thirteen | will
THIRTEENWill
When I see half of the guests standing near the waterfront, my first thought is that someone caught a really big fish. Nothing draws a crowd like a decent-size walleye or bass.
My second thought is that someone got hurt.
I really hope someone isn’t hurt.
The best I can offer in an emergency is a medical kit stocked with bandages and triple antibiotic ointment. Anything else requires a trip to urgent care.
I decide to head over there, see what’s going on, while my brain begins to replay a scene from last summer.
One of the teenage boys staying here decided it would be fun to make his own zip line between two white pines on the property.
With a piece of tow rope I’d thrown away because it was frayed.
In the dark. An ambulance ride and four stitches later, the kid decided he’d stick to fishing instead.
His family didn’t reserve a cabin this year.
I spot the group in Tamarack and the Brownings, a middle-aged couple who comes up here to photograph the loons every year, standing next to the guys in town for a fishing tournament. Whatever is happening has caught the attention of pretty much the entire resort.
Just in case it’s not a fish, I yank my phone from my back pocket, ready to dial 911.
It suddenly occurs to me I haven’t seen Cab since breakfast and my heart starts beating in double time.
If something bad had happened, she’d be the first person to let me know.
Unless the something bad had happened to her.
I don’t let my mind go there.
It’s impossible to see the shoreline through the wall of people. Because I don’t want anyone to panic—or see me panicking—I slow down to a quick walk.
Everyone is staring at the water so I look out at the water, too.
That’s when I spot Emberly. And Cab. And five other women on standup paddleboards floating in a line about ten yards from shore.
I swallow hard. Because Emberly strikes some fancy ballet pose where she leans forward and lifts one leg. The other women—including Cab—all try to imitate her.
Mrs. Billings, who’s here to celebrate her seventieth birthday this week, begins to teeter. I brace myself for the splash, but she finally rights herself and tries again.
“Great balance!” Emberly calls out.
I want to look away, but my gaze seeks her out again like I’m the needle on a compass and she’s true north.
Her auburn hair is caught up in a high ponytail and the getup she’s wearing, a tank top and shiny pink leggings, make her look like a cross between a mermaid and a personal trainer.
“How do I sign up for the paddleboard exercise class?” The mom in Sugar Maple sidles up to me.
“There is no paddleboard—”
“And that’s all I have for you today!” Emberly sings.
The mom gives me a look.
“It’s not an official class,” I mutter.
“That’s all right. I’ll talk to Emberly,” she says.
Wait. Emberly has been here less than twenty-four hours. How does this woman know her name? And why does she think that talking to Emberly is going to make a difference?
There’s a smattering of applause as Emberly cruises into the shallow water, hops off the paddleboard with the grace of an Olympic gymnast, and tows it to shore.
“That was so much fun!” I overhear Mrs. Billings tell her husband. “Did you see how flexible I am? I’ll bet I can still do the splits.”
And I still might be dialing 911.
Cab splashes onto the shore, spots me, and waves.
“Did you see us, Will?”
“Yup.” And so did everyone else at the resort. Including the fishermen in Sumac, who are hanging around the dock, pretending to mess around with their boat.
“I asked Emberly if she wanted to go out on the paddleboards with me and she’s never tried it before, but when we got out there, she started doing all these cool poses, and the next thing we knew, a bunch of other people wanted to try it, too!”
I’m impressed, but I don’t show it. I’m also trying not to look at Emberly, who is drying off her arms with a beach towel someone handed her.
Everyone dries off their arms, but somehow, she does it with the same grace that she performed the paddleboard poses.
The Sumac bunch isn’t even pretending to mess around with their boat anymore.
They’re gawking at Emberly as if she’s the catch of the day.
She walks up to us, the towel now knotted around her slim waist like a skirt, emerald eyes sparkling. “Hi, Will.”
I should return the greeting but my mouth makes another decision.
“What was all that about? Mrs. Billings, who is turning seventy by the way, could have gotten hurt. And who would be responsible? Me, that’s who.
” Okay. I know I sound like a jerk, but our insurance is already crazy high and when there’s a claim against it (thank you, Zipline Kid) the premium jumps even more.
“Our guests come here to relax. They don’t want organized activities. They want to be left alone.”
“Maybe some do,” Emberly says evenly. “But there might be a few who don’t. It wouldn’t hurt to offer some activities.”
It wouldn’t hurt …
Now she’s giving me advice on how to run my business?
“It was fun, Will.” Cab comes to Emberly’s defense. “Emberly didn’t make anyone do it. They wanted to.”
“Then what was with all the … the shish boom ba stuff?”
Did I really say shish boom ba? I just aged fifty years.
Instead of being insulted, Emberly looks like she’s trying not to laugh.
“It’s nice to know I still have a little shish and boom left in me.”
I didn’t realize that Mrs. Billings had sneaked up behind us. She reaches out and pats Emberly’s hand.
