Chapter 7
Before Danika knew it, the Monday had arrived—the lauded Fourth of July. The week before had passed in a blur of shopping,
preparation, and harassing their cleaning company to set up the extra bedrooms. As much as she resented their guests, everything
needed to be perfect.
“Can’t forget these.” Chat stood in the driveway in the milky light of morning, the sun casting weak shadows from the trees
across the asphalt. He held up the pool noodles they’d bought at Target, gently swinging one to hit Max in the thigh, another
to bump Cooper. The boys recoiled, giggling, the neon foam soft against their skin.
“Boys,” Danika scolded, though her heart wasn’t in it. Chat swung the green noodle her way, hitting her below the hem of her
white shorts as she closed the trunk.
Against her will, she was wearing full holiday attire: white shorts, a blue tank top, and red Hermès Oran sandals. Along with
the noodles, Chat had insisted on buying the boys Fourth of July T-shirts that read “Red, White, and Cool” and “Star-Spangled
Stud.” Danika had cringed, but Chat found them so hilarious, he even bought one for himself: “’Merica: Kicking Ass Since 1776.”
After Chat’s pleading, she’d promised to at least wear the colors. No one mentioned Bill.
Danika relaxed as they stuffed the last duffel bags and floaties in the car.
She’d always liked early summer mornings, the way the dew gathered in tiny balls along blades of grass, the way the sky looked peaceful and pastel, the way the air turned her skin clammy and cool.
The weather today was also falling in their favor: a high of eighty-two, mild humidity. A rare reprieve.
“You sure you don’t want to chill in the passenger seat? Take a load off?” Chat said after buckling in Max.
She scoffed as she grabbed the keys from her pocket. “You’re too kind, but another day.” She knew Chat loved her Range Rover
Sport.
As she pulled out of the driveway, catching glances of the boys teasing each other in their matching shirts, listening to
Chat hum along to the radio, she began to feel excited. It was not like her to be so festive, especially when forced to play
host for such a ridiculous holiday, but once again: Things were different now.
Danika felt confident in her party plans, too. Zami’s menu was impressive: honey-glazed spareribs, homemade fennel chicken
sausages, jalapeno cornbread, watermelon feta salad, and tabbouleh. They would eat on the screened-in porch, have s’mores
by a bonfire, and, when the next town over set off fireworks at nine, head up to the deck to watch.
The guest list had also gone better than planned. The Greenes couldn’t make it—thank goodness—and the Fravels had agreed to
come alongside the Harrisons and Joshua Mike. Danika knew Joshua Mike would never deny the invite. As she thought about it,
she realized he might have been the one to pressure Bill into this whole ordeal. Their cabin was a bit famous in the area
due to its impressive deck and design, and Joshua Mike had mentioned wanting to see it on more than one occasion. Maybe Bill
wasn’t going as crazy as she thought.
Danika always forgot how much land sat between the Cities and the northern border—yet as they sped through the forest, lakes appearing and disappearing like magic, thick evergreens rushing by in a wash of emerald, she enjoyed feeling as if entering a different world.
Chat must have felt this, too, because after an hour or so, as the boys fell asleep and Chat stared out the window, he suddenly turned to Danika and lowered the music.
“Do you guys come out here a lot?”
Danika adjusted her hands on the steering wheel. Chat’s tone was normal, but with only the two of them awake, it felt intimate.
“We try to. It’s a good escape.” She slid her hands down the wheel.
“Did you grow up camping? My dad and I used to go out to the Boundary Waters every summer, without my sisters. He wasn’t around
a lot, got sucked into that whole oil boom up in North Dakota, and we were never close, but it was fun when I was little.
We fished all day.”
Danika tightened her grip, pretending she didn’t already know this.
Even so, her mind surpassed those memories and focused on her own father. She didn’t have it in her to tell Chat that she
had indeed grown up camping with her dad. Once, when they had been living in North Carolina, they went on a canoe trip outside
of Asheville, one of her fondest memories. She was ten years old, and it had been pure joy. It had only been her dad, one
of his army friends, and herself, and the men had been so happy slicing salami for sandwiches, telling jokes she didn’t understand,
asking riddle after riddle. Her dad had loved riddles. She never knew where he got them, but it would take her hours asking
the right yes-or-no questions to unlock the mystery. He was always proud when she got the answer.
