twenty-three | will
TWENTY-THREEWill
I might need a new tractor, but Knox needs a new road.
The suspension on my truck gets a workout every time we go to the Grill.
“Can we get cheese curds? Or mozzarella sticks?” Cab is practically levitating off the passenger seat and I realize we haven’t gone out to eat since the church picnic on Memorial Day weekend. “The deep-fried pickles are good, too.”
I chuckle. “It’s up to you.”
When I told Cab we were going to the Grill for supper, she shrieked loud enough to rouse Juni from her afternoon nap. And then she asked if Emberly was coming along.
“Her friends will be back this evening,” I remind her. “I’m sure they already have plans for next couple days.”
I tack this on—gently—to let Cab know that her time with Emberly has come to an end. Instead of taking the hint, Cab launches into a lengthy monologue about the posse Emberly refers to as the Suite Sixteens.
“Did you know they’ve been friends since college?
I hope me and Eden stay friends for a long time.
And they go on a trip together every year.
Hawaii. Greece. The Maldives.” Cab recites the names of luxury playgrounds.
“Emberly said they were supposed to go to the Keys this summer, but her friends wanted to come to Pinehart instead.”
Am I the only one who thinks it’s strange that our humble resort rose to the top of their list of vacation spots?
I try to steer the conversation to safer ground.
“Bright texted me today. She can’t wait to come home next week.”
“Does she know Mom painted a picture of me?”
This is not safer ground.
“I’m sure she does.” My voice sounds tight but Cab doesn’t seem to notice.
I’ve been thinking about Mom’s studio all afternoon.
I don’t know which was worse. Expecting the room to be empty or seeing all of her paintings lined up against the walls, collecting dust.
Mom loved the hustle and bustle of the resort, but the studio was her private retreat. The one place she could go to alone, recharge. No guests. No demands. Family by appointment only, although I did see Dad sneak up there once in a while.
“I could take some of my fish down and we could put up Mom’s paintings,” Cab says. “I like the ones Emberly helped me hang up above the couch in her room, but there are more of the lake that are pretty.”
I’m blown away by the suggestion—and the reference to Emberly’s room, as if she belongs there—but one word jumps out from the rest.
“We?”
“Emberly said she thought they might go there, so I asked if she’d help me put them back.”
Great. Now guilt adds more weight to the layers of emotional sediment I’m carrying around.
I was just so blindsided when I walked into the studio and saw Emberly and Cab there. Laughing. Having fun.
Like Mom did. She didn’t paint to make money or get attention. She painted simply because it brought her joy. And she wouldn’t have wanted her studio to become a museum or some kind of shrine to her memory.
Brighton had asked about the studio before she went to college that fall.
I’d been up to my eyeballs in financial forms and reservations.
I’d had to box up our parents’ clothing and personal belongings, from Mom’s wedding dress to the unopened bottle of cologne we’d bought Dad for Christmas.
I’d told her she could do whatever she wanted to do with Mom’s art supplies and paintings, dust the furniture, and lock up the place when she was done.
Bright had never brought up the subject again and I was relieved I didn’t have one more decision to make.
But now I do. Only this time, it doesn’t feel like my heart is getting ripped out of my chest. It feels … like it’s time.
“We’ll talk to Bright and Lexi,” I tell Cab. “Maybe they’ll want some of Mom’s paintings, too.”
“Emberly said Mom was a really good artist. And she’s seen the Mona Lisa. Like, for real.”
Of course she has.
Because for someone like Emberly, a trip to Paris would be like me taking a weekend jaunt to Door County.
My pickup bucks as it hits the last pothole on the turn into the Grill’s gravel parking lot.
It’s already full so I pull around the back of the restaurant and wedge my truck between the Dumpster and Dawn’s ancient Subaru.
Knox complains it isn’t my personal parking space but there has to be some perks when the owner is your best friend.
Cab throws open her door and vaults to the ground before I have my seatbelt unbuckled.
“Come on, Will!” If she had a tail, it would be wagging. “I’m starving!”
She grabs my hand and tows me around the building.
One of the first things Knox did when he took over the Grill was cut down a few trees, put up a net, and start a sand volleyball league. He wanted me to join, but there’s no way I can fit in weeknight practices or games during the summer.
A group of twenty-somethings took over the tables and chairs around the court and I can pick out the tourists from the locals with a single glance just by what they’re wearing.
Knox, who’s waiting on tables, spots us and veers in our direction.
“Checking up on me?” He clips me on the shoulder and grins down at Cab. “Hey, Marigold.”
“We’re getting cheese curds—and mozzarella sticks!”
“Awesome. Now I can pay my electric bill.” Knox winks at her, but I’m not sure if he’s kidding. He’s done a lot to bring the Grill back to life over the past few years, but after Labor Day, business slows down. By November, the Category One and Twos have left and the Threes go into hibernation.
Over Knox’s shoulder, I see a group get up from a table. I point. “Go grab that one for us, Cab.”
She jogs toward it.
“So … just the two of you?” Knox drawls.
“And you said math class was a waste of time.”
“Seriously … Emberly. Why isn’t she with you?”
“Because she’s a guest at the resort. That’s it.” No matter how many times my brain replays the moment she steps forward, wraps her arms around me. Rests her forehead against my chest even though I’d been a jerk.
Knox isn’t buying it. “You’re an idiot, Hartley.”
Tell me something I don’t know.
“I’m not going to start something I can’t finish.” I pause for maximum impact. “You of all people should understand that.”
