Chapter 22
Hard to believe, but Seb and I cohabited without incident for a couple weeks. We went out and bought new sheets for his room.
Found an old rug in the basement that was in good shape and hauled it upstairs. Installed a video doorbell camera at the front
and a dog door at the back that only unlocked with Punkin’s microchip. Ate takeout together on the porch swing. Got high.
Watched bad TV. Laughed.
And we researched.
However, that was all we did, and I could thank myself and all those dim-witted “roommate” rules I imposed on both of us. Seb worked at the marina
all day, so I had the cottage to myself until five or six. A couple of days, I had things to take care of, like a meeting
with the family attorney to discuss how much was left in the estate trust—not nearly as much as I thought.
When I found that out, I counted back how many days it had been since I’d left that voicemail at my father’s brokerage (too
many) and called his office again, hoping to catch a receptionist, or anyone, really. Three times I called, at various times
of the day, and three times I got the same, old voice recording. The fourth time, I left a more forceful voice message. I
both desired and dreaded a response.
When I wasn’t dreading, I spent time reading art history books to get a leg up on my classes for the upcoming school year.
Every night after Seb came back to the cottage, showered, and we ate, we’d go into treasure research mode.
We’d pull out the laptop, maps, and books, looking for information about any towers near Sleeping Bear Dunes.
And we found a lot of interesting things, most of them too obvious, like a lighthouse on a nearby island.
Nothing we found fit Mabel’s description.
But while we huddled together over maps, unwilling to give up, Seb didn’t once try to kiss me. Or touch me. Or tease me. He
called us “roomies” and frequently made comments about following the house rules. So many comments the first week, I thought
he was trying to push my buttons. But nothing happened. Not then. Not the second week. And not when the Wags all gathered
at the cottage on the beach for Fourth of July to watch distant fireworks over the harbor. It was just a normal celebration
with friends.
Horribly, horribly normal.
I only had myself to blame. The whole platonic, no-sex rule was mine, after all, and Seb was just doing what I asked. Maybe
I needed to clear the air and find out what he was thinking. Or maybe I needed to figure out why I was getting cold feet about
even bringing it up.
He slept in only his bed the first couple nights. After that, he fell asleep in increasingly back-aching positions on the
sofa. I was worried that he was weirded out over sleeping in Nana’s old room but too afraid to ask him because I was beginning
to think that us becoming roommates was a terrible mistake. At least, when it came to our relationship. Our friendship? Getting
stronger every day. And I knew I was doing the right thing by giving Seb a place to stay.
But sometimes the right thing and the thing you want aren’t the same.
After too many nights of takeout, I tried to do something nice and roasted a chicken in the oven.
But an hour later, it was still raw, and I realized the heating element was trashed.
Embarrassed, I had to toss the bird when he walked in the door, but we ended up just eating the sides and he acted like it was great.
It was not, but he was polite about it. Maybe that’s because he’d made a research breakthrough.
“I think I may have found it,” he told me.
“Wait, seriously? How? Where?”
“One of the yacht owners who uses the marina is a huge military history buff. While I was getting his boat ready to launch,
he got to talking about the War of 1812, and some of the skirmishes in northern Michigan . . . He says there’s a ruined 1800s
military encampment in the woods. Here.”
On an old paper map of Michigan, he pointed to a body of water: a tiny lake, several miles inland from the coastal dunes,
with a short river leading there. No roads around for several miles. Backcountry.
“They built a stone lookout tower,” he told me. “He doesn’t know if it’s still standing. It was in ruins when he toured the
site twenty years ago. But this has to be it, Paige. Right?”
Mabel’s tower.
Could this really be it?
After poking around miliary history forums online, we dug up a little more information. Seb’s tower was, indeed, erected around
the time of the War of 1812, when Michigan soldiers needed to survey the surrounding land and waters for the British. After
the war, the military encampment was abandoned. Now the state owned the land.
“Sleeping Bear Dunes is just three hours up the coast from us,” Seb pointed out, full of energy and excitement. “We can drive there and back in day. But we don’t know exactly what we’ll find when we get there. Might be smarter to take tents and camp for the night.”
“Camping?”
“Why not. Easiest way to navigate through the backcountry. Don’t have to worry about chasing daylight, cheaper than a motel
room.”
A zip of excitement went through me.
