sixteen | will
SIXTEENWill
When I finally have a chance to look at my phone, there’s a bunch of texts from Knox.
The first one is short.
Knox: Dude.
The rest are question marks, all sent at various intervals over the course of the day. I’m surprised he hasn’t shown up at the door, but with Shannon MIA, Knox probably has to stay close to the Grill.
I know exactly what he’s asking, but I can’t help but mess with him a little.
Me: What?
A text comes in immediately, like he was waiting for my response.
Knox: Why Didn’t You Tell Me????
I see his four question marks and raise him another one.
Me: ?????
Knox: That Emberly is staying at your place.
Reeve: Who’s Emberly? What did I miss?
I groan. Reeve was the one who set up our original text loop so we could, in her words, “encourage” each other, but I hoped she wouldn’t see Knox’s message.
Me: I thought you were in the cell free zone.
Reeve: That rule is for the tourists, not the guide. Who is Emberly?
Knox: A woman who’s staying at the resort. Will wants to keep her all to himself.
Reeve: A summer Barbie? No way. Will is smarter than that (emoji face with nerdy glasses)
Me: Thank you.
But even as I hit send, I’m remembering the backless red dress and how Emberly’s skin felt like satin.
I’d have to be dead not to notice how beautiful she is, but that only proves she’s out of my league. Some days, I’m so busy I forget to shave. And my hair …
Clean, but definitely on the shaggy side. Brighton promised she’d cut it when she got home, so I skipped my last appointment at Clyde’s Barber Shop.
I rake my hand through the strands so it doesn’t look like I got my head caught in a fan. I’m not out to impress anyone, but I don’t want to scare small children, either.
Knox: He bought her ice cream at the Den.
Me: I gave her a ride to the grocery store and Cab was with us. It’s not like we were on a date.
Knox: He lied to me about where she was staying.
Me: I didn’t lie.
I’d just changed the subject when he asked if I thought Emberly was staying at the Hackel’s.
Knox: So you don’t mind if I ask her out?
Me: Nope
This time I’m definitely lying.
Knox: Good.
Me: Good
Reeve: (Eye rolling emoji) I have to get back to camp before one of these women breaks a nail and dials 911.
Me: See you Saturday.
Knox: Or before.
Now I want to send an emoji.
Less than a minute later, I get a private text.
Reeve: Remember Serena.
I shove the phone into my back pocket without responding.
The dusk to dawn light pops on and I glance at my watch.
Nine thirty.
Ordinarily, I work on any machinery that needs fixing in the shop, but when you’re trying to avoid the neighbor upstairs, hauling said machinery to the garage seems like the smartest thing to do.
Emberly is … a distraction. She’s sprinkles and whipped cream and chocolate curls. I’m … vanilla. What you see is what you get.
The tractor was fixed over an hour ago, but I knocked off five more things on my to-do list just so I wouldn’t be tempted to see what’s going on at the campfire. It’s getting late, though, and I feel guilty for neglecting Cab.
Emberly claimed she didn’t mind spending time with her, but I do. The minute Emberly’s friends return, they won’t want a twelve-year-old girl crashing their reunion.
I wash the engine gunk off my hands in the utility sink, but the grease stain on the front of my jeans only gets worse when I try to rub it away. I contemplate jumping in the shower, but Reeve’s warning text is still in my head like a piece of shrapnel embedded in my memory.
Remember Serena.
She broke up with me a week after my parents’ funeral.
How could I forget her?
Serena and I met at the campus coffee shop my junior year of college and I was blown away when she sat down at my table.
On purpose. Serena was pre-law but looked like a super model.
To my twenty-two-year-old lizard brain, she was the whole package.
Smart. Beautiful. Confident. I mentioned that I was going home for summer break and the next thing I knew, she and some friends had rented the Hackel place for a week.
A week where she spent more time with me than her friends.
Before Serena left, she made it clear that she wanted to keep seeing me when the semester started again. I was all in. It didn’t matter that Reeve wasn’t a fan or that Knox, for once, kept his opinion to himself. I could see Serena in my future.
