twelve | emberly
TWELVEEmberly
Natural light pours in through a window that looks like it was strategically placed in that very spot to capture the morning sun. Exposed beams crisscross the ceiling, but pale blue walls add a touch of whimsy that tone down the rustic vibe.
The floor creaks underneath my feet and even though Will didn’t say this area was off limits, it still feels a little like I’m trespassing as I venture inside.
The furnishings are sparse in comparison to the rest of the apartment. A long table, shrouded in a white sheet, stretches from one end of the room to the other. I turn into Nancy Drew, the heroine of my adolescence thanks to Nona’s collection of first editions, and lift up a corner of the sheet.
And feel stupid. So, so stupid.
No wonder Will had hesitated when Iris suggested that I stay in the studio.
The neat stack of blank canvasses, the bouquet of paint brushes in a Mason jar (the lack of a kitchen and a bed) completely destroys my assumption Iris was referring to an apartment.
The entire upper level of the building is an actual studio studio.
I poke around a little more and find an easel leaning against the back wall. On the ledge is a half-finished watercolor of the lake that should be hanging in a gallery.
Do the Hartleys rent this space out to guests? Or is it someone’s private retreat?
There’s a knock on the outside door and my heart jumps in response.
I retrace my footsteps and see Iris standing on the landing. Unlike me, she’s already dressed for the day in denim shorts and a T-shirt.
My pajamas, a tank top and boxer set that matches the ones I gave to the Suite Sixteens for Christmas our junior year, covers more territory than a swimsuit, but the top is showing signs of age—and I’m not wearing a bra. I am, however, still wearing Will’s flannel shirt.
“Jus a second!” I peel it off and grab a sweater out of my suitcase instead. Yank it over my head before I open the door. “Good morning.”
“Blackberry muffins.” Iris holds up a wicker basket. “They’re still warm.”
“Come in.” My stomach, who’s never voiced an opinion about Hazel’s culinary masterpieces, gurgles in appreciation.
I usually skip breakfast, but the fresh air must be doing something to my appetite.
“Weren’t you going fishing this morning?”
Iris bounces into the room and sets the basket on the coffee table. “It’s eight o’clock.”
“Too early?” I guess. I love to eat fresh fish but don’t know the first thing about catching them.
“We went out at five.”
“Five am? Are the fish awake at that hour?” I tease.
Iris giggles. “Uh huh.”
I peel back the tea towel draped over the basket and my mouth begins to water. If I stay here until Saturday, Sven is going to increase the number of crunches in my workout routine.
“Did you make these?”
“Uh huh … but it’s my mom’s recipe.”
“They look delicious. Please tell her thank you.”
“She’s in heaven with my dad.”
Iris says this so matter-of-factly that it takes a moment for the words to sink in. Even then, something inside me rejects them as truth.
She’s too young to have lost both her parents.
I don’t know what to say, so I recite the words she’s probably heard too many times. “Iris … I’m so sorry.”
I was older than Iris when my parents split up but I still cried myself to sleep a lot, wondering if there was anything I could have done to keep our family together.
Wondering why it was so easy for them to walk away.
I don’t see Mom very often anymore, but I can’t imagine not being able to pick up the phone and call her.
“I was five when they died.” Something dims the sparkle in Iris’s eyes, but it looks like a wish for something out of reach more than a memory. “Lexi and Brighton, they’re my sisters, don’t live here anymore, so me and Will take care of the resort now.”
At the campfire, Iris mentioned she was twelve, so that means she would have been in kindergarten when her parents died.
Her parents … and Will’s.
How had it happened?
Iris had mentioned she was glad her mom’s favorite flower wasn’t a chrysanthemum, but she hadn’t spoken about her in the past tense. And because Will uses the word “we” whenever he talks about the resort, I assumed it was a family business.
And it is. Only he’s the one in charge. Of Pinehart and his little sister.
My heart aches for both of them.
“I’ll bet you’re a big help to Will,” I tell Iris. “I wasn’t expecting room service.”
Her smile returns. “You didn’t have anything for breakfast.”
I break one of the muffins in half and pop a piece into my mouth. “Mmmm. I won’t tell Hazel these are better than hers. Do you want one?”
“I already ate two,” Iris confesses. “What are you going to do today?”
Funny. I was wondering the same thing.
“I’m not sure yet.”
Iris bites her lip. “I could show you around the resort,” she offers almost shyly.
“I’d love that.” A tour sounds better than going for a run. Especially if Iris is my guide. “Let me finish my coffee and get dressed first.”
Iris beams again.
