twenty | will
TWENTYWill
It took less than five minutes to figure out the leak was above my pay grade. Fortunately, the only plumber in town happens to be Reeve’s first cousin, so I moved to the top of his list.
The Billings were understanding, but I felt bad their day had started out with two inches of water on the kitchen floor. To make it up to the couple, I offered to pay for their breakfast at the café, but they politely turned me down. The reason? They were taking Emberly’s SUP class.
I felt compelled to remind them that Emberly is a guest, not a certified fitness instructor (at least I don’t think she is), but it didn’t seem to matter. Mrs. Billings patted my cheek, grabbed a bottle of sunscreen and a beach towel, and shuffled down to the lake with her husband.
“You have a SUP class?” Rich’s muffled voice drifts out from the cabinet underneath the sink when we’re alone. “I’ll have to tell my wife. She’s been looking for one around here.”
“There’s no class …” My back teeth snap together. “I mean, not officially. It’s just something one of the guests decided to do this week.”
While simultaneously driving me to distraction.
My brain is still in recovery mode after wandering into the kitchen and finding Emberly there.
Until that moment, I really thought she’d find an excuse to bail on Cab’s fishing date. She continues to surprise me.
I’m not big on surprises. As much as possible, I like to know what’s ahead so I can plan accordingly.
Like putting on a shirt when we have company.
Except that I didn’t know we were going to have company. I must have been in the shower when they snuck into the cabin.
It’s not like I blushed or anything, but I’m pretty sure Emberly did. I’m also pretty sure she checked out my abs.
Knox doesn’t wear a shirt unless he’s working at the Grill, but I didn’t want Emberly to think I’m one of those guys who takes selfies at the gym. Not that Cedar Bridge has one.
“You’re all set.” Rich, who must be part contortionist, scoots out from underneath the cabinet.
“Thanks for coming over on such short notice.”
“No problem. I’ll get this cleaned up and be on my way, unless you want to do it yourself and save a couple bucks.”
“I’ll do it.” I’m all about saving a couple bucks.
And postponing the inevitable. Which in my case, happens to be a green-eyed woman who’d looked more excited about the fish she caught than the expensive trinkets she’d had delivered to my door.
I write out a check to Rich and grab a mop. It takes another hour to put the kitchen back together. I see the Gilbert twins taking turns pushing each other off the raft, but there’s no sign of Cab.
How long does it take to unpack some souvenirs and put them in a bag?
Although … there were a lot of souvenirs.
Thanks to Emberly, the owner of the Northern Treasures Boutique will get to close early for the season.
I glance at my watch. Almost noon. I take a mental inventory of the contents of the refrigerator and decide on sandwiches for lunch. It’s dinner from the Grill until I can make a grocery store run again.
I didn’t realize how much I depend on Brighton to keep things running smoothly during the busy season. I’ve always known her summers with us are limited. She has one semester of grad school left and then some prestigious symphony will snap her up.
It’s what she’s always wanted. It’s what I want for her.
I pass Serenity on my way to the studio and spot the bikes propped against the porch.
Reeve wraps up her guided adventures with a campfire supper, so Emberly’s friends should be back by seven or eight.
I doubt I’ll see much of her after that.
I should be relieved, but the thought makes me irritable instead.
“Hey, Hartley!” Kyle from Sumac flags me down and this makes me irritable, too. “I have a question.”
And my answer is: Yes, Kyle. Ditch the loafers.
But that’s not what he asks. He wants to know if there are any places (insert smirk) where he and his buddies can “cut loose” for a while. If (another smirk) I know what he means.
I know what he means. And there aren’t any of those “places” around here. Knox could use the business, but I’m not going to send Kyle and his gang to the Grill.
But Sue? Retired Navy turned ice cream shop owner?
She can handle anyone, so I give him a name.
“The Den?” Brad looks as pumped as a frat boy during rush week. “Sweet.”
“Yup,” I agree. “That’s the word.”
No one else seems to need me, so I head toward the shop.
The boxes I hauled up the stairs are gone.
I knock on the door and wait. No one answers, so I knock one more time and open the door.
Only an inch, because a furry obstacle is blocking my path.
My dog is sound asleep on the rug, all four feet peddling the air like an upside down Junebug.
She cracks her eyes open and looks at me.
“Hello, you awesome watch dog. Where are …” I stop when I hear a muffled laugh.
Muffled because it’s coming from behind a door.
My throat closes, shutting off the air to my lungs. I’ve never had a panic attack, but I wonder if this is what it feels like.
Juni instantly rolls to her feet and licks my hand.
“It’s okay,” I wheeze.
Juni whines, not sure if she believes me. I’m not sure I believe me.