Turned out that when my future changed, Serena’s feelings changed, too.
She liked the academic version of Will Hartley.
The future architect who talked about his goals and wore button down shirts to class.
This is who I am now. I spend a lot of time outside.
Jeans and flannel shirts aren’t a stereotype, they can take whatever life throws at them.
Kind of like the people who live here. And my new goal?
To make sure I don’t singlehandedly tank the business my parents poured their hearts and souls into.
To do half as good a job raising Cab as they did with me and Lexi and Brighton.
I glance at Dad’s Jeep, shrouded in a dusty tarp on the other side of the garage, and dread pools in my stomach.
Lexi and Brighton had begged me not to sell it. Dad had taught all three of us to drive in the Jeep he’d restored. It was our getaway vehicle when our parents needed a break from the resort. They’d toss a cooler and a can of bug spray in the back, and off we’d go for the day.
“Hang onto it, Will. Maybe Iris will want to drive it someday,” Lexi had said.
Since Cab was only five years old at the time, it didn’t seem like a big ask. And handing over the keys, seeing someone else in the driver’s seat, was something I didn’t want to think about.
Now, Cab is two and a half years away from getting her learner’s permit.
I’ll be the one teaching her how to drive.
I don’t want to think about that, either.
It occurs to me that I don’t want to think about a lot of things. Is this unhealthy? I’m not sure. All I know is that if I stop moving forward, I could get … stuck. Stuck in my grief. Stuck in the memories. And too many people rely on me to let that happen.
I turn off the light and step outside. The first thing I hear when I emerge from the garage is a squeal of laughter. The perpetual knot in my chest loosens a little. I want people to have fun here. It means they’ll reserve a cabin for next summer. Repeat guests are the lifeblood of Pinehart.
What I’m not expecting to see as I go to look for Cab is half of them gathered around the firepit, voices raised in an off-key version of Declan Murphy’s latest hit.
Or Emberly, bending over the fire with a pudgy pie iron like she’d been making them all of her life.
I freeze like a deer caught in the headlights. People like to use it as an expression, but it actually happens on a daily basis around here. Hence the pickup trucks.
While I’m deciding whether I can make it to the cabin or if I should slink back inside the garage, Cab spots me and waves.
Emberly, who’s carefully scooping apple pie filling onto another piece of bread, looks up from the pudgy pie assembly line spread out on a picnic table bench.
Her cheeks are kissed pink from the heat of the fire. Instead of the backless red dress, she’s wearing loose-fitting pants made out of some crinkly material and a flannel shirt.
My flannel shirt.
It looks better on her.
She gives me a bright smile.
“Do you want one?”
“I’m good.”
I’m not good.
Kyle, one of the fishermen in Sumac, is sitting next to her. He’s an investment banker from Madison whose boat is worth more than my house. He’s also wearing a button-down shirt. And loafers.
For a campfire.
I’m not jealous. I’m annoyed.
I’m even more annoyed when I see the Chicago Cubs ballcap perched on Cab’s head. The one Riley Gilbert never takes off.
I know it isn’t an engagement ring, or even a first date, but I give him a look anyway.
“Time to call it a night, Cab.” My voice comes out too loud, too sharp, and everyone falls silent except for Declan Murphy, who’s still singing about his broken heart.
Cab’s cheeks turn red.
Because I basically told my twelve-year-old sister it was time for bed. I also called her by her childhood nickname even though she’s asked me not to a “bazillion” times.
No wonder she won’t look at me. I just embarrassed her in front of half the resort … and her friends.
Emberly smiles up at me.
“I suppose we can share Iris,” she teases. “I know you want to spend to time with her, too.”
Emberly has just tossed me a lifeline and I grab hold of it.
“You owe me a rematch, remember?” I bump my foot against Cab’s chair. “Your queen is toast this time. No mercy.”
“You play chess?” Riley grins. “Cool.”
He looks impressed and Cab’s smile peeks out again.
