28. The Quiet Part
The Quiet Part
Maren reaches over and turns the radio down as her tires crunch over the gravel.
The frost has settled hard this week, and somehow, even the sound of driving feels sharper, like the cold has its own register.
The heater is pushed high, but her shoulder still throbs.
Cold is always the thing that wakes it up.
She glances into the back seat just to be sure she remembered her jacket.
She parks beside the empty bath house and steps out.
Down the beach, a ranger is staking in the orange snow fencing, the signs warning people off the shelf ice.
Maren opens her back door and pulls out her jacket, easing it on to keep from irritating her shoulder.
She laughs quietly at herself. She used to be the person who swore December didn’t touch her, wandering around town in shorts and a hoodie like she was immune to winter.
Today she is in three layers, and the wind still finds its way in, sharp as a reminder that morning comes with teeth now.
She starts down the familiar path. The dune grass rattles, half frozen, whispering along the sand. The lake is calm, flat as a pane of glass, the early light too thin to catch on its surface. It looks muted, settling into its winter quiet, the kind of stillness that feels like holding its breath.
At the bottom of the path, she sees Reese on their driftwood log, tucked into her jacket, worn beanie, and mismatched mittens. Maren smells the coffee before she reaches her. Two steaming cups sit beside her, both stamped with the Red Cup logo.
“Well look at this. The one and only Reese Callahan beat me here. And with coffee,” Maren calls.
“You thought you knew all my tricks, didn’t you,” Reese says with a giggle. “I’m capable of being on time. Heck, even early. But don’t get used to it.”
Maren lowers herself onto the log next to Reese, the wood cold even through her layers.
Their knees brush as she settles in, familiar enough now that neither one of them shifts away.
Reese passes her the coffee without looking, like this is something she has practiced.
Maren looks down at her cup, seeing the familiar script with her name written and the little heart at the end.
She shakes her head; some things really don’t ever change.
The sky is only just beginning to lighten. A thin wash of pale yellow presses at the edge of the horizon, more suggestion than sunrise. Steam curls from their cups and drifts between them, fading as quickly as it forms in the sharp air.
“Colder than I thought it would be,” Maren murmurs as she pulls her coat tight around herself.
Reese takes a slow sip. “I like it like this. The lake gets honest when it’s cold.”
Maren lets out a quiet laugh. “Honest, you say? Are you ready to talk about that shark yet?”
They both laugh before falling into soft, easy silence.
Reese’s shoulder brushes hers every time she breathes, a steady rhythm that Maren finds herself leaning toward without thinking.
Down the beach, the ranger’s hammer thuds once, then again, then stops.
The sound carries across the frozen air like it has nowhere else to go.
Out on the water, the waves roll in soft and slow, and Maren can see the line of white starting to form where the water stops and becomes ice.
Reese glances over, her breath catching the faintest touch of light. “Feels good to be here.”
Maren nods. “Yeah, it does.”
“How is the fall season shaping up?” Reese asks.
“You know, the usual. We have a group of new swimmers who all want to be older swimmers, and the older swimmers all want to go back to their first season when there was a lot more goofing off,” Maren replies.
“Everyone except Rowan.” Reese looks out at the lake and shakes her head slowly. “That kid thinks she is Olympic ready in her second season.”
“You aren’t wrong.” A bright smile spreads across Maren’s face. “One of the high school helpers told me the other day that she has the most aggressive dolphin kicks he has ever seen.”
“That sounds right. Go big or go home.” Reese huffs a quiet laugh. “I really didn’t know what to do when she came in so excited about swimming instead of diving. I’m glad I let her take the lead. She is really coming into her own.”
“I am too. That kid makes everything a little brighter.”
Reese pauses, then turns to look fully at Maren. “You know she likes you. More than likes you. She trusts you.”
Maren’s heart melts in a way that feels almost visible. Light blooms behind her eyes, as if that is the most important thing she has ever heard.
Maren looks back toward the water, trying to steady the sudden warmth rising in her. The lake shifts in its slow winter rhythm, small waves brushing the forming ice line. Her breath hangs in front of her. Reese’s does too. For a moment they match without meaning to.
Reese nudges her boot against Maren’s. Not much. Just enough to be felt.
“You’re good with her,” Reese says quietly. “With all of them, really.”
Maren keeps her eyes on the horizon. “I try.”
“I know.” Reese’s voice softens. “That’s why she trusts you.”