That trip was six years before he killed himself. Danika wished she could stop pinpointing every memory of him in relation to his death, but when he died, he stuck a maypole in the ground. Every other memory, every other moment of his life, was tied to a ribbon, circling around it.
Danika sat up, correcting the swerve of the car.
“A little, yeah. Although I have to admit, this isn’t exactly . . . camping. This house is not a cabin cabin.” She was glad to change the scenery in her mind. It felt important for Chat to hear her say this, too—to know she
could see their wealth for what it was. She knew real camping.
“I know, I know. But something tells me I’m going to like this kind of camping, too.”
Danika exhaled and stared ahead, the pavement shimmering and shaking in the heat. They were a little over halfway now, and
she thought maybe here, in this closeness, in this fresh silence, she should say something: The pool. The girl. Their privacy. But she couldn’t bring herself to ruin the moment.
Plus, every time she thought about what to say, it sounded more and more trivial. Maybe she’d been overreacting after all.
The house, indeed, was not a cabin. Not even close. And as they pulled off the highway, looped down into a dense expanse of
woods, and hit the gravel road, Chat leaned forward. Danika couldn’t help but watch for his reaction as they reached the final
turnoff, bumbling across the pebbled driveway toward the house, the boys now awake and chanting, “We’re here, we’re here!”
“Oh my god,” Chat said as the house finally emerged.
Danika tried to see the cabin for the first time. Her chest swelled with pride as she killed the engine.
The house was a rambler. From the driveway, it looked like one story: wide and expansive, a low spread of teak wood, slate shutters, and a big stone entryway.
It was built into a hill, and from the back, you could see the walk-out bottom floor and the way the deck twisted and turned above.
It was an extraordinary deck; it consumed the whole house, reached every bedroom, had little steps and landings that made it feel like a tree house.
There was a circular firepit in the middle, maples shooting up all around, a screened-in dining area with string lights, and a general air of peace.
After they’d built the house, the architect had been featured in Architectural Digest, and the deck, in all its glory, had gone viral on Pinterest.
Danika didn’t mention the deck to Chat. She helped him unbuckle the boys, told him they could go explore around back, green
lawn and sunlight engulfing them. Everything was comically bright, like the world was painted in the palette of confetti.
Danika checked her watch as she grabbed the first round of bags, relieved to see it was only noon; the guests wouldn’t arrive
until three. She’d have time to unpack, settle in, change. Check on Zami and the food.
“Hello, hello.” She stepped into the foyer, the smell of oil and garlic mixing with the fresh air and pine trees.
“Welcome home,” Zami called from the kitchen.
Danika dumped the bags and stretched her neck, massaging her driving kinks while soaking in the house. Everything looked perfectly
untouched. She loved this entryway view: Immediately, the stairs headed down to the lower level, a landing and railings lining
the cut-out space above, and beyond that was the immense living room, all Norwegian carpets and furniture, colorful cushions
and soft striped throws. There was a modern Contura woodstove in the corner, more high wooden beams above, and, of course,
Gull Lake filled the windows like a mural.
Zami grinned. Danika did not like most people, but she’d felt instantly connected with Zami.
While he came only twice a month to meal prep and stock their freezers, she had grown to love him and his daughter, Teuta, who ran their bakery.
She was also beautiful and charming, entirely up front.
It was a nice change from the passive Midwesterners.
Danika didn’t see Teuta often—Danika rarely visited Hyla, since Zami came to them—but Teuta always helped with parties, and Danika was excited to see her tonight.
She’d made sure to bring extra cash for tips. She loved to spoil them.
“The byrek is almost ready.” Zami wiped his hands on a towel as she stepped farther into the kitchen, his body framed by the
glossy, navy cabinets. He was deeply tan, and while his beard turned whiter each year, he still had a youthful air about him.
“These tomatoes look amazing.” She picked one up, the lush vegetable filling her palm.
“The best time of the year.” Zami held another to his nose.
“So.” Danika put her hands on her hips, then removed them. “I was thinking we’ll have appetizers around four, then grill by
five thirty? Is that still the plan?”
“Yes, exactly,” Zami said.
Danika loosened. How nice, to be exactly right about something.
“And”—Zami clapped his hands—“do not stress. We have plenty of help tonight. I brought another waiter from the Club, so we’ll