She hops out of the chair and I wrestle down a sigh of relief when she takes off the cap and hands it back to him.
“Who else wants seconds?” Emberly asks cheerfully.
I don’t wait around to find out. I coax Juni away from her camping spot next to Emberly’s chair, although she’s as reluctant to leave as Cab.
Even with Emberly’s save, I know I screwed up. Big time.
Cab doesn’t say a word to me while we walk home. When we go inside, I pull out the chess set. I have to make good on my promise and prove I’m not a total jerk.
“Can we play tomorrow? I think I’ll get ready for bed.” Her chin tilts. “Emberly said she’ll go fishing with me in the morning.”
Emberly. Fishing.
I cannot picture this. But then I couldn’t picture her manning a pudgy pie station for the resort guests, either.
“Does she know the rules?”
My sister has two of them. Bait your own hook. You catch it, you clean it.
I can’t imagine Emberly doing either one.
Cab shrugs. “She’s never gone before.”
And that’s never mattered before. She gives no quarter to amateur anglers.
“Emberly’s friends will be back tomorrow night,” I say carefully. I already put my foot in my mouth once tonight, I don’t want to do it again. “You don’t have to entertain her—”
“I’m not!” Cab cuts me off. “I like her. Emberly’s nice and she’s funny. She … she reminds me of Mom.”
Juni is stretched across my lap on the couch—a piece of furniture that’s off limits unless I’m too tired to enforce the rule.
I’m tired, sure. But the reason I’m still awake at eleven o’clock is because I can’t stop thinking about what Cab said.
I wanted to argue that Emberly is nothing like Mom. Mom wore jeans and T-shirts, not designer labels. She always had a smile on her face …
Like Emberly.
I shake the thought away.
And a knack for putting people at ease.
Like Emberly.
A sense of humor.
Like Emberly.
I want to put on my noise canceling headphones, except it wouldn’t work because the voice is in my head.
So, maybe Emberly does make people feel comfortable. And seen.
But Mom loved living here. I never heard her complain about the weather or the isolation. She claimed there was beauty in every season, you just had to look for it.
I’d roll my eyes when Mom said stuff like that, but now I find myself repeating her words of wisdom.
Lexi, Bright, and I have years of memories to fill the gaping hole in our lives after Mom and Dad died. When we get together, there are a lot of “remember when” stories. Birthdays and holidays. Humorous moments with the guests.
Cab was only five.
I used to catch her staring at a photo on the coffee table—a picture of Mom and Dad holding her—like she was trying to hold onto them.
Now she rarely talks about our parents. I want Cab to remember how great they were, how much they loved her. The memories she does have seem to be fading, but the older she gets, the more of them I see in her. Mom’s smile and sunny disposition. Dad’s love of nature and goofy sense of humor.
After the funeral, Reeve asked if I was angry. The truth is, I didn’t feel anything at all. I was making decisions, moving forward, trying to be strong for my three sisters and all I felt was … numb. Like I was standing outside my life, watching everything happen from a distance.
I wanted the numbness to go away, but when it finally began to recede, I felt even worse. Because I felt everything. Guilt.
Fear. Doubt. Panic.
There was the Will who met with the financial advisor at the bank and the attorney who walked him through the legal maze of filing for guardianship.
The Will who fielded dozens of phone calls and emails from former guests who needed comforting, too.
The Will who promised his sisters that everything would be okay.
And then there was the Will who covered his face with a pillow and cried like a baby after everyone else was asleep.
I felt the weight of every decision I made. I still do. There are times, like tonight, that I’m terrified I’m making mistakes with Cab that she’ll be sharing with her psychiatrist twenty years from now.
I’m careful what I say to Brighton and Lexi. I ask them for “girl” advice, but I don’t ever want them to feel guilty for moving forward with their lives.
If Cab is drawn to Emberly because she reminds her of Mom, I’m not sure how to handle that.
But one thing I do know?
It’s only a matter of time before Cab has to say goodbye to Emberly, too.