two | will
TWOWill
“Why can’t I?”
Why can’t I … youfillintheblank … has become my little sister’s mantra over the past few months.
“Cab—”
“I asked you not to call me that!” Her tone is reproachful, the sigh that accompanies the reminder, long-suffering.
She’s right. But it’s been her nickname for twelve years and old habits die hard.
I was a senior in high school when my two younger sisters and I were summoned to the living room for a “family meeting”. We figured Mom and Dad had finally decided who got dibs on my room when I left for college in the fall, a topic Lexi and Brighton had been bickering about for months.
None of us expected a new sibling.
After getting over their initial disappointment when they found out the new baby would get my room, the girls were pretty excited.
Me? I was more than ready to leave behind the slamming doors, hour long showers, and everyday drama that came from sharing a house with sisters.
Dad was way better at dealing with that stuff than I was.
Sister Number Three joined the family in July.
The name on her birth certificate is Iris Adelaide, but everyone—okay, mostly me—called her “the caboose”.
When she began to take on a shape and personality of her own, we—I—shortened it to Cab.
Which is now on the list of things she thinks are lame.
I’m pretty sure I’m on it, too. Probably at the top.
“It’s only for one night!” Cab’s hands lock on her hips. She’s reloading and I brace for the barrage of reasons that will convince me to say yes to her request.
I’m still going to say no.
Cab has become an honorary member of practically every family that stays at Pinehart Resort, so it’s difficult enough to keep track of her during the day.
She disappears after breakfast and the only time I see her is when she’s raiding the fridge for a snack or has some important news (translation—gossip) to share.
Most of the guests have been coming here for years, so I’ve never had a problem with Cab hanging out with them until recently.
Very recently. Three days, to be exact. Because three days ago, the Gilberts checked in. Their twin boys, a year older than Cab, used to treat her like a pesky little sister. There was no stammering or blushing or gawking when she smiled.
Now there is. In duplicate.
I blame the braces. They came off right before Thanksgiving and I was relieved it meant Cab’s monthly orthodontal bills would end.
For two winters in a row, I’ve spent my off-time building a sauna and rec room for the vacation rental down the road to pay for them.
That’s right. Making the competition more appealing to the tourists who keep the businesses here afloat. Good times.
Shortly after the braces disappeared, Cab stopped wearing Dad’s tattered ballcap, proof, that in spite of all the “bald baby” photos Mom had taken, she actually could grow hair.
A lot of it. She’d also grown two inches taller.
I know this because Brighton had spent an entire day shopping online during Christmas break and replaced all the clothes in Cab’s closet.
Even without the new wardrobe and hair long enough to flip over her shoulder, Cab is cute (she would have been cute with a slight overbite, too). And although she’s been counting the days to her next birthday, she’s still Twelve.
So, yeah, there’s no way I’m going to let my baby sister accompany the Gilberts on their annual overnight canoe trip, even with parental supervision.
“Ca—Iris.” I catch myself. “We talked about this.”
“You talked. I had to listen. Like always,” she adds.
Let me clarify that Cab isn’t one of those obnoxious kids you want to lock in a closet until they’ve been accepted at a college hundreds of miles away.
She’s sweet and easy going and fun to be around. Most of the time. Lately, though, she wants to prove she’s growing up and I’m just as determined to slow down the process.
If Cab has no clue why Rider and Riley Gilbert are inviting her along on their family canoe trip instead of coming up with creative ways to ditch her, I don’t want to speculate as to why and put ideas in her head.
Or maybe those ideas are already there.
I stifle a groan.
I’m so not ready for this.
“I could really use your help.” Now I’m reloading. And wielding that age-old yet reliable weapon, guilt. But it’s always been hard for me to resist the appeal in Cab’s big blue eyes. “The guests in Tamarack mentioned they haven’t been catching any fish and could use some pointers.”
“They didn’t catch anything because they’re using those fancy-shmancy lures instead of minnows,” Cab grumbles.
She should know. Fishing is the kid’s obsession. One wall in our living room is decorated with the trophy mounts Cab’s been reeling in since she was old enough to climb into the boat with Dad.
On the rare times I’d come home on break from college, I’d tease him about having a shadow. Some of my parents’ friends were having grandkids by the time Cab started school, but I could tell Dad enjoyed spending time with someone who loved living in northern Wisconsin as much he did.
I’ve heard Pinehart Resort described as a little piece of heaven, but it was too small to hold my dreams.
It does hold all the Hartley family memories, though, so here I am.
“Riley and Rider really want me to go with them.” Cab looks uncertain and I sense she’s weakening.
“They’ll be gone less than twenty-four hours.” I press my case, knowing she loves to teach amateur anglers how it’s done.
“You’ll get plenty of time to see the boys when they get back.”
And I’ll be there to keep an eye on all the stammering, blushing, and gawking.
“But—”
A soft knock cuts through our closing arguments.
The office is located in the front entryway of the cabin that doubles as our home, so we’re used to constant interruptions.
I’m both annoyed and relieved at this one.
Mostly relieved. Which proves I need to call Brighton and find out if I’m overreacting about the Gilbert twins.
I’d make it a conference call, but Lexi lives in a different time zone, so it’s not always easy to connect with both of my sisters at the same time.
“Come in,” I call out, switching from concerned older brother to business owner. Because I’m used to that, too.
The door swings open and—
It’s her.
The Pink Convertible Girl.
I’ve had to brake for fallen trees. Whitetail deer. Squirrels. Even the occasional turtle. But never a pink—pink—convertible parked in the center of the road.
It had taken about a second to assess the situation. Tourist. Bear.
Otto, easily identifiable by the jagged scar on his nose, has lived in these woods since I was in high school.
Other than destroying the occasional birdfeeder when he comes out of hibernation in the spring, the bear never causes any trouble.
So, I figured what the driver needed was a little encouragement and honked the horn.
It was short, polite, and had no effect whatsoever on the woman sitting in the driver’s seat.
When Otto moved and the car didn’t, I had to toss out my original theory and find out why. More than likely, the driver was lost. We aren’t completely off the grid, but the labyrinth of roads can be a challenge for people who aren’t familiar with the area.
There are three kinds of people here. The snowbirds who claim residency but migrate to a warmer climate for the winter, the vacationers who consider the Northwoods their personal playground and disappear shortly after Labor Day, and the ones like me, who stick it out year-round.
The driver turned to look at me when I hopped out of my truck and she was definitely a Category Two. And beautiful.
My sisters call women like her the “Summer Barbies”.
If, by some one-in-a-million chance, they happen to fall for a local, they never fall head over heels in love with Cedar Bridge.
Not enough to make it their permanent home anyway (don’t ask me how I know this).
Which makes them more dangerous than a bear.
Still, some of the same rules apply.
Treat them with respect.
Keep your distance.
Continue on your way.
The last one would have happened a lot faster if she hadn’t put her toy car in reverse and hit my truck.
Now I wonder if this is a test or God’s sense of humor, because somehow, like a pink boomerang, she ended up here.