Jet Skis and small boats.

These weren’t the quiet waters of Story Lake. This was spring break on steroids, Poconos style. Jet Skis zigzagged in and out of the paths of other motorized boats flying novelty flags that said things like I Heart Hot Moms and My Dinghy’s Bigger Than Yours . Pontoon boats with slides bobbed in wild wakes. Groups of twentysomethings floated in inner tubes lashed to a tiki bar barge.

The frenetic energy made me and my deodorant-less armpits feel like we didn’t belong, but I was weak with hunger and willing to put up with a little chaos if it meant sustenance.

The hostess said something I didn’t catch before leaving us with sticky menus at the table.

“I know the saying ‘If it’s too loud, you’re too old,’” I shouted over the music. “But I think I’m too old!”

“Cozy, right?” Laura bellowed back.

“The food better be good,” I yelled.

“It’s not. But you’re one of us now, so I wanted you to see what we’re up against.”

We screamed our order to a handsome, boyish server who didn’t bother making eye contact with us because he was too busy flirting with the equally handsome and boyish bartender.

I cupped my hands. “So, come here often?”

“Not if I can help it,” she called back.

There was an outdoorsy couple dressed for some outdoorsy sport like tennis or golf at the table next to us. I put them in their sixties, possibly retired. They were holding their ears and glaring at the speaker above them.

I felt my phone vibrate against my leg and pulled it out to check my messages.

Cam: You haven’t annoyed me in a while. Are you still on two wheels or are you maimed in a ditch somewhere?

Well, would you look at that? The burly contractor was worried about me. I was formulating a witty reply when the server returned with our drinks.

I pounced on the mega pitcher of water he left while Laura picked an ungodly amount of fruit out of her “Skinny Colada.”

“Thank God,” she said at a reasonable level when the volume of the music abated.

I glanced up and saw the retired tennis pro returning to his wife, looking victorious. I’d never been so grateful for a noise complaint.

“Hey, what would you wear on a first date?” I asked.

Laura’s face shuttered, and she cast her gaze out toward the lake, where it looked like everyone was having the best day of their lives. “I don’t know. Haven’t been on one in a long time.”

I kicked myself. Obviously she’d been married. I’d seen the pictures. And she was wearing a wedding band. But no one had mentioned her husband. Maybe he was deployed or they were separated? Maybe I should focus more on not putting my foot in my mouth and less on the lives of virtual strangers?

“Why?” she asked, collecting herself and taking a fortifying slurp of frozen drink.

“I, er…well, I’m writing a new book?—”

“It’s about damn time.”

“Yes, thank you, Zoey Junior. Anyway, I’m feeling a little rusty on the romance part. I recently got a, um…divorce.”

“Okaaaay,” she drawled. “Were you part of a religious cult where divorce was punished by dismemberment or something?”

“No. And if you knew my mother, you’d realize how funny that was.”

Laura’s phone signaled an incoming call at her elbow, but she ignored it.

“Just asking because you looked over both shoulders to make sure no one could hear you whisper the D word.”

“I’m a romance novelist. I’m not supposed to get divorced.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes things don’t work out exactly the way we planned.” She gestured at her wheelchair.

I was a big selfish jerk. Here I was still wallowing in my “woe is me, I got divorced” whineathon when much worse things happened to much better people.

“Don’t.” She pointed an accusing finger at me.

“Don’t what?”

Her phone lit up again, and she stabbed the Ignore button with irritation.

“Don’t do the ‘oh, my problems are nothing compared to the poor unfortunate hottie in the wheelchair.’”

“First of all, I don’t sound that mopey, do I?”

Laura’s shrug was moderately softened by a small wry smile.

“Secondly, I wasn’t doing that,” I lied.

She snorted. “Please. Yes, you were. Everybody does it. But guess what? The worst thing that ever happened to you is still the worst thing that ever happened to you. You don’t have to feel guilty that something even worse didn’t happen. That’s really fuckin’ stupid.”

“Were you this wise before the whole wheelchair thing or did it give you magical powers to understand the meaning of the universe?”

Laura grinned. “I think we’re going to be good friends—oh fuck.”

“Oh fuck what?” I demanded.

“Nina.” She said the name like it was synonymous with baby seal murder.

“Who or what is Nina?” I asked, craning my neck to look around the deck.

A Nordic-looking blond in a sexy suit and skyscraper heels flashed us a red-lipped smile. Her skin was flawless, her makeup subtle, classy. There wasn’t a hair out of place in her sleek side-part ponytail. She had a California tan and finishing school posture.

