If You Say So (Ruby Lodge #2)
1. Sydney
I once read somewhere that lakes go through life stages, just as humans do. Over a much longer period of time, of course, but over the span of many years, a slow, gradual evolution takes place. The basins fill slowly with eroding material little by little until one day it’s simply no longer a body of water, evolving from a large lake down to a pond, then maybe a creek, and down to nothing at all but land.
As I watch waves roll softly onto the sandy shore, this tidbit of information comes to mind, and an uneasiness settles in my stomach. Realistically, I know I’ll be long gone by the time any drastic changes happen to a lake as large as Lake of the Woods, but the thought tugs on my heart all the same.
So many of my childhood memories happened here—admittedly ones I both yearn to remember and am desperate to avoid all at once. Regardless, I don’t like the thought that so much of this lake will just be gone one day. Vanished as if it never existed.
A pelican flaps its wings, landing in the water next to the fish cleaning house, pulling my attention there. Inhaling a deep breath, I scan the length of the shore, taking in the beauty of Ruby Lodge’s bay.
Several aluminum boats are tied to the large dock system that juts out into the water, and on the other side, there’s another stretch of beach where a row of Adirondack chairs is nestled. The lake spans out for miles and miles without anything else in sight from this part of the island.
Lake of the Woods at its finest—a sprawling body of water that borders both Minnesota and Canada. With over fourteen thousand islands scattered across the vast lake, it’s a scenic destination for many fishermen and folks looking to slow down their pace of life, both of which Ruby Lodge caters to. Many of the islands are small and uninhabitable with not much more than a slew of foliage sprouting from their bases. Others are dotted with cabins and resorts like the one Ruby Lodge is nestled on—Takini Island.
It’s also home—along with the city of Baudette back on the mainland, where I grew up and my brother, Graham, and I went to school. We spent most of our weekends out here, helping my grandparents run the lodge. Eventually, our parents took over operations, often bringing us along to help, so to say this place is threaded into the very fabric of me is about as true a statement as I’ve ever made.
When I’m back here, the familiarity of it all drowns most of my senses. Every sound of a leaf crunching under a shoe or the soft chirp of a bird feeds my soul in a way that only the comfort of home can, not to mention the smell of campfire smoke and the faint call of a loon out in the distance. Or Graham’s voice when he shouts a farewell to a fishing boat full of guests embarking on a morning fishing excursion.
A small, peaceful part of my soul thrives on being here.
But even with all its positive aspects, as I stand here with a tightness in my chest, I can’t deny the negatives. Along with the ample number of happy memories, there are ones that fuel a steady grief that overshadows all of it. An ever-present subtle reminder of why I don’t come back here often.
The slam of the door behind me brings me out of my nature-induced trance, and I give my head a timid quiver to clear my thoughts. Turning toward the lodge, I breathe in the fresh spring air, letting it ground me in its familiar way, and I do what I always do with this heaviness—push it down deep where it belongs.
Bounding up the steps with a renewed focus on the work at hand, I swing the front door open. As I walk across the worn entry rug, I can’t help but think of the countless times I’ve crossed this very threshold. Passed through this same entrance on my way to find my parents going over paperwork in the office or to look for Graham in one of his famous hide-and-seek spots.
“Okay. I can do this,” I tell myself under my breath in an upbeat tone, reminding myself that I’m fully capable of compartmentalizing my emotions. I’ve done it for years now.
“Hey, Syd?” My brother, Graham, looks up from behind the bar on the far wall of the dining area, shifting his gaze away from the coffee he’s pouring just long enough to give me a side eye.
“Morning!” I smile at the sight of him as I cross the room to slide onto a barstool. One of the biggest positives of being here is seeing him in person, being able to talk to him without needing to use the phone.
“I mean this in the least offensive way possible…but what in the world are you wearing?” He smirks.
I glance down at the neon-yellow oversized hoodie that I’ve paired with forest-green leggings. Thick black wool socks peek out of camel-colored Wellie boots.
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” I ask innocently. I think I look cute today—bright and vibrant. While I may technically be here on business, since we’re on a remote island in the middle of nowhere—where the general attire is ‘mountain-man chic’ at best—I made an executive decision and deemed casual wear to be appropriate.
“It’s, uh…blinding,” he mutters with a chuckle. Sometimes I forget that he’s only one year older than me. He has an old soul and wisdom that often makes him seem much older to me than twenty-seven.
“It’s called style.” I flash him my best cheeky grin. “Fashion. You wouldn’t understand.”
With a miniscule shake of his head, he crosses to the other side of the bar where he places the cup in front of a guest reading the newspaper. Then he holds up a finger in my direction to signal he’ll be right back before slipping through the swinging double doors into the kitchen. The old doors creak so much when they swing that I’m honestly surprised they haven’t fallen right off the hinges.
I tap my fingers along the bar top while I wait, slipping my gaze over my shoulder and out the floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a view of the bay. The sun glistens across the top of the lake, a beam gleaming off the corner edge of the dock. The rustic beauty of this place is absolutely another positive of being here.
“Here you go,” Graham says, placing a warmed cinnamon-raisin muffin in front of me. “Just a warning, you have about ten seconds before Shirley comes out to—”
He doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence as Shirley, our longtime family friend and head cook here at the lodge, comes barreling through the double doors, making a beeline when her eyes land on me.
