54. Natalie
Natalie
Jules drove my SUV back to her house when she flew home, so it’s not at the airport when I arrive.
A parking fee for three weeks would have been a few hundred dollars, and I was happy to have Jules use it on her way back.
So, as soon as I get the rental car I need, I drive straight to the cabin and get to work.
There isn’t much to pack since I only came here with one suitcase at the beginning of summer, but every item I put away feels heavy in my hands.
I’m sad to go, now that summer is over, but I also hate spending time away from Luke when he needs me.
I feel torn between here and there: my family and childhood home, and the man who owns my heart.
I spot my camera on the nightstand, where I left it weeks ago.
My fingers itch to pick it up and photograph every inch of Maple Lake.
I want to take every memory with me when I’m gone.
Since Luke’s accident cut our summer a little short, I never got to take the photos of the cabin for its online listing; it’s the last thing on my mental to-do list before I go back home.
Nearly done gathering my things, a knock at the door surprises me. I peek out the window and spot a little visitor. Archie’s standing on the porch holding his hands at his back. Jules and Levi stand behind him.
I swing the door wide, unable to hold back a great big smile. “Hi! I didn’t expect to see you all until later.” My mood is instantly lifted. When I’m gone, I might actually miss my nephews the most. They’re so precious, and I’ve become very attached.
“We brought you a surprise,” says Archie, his little arms crossed behind his back.
“Oh, really?” I smile at Jules, who’s standing a few steps away. Levi has his arm wrapped around her from the side.
“They really missed you when you were gone,” she says. “And they thought you’d be sad because of what happened to Luke. And also because you’re packing to leave. They have a little gift for you.”
I crouch down in front of Archie. “You have a gift for me?”
He nods and reveals his surprise. “I picked these for you.”
“I helped,” adds Levi.
In Archie’s hand is a tiny bouquet of little white flowers hanging from bent green stems. They’re the exact flowers I used to pick when I was a little girl.
“Mom said they’re your favorite.” Archie hands them to me. I take them, careful to not drop any of the delicate flowers.
My throat swells. “Thank you,” I choke out. “These are my favorite. And I haven’t seen lilies of the valley in years.” I smile down at the boys, tears threatening to appear.
Archie beams. “You can put them in a cup or a jar or something to keep them nice. And you can put water in there, too, because plants need water. And maybe you can plant them when you go back home.” The smile on his face pricks at my heart, knowing I have to leave them all behind—the flowers and my family.
“Thank you so much,” I say, my eyes moving from Archie to Levi and then to Jules. “You remembered,” I say to my sister.
“I remember everything,” she replies, her own eyes bright with unshed tears. “I never forgot who you were or what you liked back then. All I ever wanted when you were gone was to have you back. Those flowers always reminded me of you.”
I motion toward my collarbone, but I look toward hers. “Is that why you have that flower tattoo?”
Her eyes are warm and her smile is bright. “I wanted you with me, even when you weren’t here.” She steps forward and hugs me tightly. “I wish you didn’t have to leave,” she says against my hair. “You’ll be back, though, right? Like you said?”
“Christmas. It’ll be sooner than you think.” We separate, and I hug both the boys.
Levi’s grown over the summer, and I fear how different he’ll look in a few months when I come back for the holiday. As long as Luke is able to walk and travel, we’ll be here.
“I’ll miss you both,” I say, squeezing them. “But Uncle Luke and I will be here for Christmas, and I’ll bring you both something special from Florida.”
Their eyes stretch wide, and their smiles warm up my heart.
“But hey,” I add, “I’m not leaving until tomorrow. So guess what?”
“What?” they say in unison.
“Tonight I’m sleeping over at your house.”
They gasp, looking at each other and then back at me.
“Really? Is that for real?” asks Archie, turning around to give Jules the most adorable serious face like he doesn’t believe me.
She nods. “It’s true. Aunt Nat is going to come over and spend the night before she drives back to Florida tomorrow.”
The boys squeal and jump around, and after a few seconds Jules tells them they can play by the front yard for a little while. They scamper away to grab sticks and find pine cones between the trees.
“Did you bring the prints?” I ask once we’re alone.
She nods her head. “They’re in the car.”
I follow her to her SUV, and she opens the door to the trunk. Inside are five wrapped frames with the photos I took to hang on the cabin walls.
“Have you looked at them?” I ask, waiting to rip the bubble wrap off.
“Yeah.” Her smile grows. “They’re perfect.”
She lifts a large frame—sixteen by twenty inches—out of the trunk and carefully peels back the wrapping to reveal an image of Main Street.
The diner sits front and center. It’s a beautiful photo.
Le Fou can be seen a short distance down the street, and the buildings’ reddish-orange bricks stand out against the greens of the trees in the background.
The lake is almost visible in the image, but mostly the picture showcases the old-town charm of Maple Lake.
“What do you think?” Jules asks.
I look at her. “What do I think? What do you think? It’s going in your cabin.”
Her shoulders lift. “I think this one, and all the rest, are absolutely perfect. You did an amazing job.”
I swell with pride. While I was in Florida, I told Jules to get my laptop from the cabin.
