thirty-two | will
THIRTY-TWOWill
“Hello? Knock knock!”
A middle-aged woman marches into the office and I brace myself for yet another question, request, or catastrophe.
I don’t remember her first name, because she isn’t one of the regulars.
She’s with the Drummond party, who booked half of our cabins this week for a family reunion, and I think every single one of them has tracked me down since check-in.
Sometimes twice. So far, I’ve switched out two mattresses, given a brief tutorial on waterfront etiquette (which included a reminder to parents that the SUPs aren’t bumper boats) and helped one of the dads change a flat tire on their trailer.
Juni, our official greeter, rolls to her feet and the woman begins to backpedal toward the door.
“Is that one of those wolf-hybrids?” She eyes Juni nervously.
I shake my head. “Juni is harmless. What can I help you with, Mrs. Drummond?”
“It’s Abigail.” She bravely bends down and pats Juni on the head. “Is Emberly here?”
I find it a little ironic that very same question has been running through my mind all day, even though I know the answer.
Yes, Emberly is here. At Pinehart, not flying on her private jet back to Florida.
Here.
See? I still can’t wrap my head around it.
“She’s at the resort,” I say carefully.
Abigail laughs. “I know that. I came by to ask for an extra blanket for my daughter—she forgot her favorite—and Emberly said she’d make sure we got one. She delivered it to our door personally a little while ago and I wanted to thank her.”
Was there anywhere Emberly hadn’t been since she’d oh-so-casually dropped the bomb that she’d canceled her flight, would be working with Samantha, and could help plan Cab’s birthday party?
For the past six hours, I’ve caught glimpses of her.
Chatting with my high school cleaning crew.
Helping Reeve and Cab stack firewood. Transferring her suitcases from Serenity to Firefly (which happens to be the cabin right next door). And yes, cleaning the fish house.
“I’ll be sure to pass that on.”
“I appreciate it. You have a beautiful place here,” she chatters on. “So peaceful.”
Peaceful is not the word I would use to describe Pinehart at the moment. Or maybe it doesn’t describe me. My feelings, thoughts, wishes, whatever, about Emberly had an end date. Today. Now everything has gone sideways again.
And I’m … happy.
I don’t want to be happy. Happy means that my feelings for Emberly aren’t the kind I can shut off like a leaky faucet. Happy means complicated. Emberly is still going to leave. That hasn’t changed. What’s changed is me.
Because last night, I went to bed wondering what if …
But I’m the right now guy. I deal with what’s in front of me. It’s easier that way. Safer.
“I wasn’t sure I wanted to come here for the reunion.” Abigail’s voice drops a notch, even though Juni and I are the only ones in the room. “I was afraid the kids would be bored, you know. But your daughter offered to take them fishing, and they’re super excited about the pudgy pie competition—”
“I’m sorry.” I know it’s not polite to interrupt, but I can’t help myself. “The what?”
“The pudgy pie competition? That’s what it was called on the flyer.”
“The flyer?”
Abigail is looking a little confused now, no doubt wondering why the owner of the resort doesn’t seem to know what’s going on At the Resort.
She pulls a piece of paper out of her back pocket and hands it to me. It’s an official-looking announcement—complete with the Pinehart Resort logo—inviting guests to a bonfire and pudgy pie competition. Tonight. Sign up at six o’clock. Judging will begin at six thirty.
Judging.
“I’ve never had a pudgy pie before,” Abigail continues. “It sounds like a lot of fun.”
I give the flyer back to Abigail. At least I know what Emberly was doing in my office while I mowed the grass.
“It’s not a mandatory activity,” I feel obligated to tell her. “You’re on vacation, so you’re free to do whatever you want to do.”
“Oh, we Drummonds are competitive,” she says cheerfully. “Trivia. Monopoly. Volleyball. Doesn’t matter. We’ll be there. Especially if there’s a prize involved.”
Is there a prize involved?
I glance at the flyer.
Yes, there is.
Abigail leaves and I look down at Juni. “Did you know about this?”
She averts her gaze.
“Just for the record, you don’t look anything like a wolf, so don’t go getting a big head.”
She bares her teeth in a smile and rolls over.
I open the door between the office and the living room and stick my head inside. “Cab?”
