Chapter Twenty-Six
Potato Sack Style
Hazel
Lake town summers come the closest to perfection that one could ask for; southern breezes whispering through weeping willows, dripping mint chip ice cream in waffle cones, damp swimsuits under loose clothes, and grilled food enjoyed around a full table.
This is, of course, my personal opinion on the matter. One not everyone will agree with. But sitting on Sam’s dock while everyone lines up for morning skiing is the epitome of a summer morning. The dock warms my bare legs, the water is cool on my toes, and the endless chatter around me sparks a contented smile.
“To be fair,” Jordan says, one foot propped on the hull of the 1995 Ski Nautique, “Collie hasn’t been working out recently. We don’t even know if he can get his butt out of the water.”
Colton scoffs good-naturedly. “It’s not like I’ve been desk jockeying like you.”
“Well, actually, you have.” Sam straightens in the boat, ski rope in one hand and ski gloves in the other. “At least, when you’re in Omaha during the week.”
Cheyenne raises her hands when Colton looks at her. “Uh-uh. I’m staying out of this one.”
“How about age order?” Sydney suggests. Jordan’s girlfriend thinks nearly as black-and-white as he does, but she still flushes when Jordan drops a kiss on her forehead.
“Aunt Graham and Uncle Ember are here!” Jolene hollers as she runs down the sloped backyard, barefoot, wearing a pink and orange one piece swimsuit. She skids to a stop before the dock and frowns. “Wait. I said that wrong, didn’t I?”
Jordan swings her into his arms. “Unless they exchanged names and vows yesterday, yes. You did.”
“Don’t drop me,” Jolene squeals.
“Yeah, Mr. Muscles,” Colton teases. “Don’t drop Jojo. Unless…”
Nash picks up where Colt left off. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
“I do believe I am,” Colton says sagely. Then, in unison with Nash, “Dunk her in!”
“ No ,” Jolene shrieks.
Jordan marches toward the end of the dock purposefully. “You heard your uncles. In the water you go.”
Jolene clings to her father’s torso with enough strength to turn her knuckles white. I doubt he’ll go through with it, but their interactions surface memories from my own childhood.
Mama, chastising my father from the back porch with a hand embroidered dish towel clasped between her fingers, and Daddy, flashing one of his most charming grins with me latched onto him.
This town and these houses and these docks have been part of me since I was seven years old. They were tucked away during my years in Atlanta, but never forgotten. I believe you cannot forget crucial moments in your life, and many of mine happened here.
Learning how to swim. My thirteenth birthday party, when the floaties blew away before we could use them. Getting my driver’s license. Mine and Sam’s first kiss. Discovering my passion for floral arrangement.
Memories—the smallest and the biggest—all link me back to this magical place.
“Well, well, well.” Colton’s smug voice breaks into my thoughts. “I see that the newlyweds have finally decided to grace us with their presence.” He looks pointedly at his bare wrist. “An hour late?”
Graham rolls his eyes, but for the first time since I met him last year, he can’t seem to stop smiling. Nor can Ember. She’s tucked into her new husband’s side, a pink sundress fluttering around her thighs. I wonder if she picked out the pink, pineapple dotted boardshorts Graham wears with a gray Del Ray Development t-shirt.
“We’re only ten minutes late,” Graham says. “And you’re not wearing a watch.”
Colton gasps, hands pressed to his cheeks and eyes wide. “I’m not?”
“We’re trying to decide who gets to ski first,” Sam explains, hip propped against the driver’s console of the boat.
Love swells in my chest. For his smile, and for the man himself. Strong legs in black swim trunks, a white short-sleeve linen button up, and Oakleys tipped over his eyes. I fell in love with Sam for who he is inside, then and now, but looking at him still makes me fizzier than a glass of 1919 root beer.
I realize, now, that he’s looking directly at me. And so is everyone else. Thankful for the sun as an excuse for my flushed cheeks, I lift my eyebrows. “What did I miss?”
“Dad said you should ski first,” Graham says.
My widened eyes snap to Sam’s. “Oh, no. It’s been—”
“Not too long,” Sam cuts in. I bet his eyes are twinkling. He grins at me before turning to the kids. “Back in the day, the very lovely Hazel Palmer was the water skier to beat.”
“Sam,” I say chidingly. But I’m smiling.
“Lilah,” he counters, brow arched. “You can try to tell me I’m wrong, but I will go find my mother’s newspaper article from the summer before our junior year of high school.”
My stomach swoops. “You still have it?”
His full attention settles on me. “Of course, I do.”
The implication that I thought otherwise makes my chest twinge. I mean, Lizzie used to be a journalist, so still having her articles isn’t surprising. But I don’t think that’s entirely why they were saved.
“I haven’t—”
“Colton!” Indi hollers from the back deck, hands propped on her hips. “I need help!”
“Yeah, we know,” he replies lightly.
I can’t tell, but I bet his sister rolls her eyes.
