Chapter Nine
Avery
Today’s rain had given her time to catch up on a few things and Avery finally inquired about a couple of apartments in Hanover.
Sometimes she wondered why she waited so long to check something so simple off her list. Pressing “send” on a few emails made her feel productive.
Late in the afternoon, the rain cleared.
Now Montressa glowed in a golden-pink light, one she hoped was a precursor to a colorful, prolonged sunset.
Leaning against the dock pylon, her back to the water, she decided the website needed a view of the lodge with this serene sky in the background.
In a couple weeks, chatter and laughter would drift down from the porch as guests shared early evening cocktails.
Kids would play freeze tag on the grassy lawn above the beach.
For now, she had the entire waterfront to herself.
The calm, peaceful sunset cast Montressa in a lustrous golden glow, all of it mirrored in the still water.
A tinge of breeze kept the bugs away. Her belly grumbled, but this ethereal vista wouldn’t last all night.
She could eat later. For now, she’d rather paint.
Adding art to the website was a great idea.
In her research, Avery had noticed beach resorts used watercolors on their websites to evoke a carefree “sun and sand” brightness.
She dabbed her brush into the lemon yellow, added a tinge of raw sienna, and mixed them next to the pool of opera rose shades dominating her palette tray.
The pink and yellow edges blended beautifully.
Sunsets cycled through a panoply of color, so she added a small pool of crimson.
The last time she’d seen a red this deep was on Miles’s cheeks in the Boathouse.
The hue of her face must’ve mirrored his.
Embarrassment returned to her cheeks at how hard it had been seeing Miles in their favorite cabin, the one they used to sneak into when it was vacant. Avery’s stomach tightened at the memory of Wes making an uncomfortable situation mortifying.
“Pretty night, eh?” Miles’s voice floated over the water.
She hadn’t noticed him gliding up to the beach in his blue canoe. For a second, she lingered on the vision of him bathed in a luscious, golden pink. He beached the canoe, got out, pulled the boat farther onto the sand, and lifted a cooler out of the bow.
“Mind if I join you?” he asked as he walked down the dock. “I brought food.”
“You did?” Her heart softened at the kind gesture and her stomach grumbled its approval. “I skipped dinner so I could capture this perfect light before it fades.”
Avery abandoned her work and motioned for him to sit at the opposite pylon, his pylon.
He kicked off his Crocs next to her Birkenstocks and sat down.
Relaxing barefoot on the dock had been their thing.
She wondered if he remembered sitting here as clearly as she did.
He handed her a warm plate. While he poured the wine, she removed the foil and savored the perfection of the first forkful of macaroni and cheese.
“Oh my God, Miles,” she said, mouth still full. “This is heavenly.”
“I can’t take credit. It’s Mom’s recipe, and she said the lake air makes everything taste better.” His contented smile held the warmth of treasured memories.
Miles seemed to talk about his mother more easily now. That summer, anything related to her had cast him into melancholy, anger, or sadness. Now his mother’s memory seemed to provide comfort. There was something so sweet about a busy man taking time to make his mother’s recipes.
As they ate, he told her about his plans with Hayes and the bereavement camp. Miles using his personal experience to help others wasn’t a surprise. But she worried about him revisiting his pain repeatedly.
“Miles, you’re so kind,” she said. “But can I ask something? Do you ever worry about reliving your own grief every summer?”
He paused and thought about it, the sun still bathing him in an amber glow. He picked up his book and settled it in his lap. Miles held onto books like a toddler held onto a security blanket. They were his barrier for uncomfortable situations, and she’d asked a probing question.
Her heart grew heavy for him. Maybe she shouldn’t have said anything. From now on, Avery promised herself to be more empathetic. She’d been hard on him when she’d first arrived.
“I appreciate you bringing that up,” he said, his finger tracing the corner of the cover. “But I want to give people what Dad and I didn’t have. It took me too long to find therapy and even longer to find Hayes, who also lost his mom. I think I can handle it.”
Relief washed through Avery at the news he had found support. When they’d broken up, she had suggested he get therapy. He had vehemently refused. She’d always wanted him to find peace. A warmth bloomed in her chest.