“Thank you, sweetie. Same time tomorrow morning?”
Emberly’s eyes meet mine and then she smiles. At Mrs. Billings. “I’ll be here.”
“Wonderful.”
What is happening here? Why are people acting like Emberly is the one in charge instead of me?
I try to take control again.
“Cab, we have to pick up a part for the tractor this morning.” Great. Now I sound like a jerk and a hick.
“Can I stay here with Emberly?”
I didn’t see that coming.
Cab loves to tag along with me when I go into town because A) she talks me into stopping at the bait shop to look at the new lures and B) we always grab ice cream at the Dairy Den before we come home.
Emberly must sense my hesitation because she smiles at Cab.
“I was planning a quick trip to the grocery store to pick up a few things anyway.”
Cab’s expression brightens and I can read her mind.
Don’t say—
“You can ride with us!”
“I—” Can think of a million reasons why this is a bad idea. Unfortunately, it’s the lamest one I end up saying out loud. “We have to take the truck. There isn’t a lot of room.”
“I’ll sit in the back,” Cab offers.
My sister never sits in the back. She and Juni fight over shotgun every time we go somewhere.
There are always women staying at Pinehart, but while Cab plays with their kids or joins the younger ones in a game of volleyball or cornhole, she’s never become attached to any of them.
I don’t want her getting attached to Emberly. Cab is missing Brighton this summer, so I guess it makes sense she’d be drawn to Emberly. But I’m still not convinced she’s going to finish out her stay at Pinehart once her friends come back. And even if she doesn’t, she’s checking out on Saturday.
And she’ll leave a review.
“Fine.” I give in. “We can all go together, but you have to change first. You track more sand in the house than Juni.” I spot a pine needle trapped in Cab’s hair and pluck it out. Tug on the end of her ponytail.
Cab frowns a little. Not because I sometimes forget she’s almost a teenager, but because she’s probably wondering why I’m being such a grump about this.
I turn toward Emberly, expecting to see the same expression, but a smile shimmers in her eyes.
A guy could get lost in those eyes.
If the guy was dumb enough to wander off the designated path again.
Which I’m not.
Knox gives me a hard time about my lack of a social life the same way I do about his revolving door of first dates, but running Pinehart, taking care of Cab, is a 24-7 gig.
I don’t know many women who’d sign up for that type of commitment.
And after listening to Serena’s critique of my home, my friends, and my “overdeveloped sense of responsibility”, I’m not in any hurry to look for one.
“Will?”
I realize Emberly must have asked me a question, but I have no idea what it was.
She sees my blank expression and repeats it.
“When do you want to leave?”
“Fifteen minutes. You can meet us at the office.”
I can’t help but notice two of the students from Emberly’s water ballet class immediately intercept her as she walks away. Emberly links arms with them like they’ve known each other for years.
All the way back to the house, Cab talks about Emberly. How much fun it was to go out on the paddleboards. How much she liked the blackberry muffins.
“Emberly said they’re better than Hazel’s.”
Hazel the cook.
Even without the reminder, I have enough bits and pieces from our conversations to build a picture of Emberly’s life. I wonder if her house includes a moat and a drawbridge.
“Do you think I should take Emberly fishing?”
I choke back a laugh only because I can tell that Cab is serious.
“No offense, but I’m guessing that isn’t something she would enjoy.”
“Why not?” Cab looks offended. “It’s awesome.”
“To you,” I point out gently. “But it’s not for everyone.”
“I’m still going to ask her.”
Cab sprints ahead of me before I can object.
My cell rings and it’s a potential guest inquiring about a weekend in October, so I spend the next five minutes in the office, taking down their information.
“Ready!” Cab appears in the doorway and I hold up one finger.
She makes a zipping motion across her lips with one finger and waits until I hang up.
Emberly is standing by my truck when we go outside, but I should know better than to leave the window open. Juniper has already claimed the passenger seat. I can’t explain it, but the dog has a sixth sense when it comes to road trips and refuses to be left behind.
I open the door. “Backseat, Juni.”
She looks at Emberly and then sails over the back of the seat without a complaint. Huh.
I reach over and brush the dog hair onto the floor before Emberly gets in.
She’s wearing another sundress. In red. And the back is …
missing. The truck has been baking in the sun, so I automatically put my hand between her shoulder blades to keep her bare skin—a lot of bare skin—from touching the leather seat.
She freezes. I freeze.
“The seat … hot.” I’m speaking Neanderthal again. “I don’t want you to get burned.”
And now that Emberly knows this, I can remove my hand. Which I do. Quickly. And fumble with the buttons on the air conditioner instead.
“Your face is all red,” Cab says.
“It’s hot in here.” I put the truck in gear and press on the gas.
The truck rolls backwards.
Because I put it in reverse.
I don’t say a word and neither does Emberly.
But when I slant a glance in her direction, she’s smiling.