Cheyenne touches his arm on his way by her. It’s brief enough that no one else notices, but it feels important. As does their eye contact before Colton dips his chin and treks up the backyard. Indi leads him around the house toward the garage.
“I mean…” Jordan dangles a pair of ski gloves in front of me. “It’s never too late, right?”
I sigh. All it takes is one look at the identical grins Sam, Jordan, and Graham wear to make my decision. Who cares if the last time I skied was over forty years ago?
“Okay,” I say, but I hold up a hand when the boys cheer. “But I’m going on two.”
“Oh, no, my dear,” Sam says, tossing me a life jacket. “Slalom or nothing.”
Twenty minutes, three tries, and two full laps later, I wonder how I’ve gone so long without skiing. The pull of your body out of the water, the feel of the ski or skis under your feet while maneuvering from wake to wake, the warmth of the lake after you drop. If my legs hadn’t felt like jelly, I’d have kept going.
Now, I’m wrapped in a freshly dried beach towel on the passenger seat of the Ski Nautique. Jolene is tucked next to me, and she cheers while her father gets his ski situated with the rope. I know he’s concerned about how his weaker shoulder will handle the pull, but if I can do it, I’ve no doubt Jordan can too.
“Hit it,” he hollers to his dad.
Sam pushes the throttle, giving it notably more gas to pull his oldest son out than for me. Jordan wobbles momentarily, but he balances out. He releases his right hand to adjust his swim trunks. Jolene bounces with excitement, and I see Sam’s smile before he glances over his shoulder.
I can’t help but think this is how life should be. The vibration of the humming boat motor. Sam giving Colton a hard time when it takes him five tries to do what I did in three. Jolene using the children’s skis that are strapped together, and almost getting up on her seventh try, her dad and uncles coaching her. Colton helping Milo get situated on the inflatable EZ-Ski and wrapping him in the fluffiest towel after a short lap around the bay.
It’s not novel; we’re certainly not the only lake people who dedicate a Sunday morning to such activities. But it is the quintessential summer morning, and we follow it with grilled burgers, fresh watermelon, and chips for lunch. We sit in the backyard under the shade of a gnarled oak tree, our folding lawn chairs set up in a semi-circle. Jimmy Buffett’s voice drifts in from a boat anchored offshore, and the children play contentedly in the newly installed sandbox nearby.
“Admit it,” Colton says after lunch, hands propped behind his head. “This is what you were most looking forward to.”
Graham looks up from the gift bags he’s sorting. I think it’s by color, and Ember doesn’t seem to care when they open what. I can’t help but compare today to the day after my own wedding. Here, in Sam’s backyard, hot summer wind rustles damp hair and children’s laughter echoes from the sandbox while several conversations flow at once.
My wedding was an extravagant affair, but it wasn’t like this. There had been no handwritten vows, no Play That Funky Music on the dance floor, and certainly no late-night lake swim in our wedding attire. The morning after? Tom went right back to working on political paperwork, dashing my hopes of a slow, soft Sunday with my new husband.
Sam senses the shift in my mood. He leans over and rests his hand on the nape of my neck, fingertips massaging gently. “Is everything all right, my dear?”
I know I can’t lie. From the very first day my family moved into the cottage next door, Sam has seen directly through me. When my mother took me to meet our new neighbors—significantly wealthier neighbors, considering the size difference of our houses—I told Sam that I didn’t like it here.
He stared at me, took me by the hand, and pulled me through the entryway. He pointed through the big windows and told me, in no uncertain terms, that I had to like it here with that view.
I have never bluffed with him again.
“Everything’s fine,” I say honestly. “I’m just thinking about how different the Sunday morning after my wedding was.”
Understanding creases his eyes. “Believe me, love. I’ve thought the same thing. But,” he adds, lifting my hand to his lips, “we get a second chance. We can make it whatever we want it to be this time.”
A second chance.
Just last year, I didn’t believe I deserved one of those. I wasn’t convinced anyone truly got them. But that was how I used to think. That version of myself didn’t know how to open her eyes to the true beauty of the world around her.
“No. No way,” Graham says flatly. “You’re kidding me right now, Colton.”
Sam’s fingertips dance along my shoulder, and I hide a smile behind my hand. Not only had Colton put his gifts in a pink and white mushroom print bag, but everything Graham pulls out is also fungi themed. Hot pads, dish towels, napkin holders, water glasses; even a pitcher that matches.
“Poppy the Mushroom should be a full house kind of thing, not hidden away in the guest room,” Colton says with a shrug. “Oh, and the little figurine in there is a timer. Thought Em could use it for her writing sprints or something.”
Ember clutches the tiny timer to her chest and gets up to give her brother-in-law a hug. “I’ll have to fight Graham for it,” she teases. “He’ll want it in his office for work sprints. Or, you know, when he’s trying to bake a cake for Jolene’s birthday.”