I felt like a microwaved troll doll by comparison.

“Laura, how lovely to see you on the right side of the tracks,” she purred.

I didn’t care for Nina.

Laura’s laugh was hilariously ungenuine. “Same old Nina. How’s your Jet Ski fuel–scented summer, Madam Mayor?”

“It’s another banner year for Dominion,” Nina said with a sharp smile. “We’re making so much money, I just don’t know what we’re going to do with it all. But I’m sure Story Lake is in the same boat.”

“Lake puns. So much fun,” Laura said, baring her teeth in a phony grin.

“Well, I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ve got a ribbon cutting to get to. Stop by again and we’ll do coffee. Can you believe we’re opening our fourth café? Tell your brother I said hi.”

“Which one? You dated so many of them,” Laura shot back.

I picked up my pitcher of water and drank while enjoying the snarky back-and-forth. Ah, to be that quick in real time. My best insults didn’t come to me until hours later.

“Oh, you.” Nina waved away Laura’s barely veiled insult, her rosy-pink nails catching the sunlight. “It’s so nice to see you still have that wicked sense of humor after everything that’s happened.”

“Some things never change. Although I guess that can’t be said for Cam. Nina, this is Hazel, Cam’s girlfriend. Isn’t that fabulous ?”

Nina’s arctic-blue eyes finally found their way to me. She didn’t bother to hide the arch of skeptical eyebrows. I glued my palms to the table to keep myself from trying to straighten my hair under her scrutiny.

“’Sup?” I said.

“How… interesting . I’m sure you two will be so happy together. Bye now!”

I watched her leave in her annoyingly stylish shorts suit. “She’s like a sexy cartoon villain.”

“’ Sup ?” Laura repeated on a strangled laugh.

“Shut up! Beautiful mean women intimidate me.”

“’Sup!” She cackled.

“And how did you know I’m going out with Cam? He told me not to tell anyone!”

She went silent mid-cackle.

“Oh shit. You were just baiting her. Ha. Ha. Good one. So funny. Do you want a drink? I want a drink. Maybe I’ll go to the bar and get one.”

Laura’s hand snaked out and closed around my wrist. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re dating Cam? As in my brother? As in Cactus Cam the Grumpasaurus Rex?”

“No! Definitely not. Well, not really. I just asked for his help with some research.”

“Research that involves going on a date?”

“I wouldn’t call it a date. I basically blackmailed him into it. He’s just going to take me out tomorrow for food…probably. Hopefully. But I’m taking my notebook, so it’s definitely not a real date. Because who would take notes on a real date, am I right? And I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone and now he’s going to use this as an excuse to back out of it and I’ll never get this book written.”

Laura sat there in silence.

“What?” I demanded.

“I was just waiting for you to hyperventilate or pass out.”

“There’s still time,” I squeaked. I covered my face with my hands. “Why am I so bad at peopling in real life?”

“Relax,” she said.

I could hear the smile in her voice and dropped my hands. “You’re not going to tell him?”

“Oh, I’m definitely going to tell him at some point. I’m his little sister. It’s my job to emotionally destroy him as often as possible. But I can wait.”

My shoulders sagged in relief. “Thank you. I really need this fake date.”

“From where I sit, it looks like you could also use some fake sex.”

I shook my head. “This is purely platonic. All I want to do is write a book, hide in my house, and get a cat. I’m over the whole relationship thing.”

“Mm-hmm. Sure. So what are you going to wear?” Laura asked. “Because I know a place.”

Laura ripped down the two rump for chief flyers on our way into Daisy Angel, Story Lake’s own hip clothing boutique two storefronts down from the bookstore.

It smelled like an expensive combination of eucalyptus and cedar inside. The store had peacock-blue walls—the color I was absolutely going to steal for my sitting room—and eye-catching displays of cute everything. I was two feet inside the store, and I’d already noted a sweater, a throw pillow, and a pair of high-waisted trousers that I coveted.

Zoey was going to love this place.

A woman with smooth brown skin, a lot of sleek black hair piled on top of her head, and a sleeveless sweater the color of poppies appeared from the back. She had half a dozen bracelets climbing her arm and a tablet in her hand.

“Hey, Laur! How’d you like those leggings?” she asked in a deliciously crisp British accent.

“Loved. You were right about the stretchiness. I shimmied into them in less time than it takes me to get into my skinny jeans,” Laura said, snatching an artfully distressed Blondie band T-shirt off the nearest display. “Okay, we’re not officially shopping for me, but this is mine now.”