“Sydney!” she squeals.
A grin stretches across my face as I jump off the stool mere seconds before she wraps me in a bear hug. I squeeze her back, savoring the embrace that brings me so much comfort.
“When did you get here?” She pulls back long enough to run her hands through my hair, then down my arms, inspecting every inch of me as if she hasn’t seen me in ages—which would admittedly be true.
“Last night.” My words come out slightly mumbled as her hands squish my cheeks, cradling my face. “Sam flew me in right before dusk. Graham said you had already turned in for the night, otherwise I would have come and said hi. How are you?”
“Oh, I’m just fine, dear.” She gives a shake of her head and then releases my face, stepping back with determination. “What can I make you? How about an omelet?”
“Oh, I’m fine with a muffin, honestly,” I object.
“Nonsense.” She waves me off as she scurries behind the bar, rambling mostly to herself. “You used to love my ham-and-chive scramble, so that’s exactly what I’ll do. You have a very important job to do. I need to keep you well fed!”
She’s halfway through the doors when she peeks her head back out. “Oh, I can’t wait to see what plans you’ve come up with, Sydney. Such exciting times for Ruby Lodge.”
With another squeal, she disappears into the kitchen before I can get a word in. Not that I tried too hard to stop her. I know her well enough to know that she’s happiest when she’s feeding the people she loves. Who am I to take that away from her?
“Speaking of plans,” I say to Graham as I slide back onto the stool, “I’m having a meeting with Neal this afternoon to go over the tentative drawings I sent him. I’d like to start pulling permits so we can get the ball rolling on demo as soon as possible.”
After months of poring over measurements and details, I’m anxious to finally get this project started. There’s an unsettling urge inside of me to give Ruby Lodge some much-needed love and attention it deserves and so desperately needs. This means a lot to me. It’s like this project is allowing me to return a favor in a way. To care for it, just like it has done for me so many times.
Sometimes it’s hard to believe that, nearly a year ago, Ruby Lodge came so close to being shuttered for good. The list of repairs needed on the individual cabins was growing larger by the day while the amount of money coming in was rapidly dwindling. In a twist of fate, Graham and his fiancée, Blair, found an old trust that my grandparents had set up with more than enough money to do a full renovation, including adding on and expanding the property.
As one of the newest lead architects at a firm down in Minneapolis, that’s where I come in—designing and overseeing this expansion project. One I’m honored to lead, even though it comes with a hefty dose of pressure and emotional uncertainty.
Was it necessary for me to stay on-site for the duration of this renovation? Not really. But being as I decided to be involved in every single aspect, including interior design, it only makes sense. Plus, I can work remotely from here, so despite my mixed feelings about it, I’m here to stay for the next three to four months.
“Is he flying or boating out?” Graham asks.
“He’s coming by ferry boat, I believe.”
“I’ll be on the lookout to help tie up,” he offers with a nod.
“Alright.” I drum my fingers against the counter. “Catch me up on where we’re at with the surrounding cabins. Have we secured the lots we need?”
“Well, we’re looking good on the northern side of the property,” he says. I gladly wrap my hands around a warm coffee mug as soon as he sets it in front of me.
“So far, Beckstrom and Halding have agreed to sell. Neither of them make it up here often anymore, so once the paperwork goes through, we’re clear to start demolition in those areas.”
“Excellent.” The renovations I drew up are dependent on expanding into some neighboring properties, so hearing we bought those ones out is a relief and one less headache to worry about.
“The east side of the property, as you know, leads up to the community land,” he points out.
Ah, yes. The portion of the island that belongs to all the Takini Island landowners. There isn’t much more than a single wooden dock, a picnic table, and a barely standing pavilion set up on the property—and it’s been that way for years—so I’m hoping we’ll be able to cut into some of it. My plan for an expansive recreation area—complete with tennis courts, a beach volleyball space, and a large playground—depends on it.
“We need everyone’s permission to acquire some of that community land,” I explain, having already spoken with the city council to get details on that part. “They scheduled a town meeting to make an official ruling in two weeks. That was the earliest they could do.”
“Oh, perfect.” He nods. “Now, the west side of the island is another story. We’ve got two cabins that won’t budge.”
“Ugh, which ones?” My stomach drops, and my bottom lip juts out in a pout. Those properties are for my absolute favorite part of the renovation—ones I was banking on acquiring.
“The Gilbert place might sell if I can track him down, but it’s a long shot. The cabin is boarded up, and it looks like he hasn’t been back in a while. Nobody I’ve talked to has heard from him recently, so I’d probably count him out at this point.”
I sigh, considering our options. That particular property is relatively small, so if we can’t take ownership of it, there will only be a few minor tweaks to the overall plan. Nothing major, so no big deal, although it is unfortunate. The other property, on the other hand, is the one we definitely need.
“And the other one?” I take a quick bite of the muffin.
“You mean the one on top of the hill with the highest elevation, the amazing shoreline, and the best view on the whole island?” Graham gazes off, clearly envisioning it in his head, as I’ve also done myself plenty of times, before coming back to reality. “No luck. I tried yesterday, and he’s already declined my offer.”
“Oh no.” I frown. “That one is crucial. Who owns it? Can we just offer him more money?”
“It’s Cole Fredrickson’s place now. He says he’s too attached to sell.”
My mouth goes dry, and a pang of almost tangible annoyance twists in my stomach.