Colton laughs and squeezes her. “Honestly, I wouldn’t put it past him. The buzzer is super obnoxious, though, so don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Graham rolls his eyes and carefully places everything back in the bag. “You aren’t as funny as you think you are.” His expression softens when he looks at Ember. “Except for you, Mrs. Del Ray.”
Cheeks pink, Ember kisses her husband’s cheek before lifting the next gift onto her lap. She starts to pull something from the large bag, then looks at Sydney. “Oh, my gosh, Syd. Are you serious right now?”
Sydney shrugs, her fingers laced through Jordan’s where they rest on his thigh. “Your husband was the brains behind it. I was just the executioner.”
“That,” Jordan teases, “makes you sound like a killer, Sunshine.”
“ Shh ,” she scolds. “Don’t let my secret out, Rookie.”
Jordan laughs and lifts her hand to his mouth, kissing her knuckles.
Indi clears her throat. She looks pointedly at Sydney, arms crossed over her chest.
“Oh,” Sydney says. “Indi finagled getting the same font as your book cover onto it.”
Ember turns the rectangular canvas to face us. I place a hand over my heart. A sunset engagement picture taken at Palmer’s Park Beach has been blown up into a “book cover.” Indi made it nearly identical to Ember’s own novel, and titled it Our Love Story , authored by Graham & Ember Del Ray, their wedding date at the top.
I’m not sure anyone could’ve thought of a more thoughtful gift if they tried.
Ember presses her lips together and looks at Graham. He only smiles and cups her chin in his hand, leaning forward to kiss her softly. I imagine very few words could adequately convey their love for each other in this moment.
Jolene races across the backyard with great purpose. Milo isn’t far behind with a sailboat in his hand and his bare belly covered in sand.
“Did you already open mine?” Jolene asks Graham breathlessly. She spins to face Jordan and Sydney. “You were supposed to tell me when they were opening presents, Daddy!” She pivots just as quickly, and she shrieks when she sees a small pink gift bag. She presses it into Graham’s hands. “Open this one next!”
Jordan clears his throat pointedly.
Jolene gives him a sheepish look over her shoulder. “ Please. ”
Graham lifts Jolene onto his knee. “Do I need to be scared? Is it going to blow up or something?”
“I wish,” Colton teases.
“ Colton James ,” Gran scolds.
Dutifully, Sam’s middle son gives his grandmother an apologetic smile. She only shakes her head and laughs softly.
“ No ,” Jolene says, laughing. She straightens, all business, and plucks the gift bag from her uncle’s hands. “Actually, Aunt Ember should open it.”
“Hey!” Graham protests indignantly. “What if I wanted to open it?”
Jolene and Ember blink innocently. Graham bear hugs his niece to his chest while Ember takes the bag. She removes pink tissue paper from the top, then looks up when she pulls a tiny onesie from the bag.
“She saw it a few weeks ago downtown,” Sydney explains. “I told her you didn’t need it yet, but…”
I’m not sure who is flushed deeper—Ember or Graham. Ember leans over to hug Jolene, going along with it. “I love it, Jo. Thank you.”
“Whenever a baby does come along,” Graham tells his niece, completely serious, “we’ll tell you first so you can stock up on diapers for us.”
Jolene tries to escape, but Graham doesn’t let her go. He stands and glances at Jordan. His oldest brother nods. Graham takes off for the dock, carrying a squealing Jolene potato sack style. I wouldn’t be surprised if they both end up in the water this time because it’s become so hot.
Milo tugs Colton’s hand. “Can you come help me? All the sand just crumbles!”
Colton eases to his feet and lets Milo lead him to the sandbox. Jordan seizes the pause in gift-opening to snag a towel from the deck railing for Jolene, and Sam grabs one for Graham, the two of them laughing on their way to the dock.
“So,” Sydney says, wiggling her brows. “Do tell, new wifey, why were you two late this morning?”
Ember balls up a piece of tissue paper and tosses it at Sydney. “You’re terrible.”
“But you love me,” Sydney says, tucking a humidity-frizzed curl behind her ear.
Indi points her bare toes at a red gift bag. “That one can be opened without the guys. Chey and I came up with it.”
“It’s not a baby onesie,” Cheyenne says. She grins and adds, “Not yet , that is.”
“At least you know your babies will be good looking,” Sydney says. “ And they’ll have the coolest aunts.”
“And grandmother and great-grandmother,” Gran adds.
“Definitely,” Ember agrees. She pulls a small square sign from the red bag, and she laughs as she turns it.
A married grumpy man and a married lovely lady live here it reads. It’s identical to the one Colton had gifted them only a couple months ago, except for the addition of married.
“That is absolutely going on your front door,” Sydney tells her.
“At least the grumpy disclosure prevents anyone from stealing your man,” Indi says.
“I could paint some mushrooms on it,” Cheyenne offers with a grin.
Laughter weaves through our little circle. The boys come back drenched, and we squeal when our respective men wrap us in soaked bear hugs. I feel a little bit like that little girl with her dad again because that same magical feeling hovers in my chest.
I hope it never goes away.