“The lake is good for healing. It can rain and rain until at some random moment, the sun comes out and gives you this.” Avery set her plate aside and waved an open palm out over the lake.
“And it feels like everything will be okay. I always feel more centered here. There’s a peace that comes from being so close to nature. ”
He took a sip of wine and fanned the pages of his book. Seeing him do it again was so terribly cute her heart melted a little.
“That’s grief in a nutshell,” he said. “The rain and rain and random sun.”
Avery swallowed the lump in her chest. The boy who couldn’t talk about his pain had come so far since they’d first met. Miles was using the lessons of his own journey to craft a sanctuary of peace for others.
“Do you have a name for your camp?” she asked.
“Camp Luciole.” Miles thumbed his book.
“Luciole. French, for firefly.” She gasped. “A light in the darkness. Perfect.”
A relaxed smile crossed his face.
“Ayuh. I’ve got a lot to learn. I’m working on a master’s degree in non-profit management at NYU.
I just picked my fall classes. This summer, I’m going to Georgia, Minnesota, and Wyoming to observe bereavement camps.
The Minnesota one doesn’t allow cell phones.
I want to see how that works so we can make an informed decision for our camp.
And then there’s finding a property,” he said.
“Remember that corporate retreat, over past Bramble Beach? It closed a few years ago. It may be for sale.”
She didn’t remember it. Next time she walked Casper over there, she’d check it out.
“I hope you get it. You seem to enjoy a canoe commute.” She took a sip of wine. Her foot fell against his warm thigh. He didn’t seem to notice, so she left it there. “And thank you for dinner. I’d forgotten you could cook.”
She picked up a clean sheet of paper and he opened his book.
The end of the dock felt familiar again.
The two of them facing one another and doing what they had done so many evenings that summer.
She painted. He read, the Red House over his shoulder.
It would be so easy to fall back into this.
To open her heart to him again and forget about everything that had happened the day they broke up, and afterward.
Avery moved her foot away from his thigh. Going back was risky.
“Whatcha reading?” She washed her brush in a cup of water.
“War and Peace.” He didn’t raise his eyes, which made for a pleasant view of his thick eyelashes.
She wondered how many times he’d read it. He’d finished it a decade ago and was holding it in @lovetrainnyc’s viral post of him reading on the subway. Counting now made three times, unless he opened to favorite scenes to pass the time. Or for comfort.
Miles uncrossed his feet, which repositioned his leg. His ankle now rested against her thigh. His choosing to touch her made a familiar energy buzz through her. She’d never sat with anyone else like this. She’d missed it.
“Funny,” she murmured.
“What?” Miles placed his finger on the page where he’d stopped reading.
“We are both doing the same things we used to do. You’re reading Tolstoy and I’m painting the Red House.” She smiled.
He pointed and flexed his foot, his pinkie toe grazing her thigh. Avery’s stomach did a little flip.
“You still like the Red House?” he asked.
“It’s my favorite house on the lake.” She made a private wish for him to brush her with his foot again.
He glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah, me too. You should come see it.”
And for the first time, Avery thought visiting his house sounded nice.
“Maybe,” she said.
“Progress.” He smiled and rubbed her again with his foot. Like a compass finding true north, every hair on Avery’s legs vibrated and leaned toward him. That tingle felt so good, she felt the urge to flirt. It could’ve been the wine, but she’d barely had any. She took another sip.
“Imagine how many likes Montressa’s socials could get for a photo of you reading in the wild.” She summoned her best playful smirk.
“Anything for Montressa.” He looked at the sky, clearly embarrassed. “Just let me know you’re taking it. The subway one took me by surprise.”
Avery had wondered about that photo. People saw an undeniably handsome man reading on the subway, but she knew the boy inside, who took a book everywhere as a portable barrier, useful for avoiding interaction. That photo must’ve felt like an intrusion.
She watched as he placed his bookmark, closed his book, and checked the top edge to assess how far he had read. After all this time, his signature move hadn’t changed.
He cleared his throat. “So, how’s it feel to be painting again?”
“Like I never stopped,” she said. “Thank you for suggesting my work for the website.”
“I hope it’s not a burden. I feel bad I gave you more work.”
Miles acknowledging her work and respecting her time made Avery want his perspective on losing her livelihood.