“I’ll take it up to the new and improved register area,” the fashionable stranger offered.

Laura scoped out the long low ivory table that held a sleek point-of-sale system. “Accessible and sexy. Nicely done.”

“Well, I was sick of talking to the top of your head when you came in. So you’re welcome.”

“Hazel, meet Sunita. Sunita, this is Hazel,” Laura said, making the introductions.

Sunita grinned. “Ah, the vindicated bird killer.”

“I prefer romance novelist, but I’ll take what I can get. It’s nice to meet you. I love your store, Sunita.”

“Call me Sunny. And I’d love it more if we got some more foot traffic…or wheel traffic,” she teased, eyeing Laura’s chair.

Laura rolled her eyes. “Sunny and I go way back.”

“High school way back,” Sunny filled in.

“She’s one of the few people who remained completely unfiltered after my accident. I had to talk my poor mother-in-law out of throwing herself off a metaphorical bridge when I came home from the hospital and she suggested we go for a walk,” Laura explained.

I winced in secondhand embarrassment. That sounded exactly like something I would have said and then freaked out over.

“What are we shopping for?” Sunny asked.

Laura thrust a sleeveless knit romper in black at me. “Something summery like this. Go try it on.”

“Apparently, I’m going to try this on,” I announced.

Sunny pointed me to the fitting rooms along the back wall.

The romper showed off a lot more leg and boob than I was used to. But Laura assured me it was perfect for research purposes and who was I to doubt her? I also bought a pair of tuxedo pants that I had no place to wear, a cropped white sweater that looked like it was made from the innards of a teddy bear, two pairs of jeans that magically made my butt look amazing, and a suede motorcycle jacket in green.

Laura ended up with three tees and a pair of stonewashed jeans that I wished I’d seen first.

As Sunny rang our treasures up, the diabolical Laura turned to me with a wicked grin. “You know, there’s a really cool furniture store near here. I bet we could find some treasures for your house.”

Before I knew it, I’d bought a pair of nightstands, an upholstered ottoman in eggplant purple, and a marshmallow-white couch that could comfortably swallow up half a dozen people. The husband was already on the phone with their driver to schedule delivery when I walked out shell-shocked.

My head hit the headrest in Laura’s vehicle with a thump. “Oh my God. I’m definitely going to have to write a shopping montage into this book. Maybe then I can write some of this stuff off.”

“You did good, kid. You opened that wallet like a champ,” Laura said cheerfully.

“The last time I spent that much money shopping in one day was…never. And I once went shoe shopping after bottomless mimosas.”

“I figured it wouldn’t hurt to buy some goodwill for you…since you’re dating my brother and all.”

“Har har.”

“Oh my God.” She sighed dramatically as she looked at her phone.

“What’s wrong?”

She tossed me the phone and buckled in. “Here’s some light reading for our drive back.”

It was a message app open to a group called Mom and Dad Are in This Group Be Cool.

Cam: Any reports of a bike vs vehicle or bike vs eagle accident today?

Levi: You worried about Hazel on her bike?

Mom: I don’t mean this in a misogynistic stereotyping way at all, but I sure hope she’s better on a bike than behind the wheel.

Dad: I saw her zip past the store today like she was in the Tour de Frances. You worried?

Cam: France, Dad. And no. Just making conversation.

Gage: I’m sure she’s fine. Also, I type the following with a disclaimer that no one is to panic or jump to conclusions, but Laur hasn’t responded to the hilarious meme I sent her two hours ago or the follow-up text.

Levi: She didn’t answer when I called this afternoon.

Dad: She was supposed to take Hazel shopping for finishes today. If they’re both missing, they’re probably together.

Cam: God help us all.

Mom: I’m going to her house.

Gage: I’ll drive around and see if her car is parked somewhere.

Cam: I’ll check in with the kids while I take the north end of town.

“Wow.” I handed her the phone, feeling both appalled and flattered.

“You get in one horrific accident while out for a run and your family never lets you forget it,” Laura grumbled. She stabbed the video call button.

“Where the hell have you been?” Cam snarled a second later.

“Did something happen? Is there an emergency?” Laura’s mom, Pep, demanded.

“Is Hazel with you?” Levi asked.

“I told you she was fine,” Frank said at the same time.

“Let’s all calm down now,” Gage cut in.

“Listen to me, you codependent circus. We’re two adult women out doing adult women things. Here’s your proof of life,” she said, pointing the camera at me. I waved. “Now get a grip, and no one is allowed to text or call me for twenty-four hours.”