The door is closed, but now I hear music. More laughter.
I take another step into the room and realize there’s something different.
My grandmother’s quilt is draped over the back of the fainting couch.
Three paintings of the shoreline—each one depicting a different season—are hanging on the wall above it.
Summer. Fall. Winter. In perfect order, just like they used to be.
The way life used to be.
Grief wraps around me, squeezes like a vice, as I pivot toward the rounded door.
Why didn’t I put a lock on it? Tell Emberly the studio was off-limits …
I drag in a breath and when I call out my sister’s name, my voice sounds almost normal.
The music stops and the door flies open.
“Will!” With one bound, Cab’s in front of me. She grabs my hand and tows me into the studio. “Look what we found!”
Now I know what Brighton did with Mom’s paintings.
Nothing.
Because they’re lined up against the wall. The one she’d been working on right before she died is on an easel in the corner of the room.
I don’t know where to look, so I look at Emberly.
I’m not sure what she sees, but she steps toward me, an apology in her eyes.
“Will …”
I shake my head.
Cab holds up another watercolor. A small figure in a dress with a frilly pink tutu, sitting on the end of the wooden dock, fishing pole in hand. “Is this me?”
I remember the dress. A gift from Bright and Lexi for Cab’s third birthday. The fishing pole was from me and Dad. Cab had thought nothing of combining the two.
I manage a nod.
Cab traces a watercolor wave almost reverently. “Can I … do you mind if I hang it in my room?”
“Let me find a frame for it first.” See. I can talk. Breathe. Sort of. “Can you run home and start lunch, please? Ham and cheese sandwiches, and there’s some watermelon in the fridge.”
“Sure!” She grins at Emberly. “Thanks for letting me help with the swag bags!”
“I should be thanking you.” Emberly glances at me. Nibbles on her lower lip.
I follow Cab out of the studio but the weight on my chest doesn’t go away.
The moment we’re alone, Emberly touches my arm.
“I’m sorry, Will. I thought—”
“What?” I cut her off, shake her hand away. “That it’s okay to snoop? To take things that don’t belong to you?”
“I didn’t take anything!”
I point to the paintings—the quilt—as proof.
“And that room—” I gesture at the door. “Is off limits!”
“You never mentioned that!”
“I didn’t think I had to!” I shove my hands into my pockets so Emberly won’t see that I’m shaking.
“Will.” Emberly’s eyes seek mine, her body perfectly still while I’m about to fall apart. “I didn’t know Iris had never been in your mom’s studio.”
My eyes are stinging now. “She has. She just … doesn’t remember.”
I realize that’s part of the problem.
And now the words are pouring out before I can stop them.
“Cab … she knows Mom and Dad should be here, with us. But she doesn’t remember when they were.” And that hurts. “I don’t want Cab to grieve like we did, but I wish …” My throat closes.
For so many things.
“How long has it been since you’ve been in there?” Emberly’s voice is soft, but I recoil at the impact.
I don’t want her to feel sorry for me. I don’t want her to know that sometimes the memories are the warm, fuzzy kind that make me smile and sometimes they strip the breath from my lungs.
“I don’t remember.”
Emberly knows I’m lying.
“I’m sorry,” she says again.
I believe her. And it isn’t Emberly’s fault that I haven’t been able to bring myself to deal with Mom’s studio. It always felt like too much, after everything else. And sometimes I just don’t want to feel.
I think about the easel and the blank canvasses that Mom would have filled with splashes of color and light.
Cab has never shown any interest in painting, but maybe that’s because I’ve never encouraged it.
I close my eyes.
This isn’t Emberly’s fault. It’s mine. I should have shown Cab the studio a long time ago. I can’t have it both ways. I can’t keep our parents’ memories alive if I withhold some of the best ones because they hurt too much.
I swallow around the lump in my throat. “I’m sorry I went all, ‘the west wing is forbidden’ on you.”
Emberly walks toward the door.
No, not the door.
Me.
Her arms slide around my waist and she rests her cheek against my chest.
My heart starts to pound so hard that I wonder if she can feel it.
Her hair smells like sunshine and jasmine. Her body fits perfectly against me.
I want to pull her closer and never let go.
And that is exactly why I do.
Slowly, though. And I can’t help but trace the curve of hips before I step away.
“Your friends should be back by seven.” My voice has the deep rattle of a chain smoker. “No one locks their cabins, so you can move in this afternoon. If you leave your luggage at the bottom of the stairs, I’ll take it over for you.”
I take another step backward even though every molecule inside my body is telling me to take Emberly in my arms again.
“Come on, Juni.”
She tips her head and looks at me.
“You can’t stay,” I tell her.
And neither can I.