The Wags hadn’t been camping since we were twelve.
I was totally onboard. After speaking to Jazmine and Benny, we agreed to give it a go. We could take Benny’s canoes with us.
Jazmine still had a tent. And so did I, we discovered, when Seb poked around the garage and found it stored in the rafters
with old holiday decorations. We even found an old cooler and a box of sleeping bags, both kids and adult varieties.
The next day the Wags all met up at the food truck court outside the marina to discuss strategy. There were two nice surprises.
The first was that Lulu wasn’t with Benny. The second was Jazmine. She walked up to the table slowly with her head down, looking
depressed, then suddenly pulled her arm out the sling and lifted it in the air victoriously.
We all cheered.
“Got the all clear from my doctor this morning,” she said, smiling big.
“That’ll make a trip through the woods a little easier,” Benny said, congratulating her. “Now we won’t be a paddle down.”
“And when I come back, all the dumb kids in my paddleboard class will have to eat shit for calling me the One-Armed Bandit.”
We all laughed, then the topic turned to something Seb and I had discussed in private.
“You’ve got to convince Lulu that she can’t come,” Seb told Benny. “I know she’s your girl, and I don’t hate her, or anything,
but this is a Wags-only trip. Please, man. It’s only one night away from her.”
“She’s not going to be happy,” Benny said, scratching his beard. “Sometimes I think she’s more into finding treasure than
we are.”
That was what worried me. “I haven’t spent time with you without her since I got back,” I argued. “We need you, Benny. Just you.”
“Please,” Jaz pleaded.
He looked at her and nodded. “Okay.”
We didn’t expect Benny to agree so fast. Maybe he was getting tired of her, too. He phoned her right there, even fibbed and
told Lulu he was going on a boys-only camping trip with Seb and some other guys. Jazmine and I gave each other secret fist
bumps under the table.
And just like that, everything was back. The Wags. The hunt for the Golden Venus. Heck, even Jazmine’s arm getting out of
the sling. It was all coming together.
Everything . . . except me and Seb.
But even that showed signs of changing a couple days later, when we left for the dunes.
The Wags all gathered at the cottage at lunchtime, carting camping supplies and treasure-hunting necessities that Benny bought for the trip: brand-new flashlights, a couple collapsible shovels—seeing as how we ditched all the other shovels with Big Red downtown.
Benny even bought a special hiking GPS that would ensure we didn’t get lost in the backcountry if we couldn’t get a phone signal.
Seb oohed and aahed over the new gear while I quietly ogled how nice his arms looked in the sleeveless tee with which he was torturing me today.
Jazmine and Benny stacked my paddleboard on Jaz’s—both strapped to the top of Benny’s big black Land Rover—the vehicle we’d
be taking up the coast. They’d packed two additional inflatable boards in the back. Seb helped me load up the tent we found
in the garage and the sleeping bags. Jaz and Benny already had three other tents loaded, so we each had one.
In a grand mood, Seb checked to see that we were alone and said in a low voice near my ear, “An entire night outside the cottage
where roomie rules don’t apply . . . Anything could happen, don’t you think?”
I elbowed him lightly in the ribs, having heard a variation of this teasing for weeks. “So you keep saying. Show me the money,
Jansen.”
When he didn’t reply, I turned to glance at him and our gazes connected. And oh. The way he looked at me, like he was willing to throw everything away for another kiss. Maybe I was projecting, seeing what
I wanted to see. But the hope that sparked in my chest could have started a forest fire.
It was sunny and warm, not a cloud in the sky over the lake. A perfect summer day. We piled into the Land Rover, boys in front,
girls in back with Punkin. As Benny started up the car, Jazmine was the first to say what I was thinking. “I swear to God,
if you drive this thing into the harbor with me in it, I will never get in another car with you again, Benny Morales.”
“Already did the harbor. I don’t wreck in the same place twice.”
“Oh, you’re like lightning now, are you?”
“Lightning McQueen,” I teased.
“Ka-chow, motherfucker,” he said, flipping me off with the smallest of smiles, and we were on our way.
The drive up the coast was pretty grand once we got out of a tourist traffic jam in Haven Beach. The lake was a dazzling bright
blue. With the windows down and the wind blowing through our hair, Jazmine and I sang along to pop songs at the tops of our
lungs, and Seb pretended to stab his ears and begged us to put on “real music.”