19. 7 Years Ago #4
“Are you hungry? Dinner’s not for another few hours yet, but you’re welcome to make yourself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich if you need something now. There’s also plenty of yogurt and fruit in the walk-in. Help yourself.”
“Thanks, Dottie, but I’m actually looking for empty milk crates, if you happen to have any. And cleaning supplies. Paper towels, all-purpose spray, that type of stuff. Maybe some rags?”
“Sure thing. There’s plenty of crates out back, stacked up beside the grill. Take whatever you need. And the cleaning supplies are down in the cellar.”
“Awesome, thank you,” I said. “I’ll see you at dinner. Smells delicious as usual, by the way.”
“Good luck cleaning. I don’t envy you that,” Dottie replied.
I collected the supplies and headed back over to the cabin, changed out of my graduation clothes, and slid into a pair of cutoff jean shorts and a ratty old T-shirt.
I pulled my hair up into a loose ponytail.
No stranger to hard work, I unpacked my clothing into the crates and hung a few of my nicer outfits up on the rod in the alcove.
I opened all the windows to let in the fresh air, then wiped the plastic cover of the mattress with disinfectant and, once it was dry, made the bed.
I dusted the windowsills, sprayed down the bathroom fixtures and wiped the walls of the shower clean.
It reminded me of the annual spring-cleaning weekend I used to have with Mom.
It was always the first weekend in April, except for the one year that it collided with Easter.
Mom and I would blast old disco songs from her youth and pretend the mop and broom were our microphones, singing at the top of our lungs.
The memory stirred up an old ache, so before tackling the kitchen, I decided to take a quick smoke break.
Covered in a light sheen of sweat, I bent down into the passenger seat of my car to reach for my gold pack of Marlboros and neon green lighter.
I lit up, appreciating the warmth of the afternoon sun on my face and the breeze from the Long Island Sound that gently wafted through the tall pine trees.
The quiet was interrupted by the rumble of approaching tires on the gravel road, and I walked around to the driver’s side of the car to get a glimpse of who it might be.
In the distance, I saw the headlights of the black truck, and I knew.
I leaned against the car door, summoning my armor, which consisted only of a smile and a quick smoothing of my old Counting Crows T-shirt.
The truck slowed to a stop in front of me, the tinted glass of the passenger window lowering to reveal the grown-up version of Matt Thompson.
Same defined jawline, only covered in scruff now.
Same brooding eyebrows. Same know-it-all, shit-eating grin.
I took in the sight of him, exactly the same yet mildly worn and weathered by time, or circumstance, or maybe a combination of both.
My nerve endings fired up into a manifestation of goosebumps despite the 80 degree heat.
“Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in,” Matt called out through his half-open passenger side window.
I exhaled a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, letting go of the nagging concern that he was going to make this hard for me. Matt put the car in park and walked around the hood. “Get over here, Roberts.” I happily obliged, falling into his arms for a strong embrace.
He pushed me back by the hips. “Let me look at you! God, how long has it been?”
“Seven years,” I replied. Well, six years, ten months and 19 days. Not that I’m counting.
“Time flies. You look…” He shook his head in teasing disapproval. “Absolutely filthy. It’s sad, really. I had much higher hopes for you.”
I laughed aloud. “I am. It’s pretty gross in there.” I nodded at the cabin.
“Yeah, when I heard you were coming back, I thought about airing it out for you.”
“And? Why didn’t you?” From under the sleeve of his black T-shirt, I couldn’t help noticing that his bicep was covered by a tattoo of what looked to be the bottom of an ornate cross.
He smirked. “Well, then I wouldn’t have an excuse to come see you.”
“Punk,” I muttered, taking a drag.
Matt took off his baseball cap, and his brown hair flopped down from under it, barely touching the tip of his nose.
Pushing it back, he readjusted the hat and put it back on.
His smile transformed his face. His unshaven jawline and the deep blue of his eyes were like catnip; I instantly craved more.
“So, I see we’re smoking now?”
“Yeah, I’m all about those healthy choices,” I joked.
“Hey, I’m not judging,” Matt countered, pulling a pack of Newports out of his pocket and extracting one. “May I?” he asked, gesturing at my cigarette.
I handed it over, and he used the lit end to light his own, inhaling deeply to get the sparks to catch. Smoke billowed from the kissing cigarettes.
“When did you take this up?” I asked. “Mr. All-County Athlete. This isn’t like you.”
He exhaled, blowing up and away from me. “Honestly, it’s a fairly recent thing. I started a little while after I came out here.”
“Which was when?”
“This spring. April. Larry retired in January, but he took forever to move out of the Gate House, so I came out on the weekends to work for a while and stayed in Pat’s cabin on the other side. It was the only winterized house besides mine. I finally moved in for real the first weekend of April.”
“Good timing. I’m sure spring’s probably a pretty busy season for camp prep.”
“You have no idea. So many repairs needed to be made. Roofs, new screens on most of the windows, clearing paths, building new bunk beds for a few cabins. And so much painting. Oh, I had to completely re-lay the floor in Cabin Seven too.”
“But you had crews to help, right?”
“Only on the alumni work weekends. You got the e-mails about those, right? I’m surprised that you didn’t come out, given that you’re here for the summer.”
I nodded. “I thought about it. But I was still in school and couldn’t really disappear for entire weekends.”
Matt took another drag, raising an eyebrow. “School?”
“UConn. Again,” I laughed. “I just graduated with a master’s in social work.” I stubbed out my cigarette and laid it carefully on the single concrete step at the entrance to my cabin. I made a mental note to get an empty can from the Lodge later to use as an ashtray.
“Nice. You were always the smart one between us.”
“What about you?” I asked him. “What brought you back?”
He looked at the ground. “Long story,” he began. “Tell you what. Let’s get a drink later, once you’re all settled in. We’ve got to get over to dinner now. You want to ride with me?”
“Sure,” I said. “Let me just grab my stuff.” I opened the screen door, got my keys off the coffee table and scanned the little space. It looked cleaner and brighter already.
I locked the wood door to the cabin, then beeped the car clicker for the Taurus and climbed in the passenger side of the truck. Matt laughed as I closed the door.
“What’s so funny?”
“You do realize there is literally nobody here, right?”
“You never know. Someone might roll up and try to steal my sweet ride,” I said, gesturing at the dented back bumper of my car.
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but nobody wants that old jalopy. Maybe you can save up for a new car this summer.”
“Or I can just ride with you,” I said, surprising myself. Shut up! What are you doing?
But he looked over and gave me a wink. “Mi casa es su casa, Roberts.”
The silence that followed grew awkward quickly, so I filled it with the next thing that popped into my head. “I need to hit the grocery store. Maybe after the staff meeting, we can head over there together? Then we can hang out by the cliff. Is the gazebo still there?”
“Indeed it is. All right. You’re on.”
We rumbled down the long, open road into the late-day sunshine. Everything we left behind—the memories, the confusion, the heartache—rose up into the air in a thick cloud of dust.