I explained to her exactly what folder to find the photos in, and I gave her the job of picking out the ones she liked the most. She picked five—ones I’d already edited and finalized—and had them printed and framed.
“Thanks for trusting me with this project,” I say.
She sighs. “I just hope it works,” she says. “I want the cabin to be rented out every season, not just the summer. So as long as sprucing it up with local diners and waterfalls will help, then I’m all for it.”
I wince. “Don’t hate me if it doesn’t work. But I think it will.” I give her my best impression of a true believer.
She smiles. “I think it will too.” She hefts up another frame. “Alright, let’s get these hung up.”
I help her carry the rest of them, and she calls the boys to follow us inside.
When we’re done, the whole cabin feels different.
I hadn’t noticed before how empty the walls really were, but now, with a photo of the riverbank near the front door and an action shot of Cam, taken from the back as he chops firewood, positioned by the fireplace, everything’s tied together in a way that makes the cabin a perfectly serene getaway for anyone looking to enjoy a rustic vacation.
“I’ll take the interior photos of the cabin when you guys leave, and then I’ll head over to your house,” I tell Jules when we’re done hanging the last of the frames.
Besides the two in the main room, there’s an image of the lake in the master bedroom and a picture from my hike with Jules in the guest room.
She wipes her hands against her jean shorts. “I’ll tell Mom and Dad you’ll be over for dinner. Oh, and Cam washed your car. It’s ready for your trip back.”
My eyes prick with thankful tears, the love from my family flooding me. “Thank you,” I say, “He didn’t have to do that.”
“He knows that.” She squeezes my shoulder. “And Mom and Dad are still good with taking your rental back to the airport tomorrow on their way out of town.”
Mom and Dad stayed to see me one more time, but they’re moving on to their next big adventure, just like me.
Jules calls the boys and gathers them into her car.
When they’re gone, I take a moment to enjoy the silence.
My mind feels empty, quiet of all the dark thoughts that typically scream at me when I’m alone.
I close my eyes, breathing in the mountain air and the scent of wood and leather.
I feel peace here, and I already can’t wait to come back.
Upstairs once more, I finish packing everything I left, including anything that Luke left, and take my filled suitcase and bags to the car. When everything is put away, I go back in one final time.
After grabbing my camera from the bedroom, my bare feet carry me quietly across the cabin’s wooden floors. With the strap around my neck and the viewfinder to my eye, I start in the kitchen, snapping photos and committing to memory all the moments I spent here over the past three months.
The sun is starting its descent behind the trees now, but it will be several hours until the light fades.
I flip through different shutter speeds to see what looks best, and I zoom in on some shots to capture the homey details around the kitchen, like the butcher-block island counter and the view out the window from the table in the breakfast nook.
Sunlight casts lines from the blinds on the floor, and I capture the image, hoping a renter will appreciate the warmth of the room in the afternoon.
I take photos of the bedrooms and bathrooms—standing in the corners or doorframes to get a wide image of the spaces—then the living room where the fireplace sits cold and empty.
The only thing that could be better than the angle of the sunlight would be if a fire was roaring in the hearth.
In every room, I make sure to take photos of the newly framed images on the walls—they truly tie the whole room together, pulling the viewer into the space and into the heart of Maple Lake.
Through these new listing photos, a potential renter will be able to get a taste of the town before ever stepping foot in it because Maple Lake has been brought inside the cabin.
Walking in and out of these rooms, I’m hit with nostalgia.
Although I’ll never be in my childhood house again and I’ve never been in this cabin until this summer, it all feels so much like the Maple Lake I knew as a kid, but one hundred times better.
And it’s not just the trees surrounding the cabin or the scent of fresh rain on dirt outside that makes me feel at home.
It’s the knowledge that I’m welcome back here anytime that truly makes me feel this is where my heart is—my home.
I hope the people who rent this cabin over the next months and years will feel like they’ve come home, too, because that’s what I want them to experience when they see the photos on the walls.
Maple Lake is a safe place to fall and a soft place to land.
It’s home to me, and I hope it’s home to anyone who needs it, even for just a summer.
There’s healing in its bones and love in its people.
My eyes sting as I lock the front door. The sound of my sneakers hitting the gravel driveway and the gentle tapping of a woodpecker on a nearby tree remind me I haven’t had a panic attack in weeks. My pulse remains steady, and my emotions no longer control me the way they once did.
When I start up the car and reverse down the driveway, I no longer feel like I’m running away.
Instead, I’ve finally learned to balance the most important parts of my life.
I found I can be me in two places without compromising who I was and who I’ve become.
My family loves me. Luke loves me. And I have two homes that welcome me with open arms.
Running away was never the answer. The threads that tie me to Luke are stronger paired with the threads that hold me here, and for the first time I’m finally myself, accepting the loops and knots and bows, and all the more happy for their existence.
So I ask myself again, are we doomed to always run and run and run in an endless loop until we eventually die?
I would have said yes three months ago. But now my answer is no.
We pave our own paths—new ones. I might get cut and acquire a few bruises along the way, but I’m not on an endless loop—not anymore. And I’ll be damned if I ever jump on that hamster wheel again.