18. False Dawn
False Dawn
The sound of a seagull calling in the distance pulls Maren awake. Early light presses against her eyes, and for a moment she has no idea where she is. Then it comes back in a slow wash. They really fell asleep on the beach. The fire beside them has burned down to ash and a few stubborn embers.
Images from last night return in pieces.
She had walked back to the group after talking with Reese at the shoreline, only to be stopped instantly by Jules asking for her car keys.
While she and Reese were gone, everyone else decided they were sleeping out here and tore through each other’s trunks for blankets.
Her mom had always insisted she keep two sleeping bags in her trunk, because she would say, “You never know with this crazy Indiana weather. We can have all four seasons in one day.” Maren had never used them. The tags were still attached. Last night, she was grateful they existed.
She slips out from beneath one of the sleeping bags, careful not to wake Reese or any of the others curled loosely around what remains of the fire.
Reese had fallen asleep mid-sentence while trying to convince a couple of the swimmers that diving required more skill than anything they did.
They had refused to agree, and Reese had simply run out of energy.
Maren stands and stretches, a long, slow pull through her stiff muscles. Sleeping on sand feels a lot like sleeping on a bed made of cinder blocks, and every part of her protests. She is grateful that she didn’t drink last night. A hangover would finish her.
Down at the water, she lets the lake roll up over her toes. The cold bites instantly, sharp enough to make her inhale.
Behind her, quiet footsteps move across the sand. She does not turn. She already knows who it is.
Reese.
“I am sorry,” Maren says. Eyes on the Chicago skyline softened by morning haze. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Reese lifts her arms overhead in a slow stretch. The movement pulls the last of sleep from her shoulders. Maren glances over. Of course she looks beautiful.
“You didn’t,” Reese says. “I think my body is still on East Coast time.”
Maren steps back from the water and finds a piece of driftwood.
She sinks down against it, wondering if this is the same one they sat against years ago.
Reese settles beside her, close enough that Maren can feel the heat coming off her body but not touching.
She pulls her knees tight and tugs her hoodie down over her bare legs.
“Do you think we could get Red Cup to deliver out here?” Reese quips. The question sounds almost sincere.
“I think we would need to bribe them with my whole paycheck for that to happen.” A quiet laugh slips out of Maren before she can stop it.
“Maybe if we tell them, it is an emergency. My legs are about to freeze off.” Reese rubs her hands over the outside of her hoodie, trying to warm her bare legs.
Maren rolls her eyes. “You sound very dramatic for someone who has survived the Great White Lake Michigan shark, you know.”
Silence settles around them as the lake laps closer along the sand. The light has finally lifted over the horizon, and the first beams catching the mist, turning the shoreline into something soft and shimmering.
Maren lets out a long, steady breath. Without thinking, she shifts toward Reese. It is only when their shoulders touch that she realizes where her body has leaned.
Reese tenses for a moment, caught off guard by the touch. Then she releases a slow breath, almost without thinking, the way Maren used to teach her. The tightness in her shoulders fades, and a small smile slips across her face.
“We always end up right back here, do we not. This town, this lake, this log.” Reese’s voice is quiet, almost like she is speaking to herself.
Maren watches a seagull swoop low over the water, searching for breakfast.
“Maybe we were always going to end up right here,” Maren says. “I just do not know what to do with that anymore.”
Reese keeps her eyes on the water. Her smile fades, not in a dramatic way but in a quiet, worn one. She rubs her fingers over the strings of her hoodie, a small nervous habit she has never really outgrown.
“I didn’t make that weekend easy for you,” she says. “I know that now.”
“I kept thinking you were disappointed in me,” Maren says. “And I did not know how to fix it. Everything was just so big for me.”
“I didn’t realize how big it felt. I just wanted to share my new life with you,” Reese says. “I wanted everything to be perfect. I wanted you to love my life as much as I was trying to. Because if you loved it, maybe I could figure it out myself and not feel so lost.”
The words hit Maren like wind straight off the lake, cold and sharp. She feels it through every bone in her body. For a moment, she cannot process any of it; she only stares out at the waves, counting each one as it rolls in.
Still watching the water, Maren shakes her head softly. “I wish I had known you felt lost. I was just reaching for something to steady me.”
Reese reaches down and hooks her pinky around Maren’s. “You were right about needing something to hold on to.”
Maren looks over at Reese, feeling the warmth of her hand next to hers. “I think we were both pretending everything was fine, and neither of us was telling the truth.”
Reese takes a deep, steady breath. Maren notices the way she still uses the breathing tools she taught her years ago, back when Reese would get nervous before a dive.
“I should have told you I was struggling,” Reese says. “My life was a giant mess, and I was doing everything I could to hold it together.”
“I should have told you I was overwhelmed instead of shutting down,” Maren replies.
She hesitates, then adds, “After that weekend, I thought you did not want anything from your hometown anymore. Everything was so new for you. New school, new city, new friends. You didn’t need your old co-captain hanging around. ”
Reese’s fingers tighten slightly around Maren’s. She keeps her eyes on the water, as if saying it directly would be too much.
“I was afraid you would see how messy I really was,” she says quietly. “I thought if I stayed away, I could protect you from that.”
Maren’s breath catches. She does not look at Reese. Instead, she focuses on the slow rise and fall of the water, but the truth settles in her chest with a weight she cannot push aside. A single tear slips down her cheek before she even realizes it is there.
“You never had to protect me from you,” she says softly. “I just wanted you to let me in.”