When I emerge from the bathroom a few minutes later, Iris has converted my bed back into a sofa. The blankets are folded, the cushions in place, the pillows plumped.
“You didn’t have to do that!”
Iris shrugs. “I don’t mind.”
I believe her. When it comes to hospitality, she could give the concierge at a five-star hotel a run for their money.
Will—Mr. Tall, Dark, and Abrupt—could take lessons from his little sister.
Juniper lopes out of the woods as we reach the bottom of the stairs and comes right over to me, tail wagging happily, as if she recognizes The Onion Ring Lady. I reach down to scratch her ears. At least two of the Hartleys have accepted my presence here.
I follow Iris down a footpath that weaves through the trees. No one else has ventured outside yet.
“I’m sorry your friends aren’t here,” she says unexpectedly.
“That’s all right. If I’d known they were going on the canoe trip, I’m not sure I would have gone along,” I admit cheerfully.
Or given up my phone.
Some of my clients aren’t big on patience. I know several who would hire a private investigator to track me down if they couldn’t reach me for three days.
“Why do you call them the Suite Sixteens?”
“When we were freshmen in college, we ended up sharing a dorm.” I smile at the memory. “It was number sixteen, so everyone started calling us that. We didn’t know each other when we got there, but over the next four years we became best friends.”
“Eden is my best friend,” Iris tells me. “I don’t see her much in the summer, though, because she goes to hockey camp.”
“You don’t like to play hockey?”
“Will needs my help.”
An answer that’s an answer in itself.
Does Will know how seriously Iris takes her responsibilities at the resort?
She was the one who offered me a place to stay. Showed up at the door with breakfast. Made up the bed.
Will is gruff. Rough around the edges.
Was managing a resort something he wanted to do? Or had circumstances forced him into the role?
“Are you afraid of the water?” Iris’s question yanks me back to the present.
“No.” Thanks to Nona’s constant scoldings about rip tides and jellyfish, I grew up with a healthy respect for the ocean, but I still prefer to … admire it from a distance.
“Good! I’ll show you how to paddleboard.”
Paddleboard?
“I don’t know—” I start to hedge but Iris is already skipping toward a small, cedar-sided shed near the lake.
“You’ll love it! It’s fun!”
“Shouldn’t I change into a swimsuit?” I’m wearing leggings, a sports bra, and tank top, just in case I decided to fit in a short run (up and down Will’s driveway) after the tour.
Iris glances over her shoulder. Grins. “Just don’t fall!”
Just don’t fall.
It’s good advice … and why does Will’s face pop into my mind again?
There might be a smidge of attraction (those broad shoulders, those blue eyes), but there will be no falling.
Will isn’t interested.
Do I want him to be interested?
Am I interested?
No. I’m … intrigued. That’s all.
Iris and I walk past the firepit and suddenly I’m remembering the way Will simultaneously insulted my sweater while wrapping me in his flannel shirt so I wouldn’t get chewed up by mosquitoes.
Maybe he does have a marshmallow center.
Or maybe he doesn’t want me to post a bad review of the resort on TripAdvisor.
I shake thoughts of Will loose and focus on Iris as she grabs one of the standup paddleboards leaning against the side of the shed.
I kick off my sandals and follow Iris’s instructions. There aren’t many, so the next thing I know, I’m gliding over the surface of the water.
There’s no wind. The lake shines like glass and the sun warms my skin.
I like it.
I exhale a breath and loosen my grip on the paddle. Find my balance.
Sure, I’m moving, but the paddleboard isn’t a whole lot bigger than my exercise mat. Which gives me an idea …
I set the paddle down across the front and attempt a simple lunge. I teeter a little, find my balance again, and try another one.
“That was super cool!” Iris copies me and her form is perfection.
I go through the series of poses my yoga instructor taught me. Mid-tree pose, I hear voices and realize we’ve drawn a small crowd.
Two women have hauled their boards down to the shore and paddle in our direction.
“Can you show us how to do that?” She’s the older of the pair, with iron gray curls and lively eyes. She reminds me of Nona’s friend Dottie and I smile.
“Sure.”
“Hey!”
I look up and see a group of tanned, college-age girls standing in the shallow water.
“Is this for anyone?” one of them shouts.
“The more the merrier,” I call out.
The girls join us and together we form a crooked line.
Everyone is looking at me for direction, so I go back to my first-grade ballet lessons, perform a simple plie, and breathe a sigh of relief when I don’t hear a splash.
“You’re doing great!” Now I’m both instructor and cheerleader. “I think we can try something a little more difficult.”