I’m not surprised when she doesn’t answer. But she has to eat something and apparently the pudgy pie competition—I consult my watch—starts in forty-five minutes.
On Saturdays, Knox brings leftovers from the Grill that I can warm up for dinner. I’m not sure if he’s being nice because he knows how busy I am on check-in day, or if he’s using us as guinea pigs.
He’s getting a reputation for making a really good burger, but Knox likes to experiment.
Last week, they were topped with goat cheese and arugula.
Cab generously ranked it a seven but it was a five for me.
I’m not about to complain, though. In the summer, we practically live on grilled cheese sandwiches and whatever I can toss on the grill.
I open the fridge and lift the lid on one of the cardboard takeout boxes.
Inside is a flatbread pizza topped with basil (which Cab will pick off) and fresh mozzarella.
Not a piece of sausage or pepperoni in sight.
I have a feeling this new menu item will be as popular as the goat cheese burger, but I can’t blame the guy for trying.
Cab is supposed to check in with me at five o’clock, but it’s quarter after and there’s no sign of her.
Maybe she does need a cell phone. Or a tracking device in her shoe. That way, I wouldn’t have to go out and search for her myself.
Although I have a pretty good idea where Cab is. And who she’s with.
I should have politely turned down Emberly’s offer to help with the party, but the truth is, I need it. I just don’t want to need her.
Emberly and Cab are setting up one of the folding banquet tables stored in the maintenance shed when I make my way over to the firepit.
“Hey, Will!” Cab shouts.
My heart starts to beat in double-time when Emberly turns to look at me. Her red-gold hair is threaded through the back of one of Cab’s baseball caps and there’s an inch of golden skin visible between her denim shorts and the Dairy Den T-shirt knotted at her waist.
I press an internal button—shields up—but it must be broken, so I default to Neanderthal mode.
“Cab? Dinner?”
“Sorry! I forgot.” She grins. “We’re going to have a pudgy pie competition for the new guests!”
“I know …” I wait until Emberly makes eye contact again. “I saw the flyer.”
I search for a hint of guilt, shame, apology, all of the above, but all she does is smile.
“People can pick whatever kind of bread and filling they want to,” Cab says. “There are going to be three different categories and the winners will get a prize.”
I look down at a cooler filled with ingredients, some of which have never been put into a pudgy pie. At least not in the ones that we’ve made. Fresh herbs. Smoked gouda. Pesto. Deli meat. There’s also an assortment of fruit, a jar of peanut butter, and an assortment of chocolate candy.
“Aren’t you two supposed to be planning a birthday party?”
“We’re going to … later.” Cab reaches into a cardboard box and takes out a bouquet of pudgy pie irons with the tags still attached.
I make a mental note to add up the amount Emberly spent on all this and write her a check.
“I have to get some more wood!” Cab skips over to the woodpile.
I glower at Emberly. “You didn’t think to run this idea past me?”
“As a guest, am I allowed to use the firepit?” she parries.
I can see where this is going. “Yes.”
“Am I allowed to cook over it?”
“Em …” I stop when her brows arch. “Yes.”
“Am I allowed to make friends while I’m here?”
She’s enjoying this. And so am I. Too much.
“You’re not allowed to trespass in my office and help yourself to the copy machine.”
“I was granted permission, so it wasn’t trespassing.” Emberly sets out a stack of disposable plates. “I bought the apple filling for pudgy pies and I was going to make them last night …” Her voice trails off, but I know what she was going to say.
For her friends.
I’m not sure what to call them. Of if I should tell Emberly that this year’s reunion hadn’t been an opportunity to get together. It had been a deliberate—and cowardly—attempt to cut her out of their group.
“Mrs. Drummond says thank you for the blanket,” I say instead.
“Abigail? Her daughter Paisley is so sweet.” Emberly begins to spread the ingredients out on the table. “Can you hand me that clipboard?” She points to one of the Adirondack chairs.
“You mean my clipboard?”
“I was checking off things today as we finished them.”
I pick it up, but I don’t see my to-do list. It’s covered up by a sign-up sheet with at least two dozen names for tonight’s competition, most of them Drummonds.
“Am I late?” Knox jogs up, wearing the Pinehart T-shirt he’d stolen from the office at the beginning of the summer.
“What are you doing here?”
Knox claps me on the shoulder.
“I’m one of the judges.”