Chapter 12 #2
“No, I am not going to jump,” she said.
Relief washed over me, and I stepped closer to the ladder to the right and looked down into the water.
“I think you should step down the ladder one rung at a time, letting your body acclimate to the temperature as you go—” I was interrupted by the sound of a delicate splash. She dove off the edge into the crisp, dark water.
She broke the surface of the water with her head tilted back to smooth her hair off her face. She was faced away from me, so she turned her body back toward me.
“I thought you said you weren’t going to jump?”
Her arms lifted and wiped at her face and hair. A smile stretched across her face.
“I didn’t jump. I dove. Just had to take the leap.”
She was so cheerful and whimsical. Majestic? Was that the word to describe her? She made me smile in disbelief.
“And? How does it feel?” I was surprised she was being so cool and calm in the cold. Then her demeanor changed slightly.
“It’s really fucking cold, actually. Oooh.
Delayed shock, I think. It feels like needles are pricking my skin.
Maybe I should have done it your way.” She treaded water a bit more frantically.
She clenched her face, sucked in air through her nose, and made an O shape with her lips to exhale. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
Her mouth got dirty when she was stimulated. Hmm . . . tuck that away for some other time. Wait. No, Jake. Friends. Just friends. Damn it.
“Well, you’re in now, so try to stabilize your breathing. That will help keep your heart rate and blood pressure steady. Let your body acclimate. Start making your way to the ladder so you can climb your way out.”
“I can do this. It’s starting to feel better. I want to try to stay in. Did you happen to look up the water temperature when you did all your reading up on cold-plunging, Coach?”
“I did. It is actually not as bad as I feared. Probably in the high fifties. The outside air isn’t helping, though. It is like forty-three degrees this morning. How long are you going to try to stay in?” I asked. I started the stopwatch function on my watch.
“Um . . . f-f-f-five minutes is my goal,” she said. Chic had settled back next to me, watching Ali in the water. Even he didn’t want to have to jump into the water this morning, and he loved the water.
After a few seconds she asked, “Time check?”
“Just over a minute.”
“Shit, okay this is . . . Fuck this is cold. Don’t forget to take some photos of me in the water,” she said.
I snapped a few of her in the water, lowering the phone carefully over the dock just above the water’s surface to shoot a few at her eye level.
God, she was absolutely stunning. The early-morning sun caught on the beads of water rolling down her cheeks, her collarbones.
Her lips. Even hung on the lobes of her ears.
Tiny glints of silver across delicately smooth skin. I quickly looked away.
“I need a distraction. Tell me a story or something.”
Me too. “A story? I don’t have many good stories,” I said.
“Tell me your story, or at least tell me something about you . . . in less than four minutes. I need something to think about other than this cold.”
“My story . . . There’s not much to tell.
I grew up in Pineville. It’s a small Wisconsin town just over the Minnesota border.
I went to Madison for college. Minnesota for vet school.
Then back to Madison for a residency, and then I came here to apprentice under Dr. Brown—he owned the clinic before me.
I bought the cottage. Renovated the cottage.
Bought the clinic when Dr. Brown retired. And here I am. ”
“That was very succinct . . . Time check!” She sounded pained.
“One minute, thirty-eight seconds.”
“Okay. Shit! So, um . . . is this your final destination?” she asked.
“Final destination?” I asked.
“Yeah, like is this where you want to be for the rest of your life?”
“Yes, I think so.”
Ali went quiet.
“You okay? You don’t have to do five minutes. Online said it was best to start with just one to two minutes.” But she stayed quiet. I noticed she was breathing steadily with her eyes closed.
“I’m-m-m okay. I can do this-s-s-s.”
I sensed her determination, even though she was chattering.
Calmly and with her eyes still closed, she asked, “W-W-W-What is your favorite thing about Lakeside?”
“Honestly? The people. The nature.”
“So you love simple, small-town lif-f-f-fe?” she asked, eyes still closed, steady breaths keeping her strong. She was in control. The water gently lapped at her sides as her arms and legs moved to keep her head above the surface.
“Lakeside may be a small town, but I would never describe it as simple,” I said.
She opened one eye to look at me incredulously. “Jake, the town is literally called Lakeside. Even the name is as simple as it comes.”
“Sure, we keep things simple around here, but there are many layers to Lakeside. Much of it is beautiful and ever-changing. And the people who live here are genuine and interesting. What you see is what you get on the surface. But it’s all the nuance that only those who stick around get to know, and that’s what makes this place special.
As long as you accept it for what it is, it will accept you for what you are, and before you know it you’re . . . in love.”
What am I even saying? In love?
I cleared my throat and changed the subject. “So . . . did you come up with anything for how to deal with GlennGlobal?” I asked.
“Oh yeah! I did.” She perked up. “We brand Lakeside as a wildflower haven and promote the hell out of its beauty and allure as a ch-ch-ch-charming, quaint destination,” Ali said, the shivers coming back stronger.
“Making Lakeside more attractive seems counterintuitive,” I said, referring to what led us to needing to do this in the first place.
“I’m not really proposing we make it more attractive, per-r-r-r se,” she said between chattering teeth and breathy gasps.
“We make Lakeside s-s-s-ynonymous with small-town charm untouched by commercialization. A n-n-n-arrative like that will deter developers like GlennGlobal who want to find the path of le-le-least resistance into a market. It’s much easier to bulldoze paradise and uproot the culture of a place no one has ever-r-r-r heard of or won’t ever miss-s-s-s.
So we need to put Lakeside on the map-p-p-p,” she explained.
“Convincing. But how do we do that with so few resources and very little time?”
“M-m-most of the work is already done for us. We just have to get the right kind of attention and maybe instill-l-l some consistency across the town’s identity.”
“Identity?” I asked.
“K-k-keep Lakeside Wild—time check!”
“Twenty-three more seconds,” I reported.
“Oh thank fuck!” She started to make her way back to the ladder, ready to emerge as soon as she hit five minutes.
“And . . . time!” I said.
I stood up and extended a towel her way as she lifted herself onto the dock and out of the water.
The water streamed down her body. Her skin was blotchy and red in areas.
Gooseflesh pricked up all over. Her lips looked a little bluish.
I wanted to reach out and help her towel off.
I wanted to wrap her in my arms and help warm her body.
“Holy fuck that was cold.” She wrapped the towel tightly around her shoulders. “But I did it!” She lifted a hand for a high five, which I gave her.
“You were my inspiration for this plan, actually,” she continued to explain as she rubbed the towel down her body to wipe away the water.
“All that talk about the wildflowers. The town’s dedication to wildflower landscaping is really unique.
The beauty and maturity of the wildflowers will be in full bloom in mere weeks.
The story practically writes itself.” She slipped into her robe and flip-flops.
“We just need to coordinate efforts, promote like hell online, and build some notoriety. Attract more tourists. Get travel writers, bloggers, influencers, all buzzing about Lakeside. What do you think?” She was beaming.
“I think we have a lot of work to do,” I said.
She shrugged and nodded. “Now, though, I need a very hot shower.”
With that, she took a finger and bopped it on Chic’s nose before turning to make her way back to the cabin.
“Wait! Here, take a coffee. It’s still hot in the tumbler,” I hollered up toward her. My voice was no longer an assault on the peace of the early morning; everything was waking up around us. Birds chirped and critters scurried up trees and through the grass. And Ali was full of energy.
“Thanks, but I don’t drink coffee. I’m a tea girlie. I’ll start up the kettle before my shower.”
I looked down at Chic, who was sitting by my side again. He seemed wonderstruck in Ali’s wake. Or maybe that was just me.