Knox pretends to stab himself in the heart with the ballpoint pen in his hand. Turns it a few times just to be dramatic.
“At least I’m not in denial.”
“I’m going to deny you a tip if I have to wait any longer for our cheese curds.”
Knox scratches something on the notepad. “It’ll be out in five but not for you. For Cab. You picked a good night. We’ve got live music at eight.”
I make a mental note to leave before the band starts to set up, or Cab will insist we stay.
A leggy blonde waves to Knox as he walks back to the Grill. He stops—of course—and they strike up a conversation. I doubt it has anything to do with the menu.
Cab sees a friend from school and ditches me the moment I sit down. I wonder what Emberly is doing for supper and then I’m mad at myself for wondering.
She’s a big girl. She can take care of herself.
A point that hit home when I saw Emberly unloading her suitcases from the backseat of the convertible.
Not that I blamed her. An apology didn’t erase the fact that I’d been a jerk.
The picnic table bench shifts as someone plunks down beside me.
Reeve reaches for my glass of water and takes a sip. Sets it back down.
“I think I’m going to need something a little stronger.”
I grin because Reeve doesn’t drink alcohol. She has a brother in recovery, so the Wilde house is as dry as a Baptist graduation party.
“What are you doing here?”
“Forgetting the last seventy-two hours, hopefully.”
“You always say that.”
“This time I mean it.”
“What happened?” I tease. “Did someone crack under the no cell phone rule? Break into your tent and steal your protein bars?”
“Not this time … and don’t joke about my protein bars. I need those when I get hangry.”
“You, hangry? Rumor has it you can go a week without food or water,” I tease.
“Shut up.”
It’s Dawn the bartender, not Knox, who slides a plate between us. “Enjoy.”
Reeve snags a steaming mozzarella stick and takes a bite.
Closes her eyes and moans.
I glance at my watch. It’s five-thirty.
“Aren’t you supposed to be grilling steaks for your last campfire meal right about now?”
“I took a vote. It was four vegetarians and one dairy-free, gluten sensitivity against two carnivores, so we decided to part ways a few hours early.”
“Tough crowd.”
“You have no idea.”
I slide the plate closer to her. Reeve is from a family of eight, five of whom are older brothers, so she’s used to tough crowds.
The mistake people make is underestimating Reeve because she looks like a Northern Wisconsin version of Tinkerbell.
Short, with golden-blonde hair and big brown eyes.
She’s also tough as nails, perpetually in motion, and gets things done without wings or pixie dust.
“The group I sent over?” I keep my voice casual. If Reeve suspects that my question has anything to do with Emberly, she’ll be interrogating me.
“Yeah, don’t think you have to do me any more favors, by the way,” she says dryly. “It was constant complaints. The mosquitos. The sun. The lack of sun. The food. The tents. You name it, I heard about it. One of them even complained the river was too wet.”
“And on top of all that, you took their cell phones away.”
Reeve shakes her head. “That’s the weird part.
They didn’t seem to mind at all. Didn’t ask for them once, or try to sneak into my tent to look at their social media.
When I handed their phones back, one of them said she wished I could keep it a little longer, because it’s the perfect way to avoid someone. ”
“You could add that to your marketing,” I joke. “Need a break from your significant other? Kids? In-laws? Hand over your phone and grab a paddle.”
“Not a bad idea, actually.” Reeve’s voice drops a notch. “So. You doing okay?”
I know what she’s really asking, but I can’t go there now.
“Yup. I’m good.”
Reeve looks skeptical, but Cab scoots in beside her and reaches for a mozzarella stick.
“Hey, kiddo.” Reeve flashes a smile. Like Knox, she has a soft spot for my little sister. “What have you been up to this week?”
“I took Emberly fishing yesterday, she’s never been, and we cooked the one she caught for breakfast. She loved the pudgy pie Will made for her, so last night we made them for all the guests.”
I can tell by Reeve’s expression that she sees the common denominator in Cab’s list of activities.
Her gaze swings to me. “You made her a pudgy pie?”
From Reeve’s tone, she might have asked, “you already picked out a ring?”
“Juni wolfed down her dinner.” I realize what I just said and smile.
“Uh huh.” Reeve swivels toward Cab, who is too young to realize the conversation has now turned into a fact-finding mission.
“Sounds like you’ve been spending a lot of time with her.”
“Emberly’s great! I helped with the swag bags she made for her friends, too.
” Cab presents her arm and for the first time, I notice the silver bracelet on her wrist. I don’t know much about jewelry, but I’ve seen the ads for these on TV and each tiny little charm probably costs more than a week’s worth of groceries.
“Cab, you can’t accept that,” I hear myself say.
“Emberly wanted me to have it.” Cab covers the bracelet with her other hand almost protectively.
Reeve isn’t looking at the bracelet. She’s looking at me.
While Knox thinks I’m crazy for keeping my distance from Emberly, Reeve had her heart broken by the male version of a Category Two.
“We’ll talk about it later.” I’m talking to Cab, but I give Reeve a look.
Which she ignores.
“Maybe I’ll get to meet Emberly when I come over on Saturday.” Reeve holds my gaze. “Before she checks out.”
I don’t need a reminder that Emberly will be leaving in a few days. For Florida. A state that’s two thousand five hundred and twenty miles away (I’m guessing), but might as well be the moon.
“I don’t want her to leave yet,” Cab says.
My sister just said the quiet thing out loud.
Because I don’t, either.