Reese watches the tear slip down Maren’s cheek, choking back one of her own. She turns and looks at Maren directly. When she speaks, her voice is quiet and steady.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “For all of it.”
Maren swallows hard. A small breeze lifts the hair across her face. Reese reaches up gently and brushes the strands behind her ear. A soft, knowing smile touches Maren’s lips. There is nothing else that needs to be said. They both know the truth now.
They sit in silence for a moment, eyes resting on each other.
The quiet between them shifts, warm and fragile. Reese’s hand lingers near Maren’s cheek a moment too long, her fingertips still tingling from brushing the hair away. Maren feels the warmth of it, the closeness, the pull she has tried for years to ignore.
Reese inhales softly, the sound barely there. She leans in by instinct, drawn forward the way she always has been. For a heartbeat, neither of them moves, caught in the thin space between memory and want.
Maren turns her head just slightly, enough to meet Reese’s eyes. They are close enough to feel each other’s breath, close enough that every old feeling rises to the surface, bright and undeniable.
Reese tilts in another inch, almost without meaning to.
Maren’s gaze drops to her mouth for the briefest second before she pulls in a steadying breath and retreats that small distance that changes everything.
“You are going back to North Carolina,” she says quietly.
Reese blinks, the moment breaking like a tide rolling back. “Yeah. I am.”
The space between them opens again. Not cold. Not closed. Just real.
The moment breaks gently. Reese relaxes and turns to face the water again, giving them both a little room. Maren looks at the water one last time, letting the steady pull of the waves settle something inside of her.
“We should get back,” Maren says quietly. “Before everyone wakes up and reports us missing.”
Reese nods. “Yeah, you are probably right.”
They rose from the driftwood log, brushing the sand from their legs.
The walk back up the beach is slow. The sand is cold and uneven beneath their feet, and the sunrise paints everything in pale gold.
Maren flips up the hood on her sweatshirt.
Reese stays close without crowding, hands tucked into the front pocket of her hoodie.
The remains of the fire pit come into view. What was a lively, beautiful bonfire last night is now a ring of grey ash and a few faintly glowing embers. Bodies are scattered around it to varying degrees of unconsciousness.
Jules is the first to stir. She lifts her head up with clear suspicion, squinting at them like she is trying to solve a complicated math problem before coffee.
“Oh, good,” Jules rasps. “The wanderers have returned.”
Ava groans from under a mountain of blankets. “Why is anyone speaking?” she mumbles, pulling the fabric up over her head.
Reese snorts. “Good morning, Princess.”
“That remains to be seen,” Jules replies, sitting up slowly. “You two look weirdly awake. I do not trust it.”
Maren crouches down to start gathering the sleeping bags. “We just walked down to the water.”
“Uh-huh,” Jules says, narrowing her eyes. “Did you see the shark?”
“Ava flops an arm out of her blanket cocoon. “Jules, stop being feral at sunrise,” she mutters before going still again.
Reese laughs quietly, shaking her head. Maren tries not to smile a little too obviously.
They fold the sleeping bags together, shaking out the sand and tucking the tags so they do not flap in the wind. Reese holds the corner of one while Maren rolls it tightly, their hands brushing once in a way that neither of them acknowledges.
Once everything is gathered, they whisper soft goodbyes to Jules and Ava and turn to walk the short path toward the parking area.
The morning is still mostly silent except for a lone car passing on the distant road.
Gravel crunches under their shoes. Maren wraps one of the blankets around her torso like a shawl.
Reese’s shoulders are hunched slightly against the cold.
But she looks peaceful in a way Maren has not seen in years.
They reach Reese’s rental. She opens the trunk and sets her bag inside. Maren takes the blanket off of her back and hands it to her without thinking, and Reese accepts it like it is something delicate.
“Thanks,” Reese says. Her voice is soft and warm.
She pauses, then steps close enough to pull Maren into a hug. It is unhurried and gentle, neither of them moving to let go first. Reese’s fingers grace the back of Maren’s hoodie, then fall away slowly.
Reese steadies herself. “Your number still works, you know.”
Maren nods. “I know. So does yours.”
Reese lifts her gaze. “Then maybe we do not wait five years this time.”
Maren looks toward the lake, letting the morning light fill her vision. “We will see what happens.”
It is not a promise.
It is not goodbye either.
It is simply the truth.
Reese closes the trunk and walks around to the driver’s side. She hesitates before opening the door, like she might add something else, but instead she gives Maren a small nod that is soft around the edges. Then she slides into the car and starts the engine.
The rental pulls out slowly, the tires crunching over gravel. Maren watches the taillights glow faint red in the morning light as Reese turns onto the main road. The sound of the engine fades, swallowed by the quiet of the lake.
She stays there even after the car disappears around the curve. The early sun reflects the water in long, broken streaks. Everything feels still in a way that unsettles her and settles her at the same time.
The cold air presses against her sweatshirt, sharper now without the blanket around her shoulders.
She folds her arms across her chest, not for comfort but simply to anchor herself.
The lake stretches wide before her, familiar and endless, the same as it has always been.
Yet something in her feels different, quieter, steadier, as if the morning has carved out a new space inside her.
Maren steps closer to the edge of the parking lot. The shoreline glows gold where the sunlight touches it, and the water moves in slow, patient waves that seem to mirror her own heartbeat.
She tilts her head back and lets the cold air fill her lungs. It feels like a beginning and an ending woven together.
She does not chase after Reese.
She does not call out.
She does not make a promise she is not ready to keep.
She stands in the rising light and lets the moment be exactly what it is.