The silence that follows isn’t awkward. It’s something else. Something steady. Something that feels like it has meaning now.
Reese shifts a little closer, their shoulders touching more fully than before. “Can I ask you something?”
Maren turns to her, waiting.
Reese holds her gaze, the early light catching in her eyes. “Do you ever think about where this is going?”
Maren’s breath catches just a little. Not from surprise, exactly. More like recognition. Like she has felt this question humming under the surface for weeks and now they are finally saying the words out loud. Making it real.
She turns her gaze back to the water. The horizon is a soft blur of gold and grey, the sun teetering on the edge of officially rising.
“I think about it,” she says softly. “Probably more than I should admit.”
Reese waits, patient in that way she gets when something matters. Her knee presses lightly against Maren’s. Her mittened hands rest around her cup, fingers curled for warmth.
Maren swallows, feeling the truth move up through her the way cold does, gradually and unmistakably. “I think about it… about what it looks like if we both stayed right here. What would that even look like?”
The word ghosts in the air between them. “Yeah. Me too. Staying.”
They sit for a long moment, the silence settling around them like a blanket. It does not feel sharp or frightening. It feels calm. It feels right.
Reese shifts lightly, turning her body toward Maren. “I never really knew it could feel like this,” she admits. “Simple. Easy. I honestly thought everything in my life had to be complicated if it was going to count.”
Maren’s lips tilt into a small smile. “I don’t know, this.” She gestures between them. “Just kind of feels like home, I think.”
They both watch the horizon again, the soft glow brightening, inch by inch. The moment stretches in front of them as smooth as the water. Not defined. Not labeled. Just chosen.
Reese’s voice drops to something almost quiet enough for the lake to swallow. “I’m not running anymore.”
Maren nods once, the motion slow and deliberate. “I don’t want you to.”
“I know,” Reese whispers. “And I want to stay.”
The words settle over them, warm in the cold air, steady as the sunrise waits just beyond the edge of the water.
Reese shifts beside her, their coats brushing. “Can I tell you a secret?” She asks.
Maren leans in. “Isn’t that kind of our thing?”
Reese lifts her coffee, not quite a gesture, more like she needs her hands to do something. “You know that spreadsheet you use. The one with the colors?”
A smile tugs at Maren’s lips. “What about it?”
“I keep thinking about it. Every time I come here, every time we talked. Every time things felt… Possible.” Reese says slowly. “I never had the file. But I kept the idea of it open. In my head. Like I was trying to actually earn my spot in it.” She pauses for a moment. “In your master file.”
Maren’s chest tightens, almost painfully soft. “Reese.”
Reese’s eyes meet hers, steady, shy around the edges. “I guess what I am trying to say is… I want to be in that master file, for as long as you are willing to keep me there.”
The laugh that leaves Maren is quiet, true, and full. She turns towards her, taking in every detail from the worn beanie to the pink of her cheeks. “You’re here. I’m not letting you go.”
Reese’s smile widens, not loud or flashy.
The moment settles around them, solid and bright as the sunrise.
The sun finally crests onto the edge of the lake, spilling true light across the water. It turns the thin line of forming ice into a ribbon of gold, bright enough that Maren has to blink against it. The cold air softens in the new warmth, just a little.
Reese shifts closer, not for heat, but because it feels natural. Their coats brush again, the kind of small contact neither of them questions anymore. Maren lets her arm hover for a moment, unsure, then slides it gently around Reese’s back, pulling her in.
Reese leans without hesitation, her body fitting against Maren’s side like it has been waiting for that exact place to settle. She keeps her mittened hands wrapped around her cup, but she lets her weight rest fully into the hold.
The lake stretches out calm and endless, its surface shining in a way only early winter allows. The world feels paused, caught in that thin line between cold and light, stillness and daybreak.
Maren exhales slowly, watching her breath drift into the cool air. “I don’t think I have ever felt this before,” she says. “That I could just feel calm, just like this. No breathing or grounding tricks, just calm.”
Reese tilts her head, letting it rest against Maren’s shoulder for a heartbeat. “Maybe Coach Hensley was right; we balance each other.”
They fall quiet again, the kind of quiet that feels shared instead of empty. The sun rises higher, painting their faces with warmth.
Maren lets a soft smile slide across her face as she watches the lake glow.
“Maybe this was all it ever had to be. Two people learning, again and again, how to just stay.”