At the Water's Edge (3 page)

“Oh shoot.” She crouches until her eyes are level with mine. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No, just trying to absorb some vitamin D.” I feel Kay’s gaze glide across my body.

“You’re probably too smart to forget, Professor, but I hope you applied sun screen.”

Was that a crack at the impossible paleness of my legs and arms? “SPF 50,” I say. “I’m hoping to go lower soon.” My top clings to my skin in the small of my back because of the sweat that has pooled there. “Full house this weekend?”

“Pretty much.” She looks over the lake, momentarily lost in thought. Her skin has the same tone as Dr. Hakim’s brown tweed jacket. I woke up to an e-mail from him this morning, phrased in the same unobtrusive way he used to treat me.

I hope you’re doing well, Ella. Call me any time.

“We’re having a bonfire on Sunday night. Just sayin’. Not invitin’. Everyone’s welcome.” A sassiness has seeped into her voice, giving it a higher pitch.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

She shoots me one of what I’ve already come to think of as her trademark winks before pushing herself up. “I’ll leave you to it. The water’s wonderful today, by the way.”

I watch her walk away. Her navy shorts barely cover her ass as she saunters away from the patch of lawn in front of our cabin. I recline back in my chair and ponder Dr. Hakim’s e-mail.
Am I doing well?
I certainly don’t feel the need to call him. I guess I’m doing as well as can be expected.

* * *

The days at West Waters are slow, so I’m actually quite happy to have the distraction of dinner with my parents and Aunt Mary on Saturday evening.

She grips me in a tight bear hug the instant she sees me. “Oh, Ella. Oh, Ella,” she keeps repeating. Aunt Mary is like a more filled-out, taller version of my mother. A quick-mouthed high school teacher who was promoted to principal the last fifteen years of her career. Unlike my mother, she likes to say things out loud. Not this, though. There are some things that no one wants to speak of out loud.

Aunt Mary has four highly successful children of her own, and all but one live close by. Between them, they’ve already given her seven grandchildren, with an eighth on the way. It’s only natural for her to talk about her offspring in a light tone, laughter in her voice, pride glittering in her eyes. As she does, it’s as if I can see a sheen of bitterness coat itself around my mother’s skin. It’s not as much envy, I think, as the loss of something she never even experienced. Something that could potentially brighten up her days.

And I know it’s not my fault—Dr. Hakim and I have covered this extensively—but the guilt still nags at me. It’s there, showing up faithfully, every time I walk into this house.

Every time Aunt Mary wants to ask me a question, she bites it back, her mouth opening and closing like a fish gulping for air on dry land. Just like everyone else who knows, she’s unsure of what is safe ground. What is allowed to be asked, to be said. Soon, the conversation dies a predictable, natural death.

But it’s not the silence that falls around us that makes me freeze up. It’s the un-spokenness of it all, of ‘the thing’ that hangs above all of our heads. The precise reason why I’ve come. But I’ve only just arrived and I’m nowhere near ready. Then, just as the tension becomes unbearable, Aunt Mary hammers the final nail into Mom’s coffin.

“Any news from Nina?” It’s not malice, I’m sure of that. It’s not exactly an innocent question either, more a desperate conversation starter.

“She’s in New Zealand. She was an extra in
The Hobbit
,” I’m quick to say, to give my mother time to regroup. Nina e-mailed me this nugget of news months ago, and I scoured the IMDb to verify her claim, but the list of extras was so long, I couldn’t find her in it.

“The what?” Aunt Mary asks.

“It’s a big movie franchise. A spin off of
Lord of the Rings
,” Dad says.

“I see.” Aunt Mary nods as if she’s reflecting deeply on this. From the set of her jaw, I easily deduct this visit will end soon, for which I’m grateful.

When she leaves, she hugs me tightly again. Neither Mom’s nor Dad’s side of the family—and least of all our own—are naturally tactile people, and learning to accept a family member’s arms around me is still so foreign that I find it hard to enjoy the offered comfort. Instead, I stand stiffly inside her embrace, my muscles automatically rejecting this sort of display of affection. But Aunt Mary’s hug is different from Mom’s, more matter-of-fact and less desperate. The quick, solid embrace of a woman who has gotten used to comforting grandchildren.

Only a few minutes after she’s out the door, I’m quick to say my goodbyes as well. On the way back to West Waters, I drive past The Attic, keeping my eyes peeled for Kay’s car. What does she do for entertainment in this town apart from having a beer with the same people every week?

By the time I drive up to what I’ve started to consider as
my
parking spot at West Waters, my head is overflowing with questions I’d like to ask Kay. To my dismay, one of the weekenders has parked in my spot, and I need to maneuver into another space. I can’t wait for the weekend to be over and have the lake to myself again.

CHAPTER FOUR

On Sunday night, I find my own surprise in attending the bonfire reflected in the expression on Kay’s face when she spots me.

“You made it,” she says, and slaps me on the shoulder. The temperatures have dropped and Kay has wrapped herself in a dark-gray fleece hoodie and pants. I guess there’s not much use for decorum in a small town like Northville.

I wear the only blazer I packed—a reminder of my life in Boston, which, already, after only a few days here, where time seems to freeze, appears to belong to another lifetime. Or maybe I’m just eager to forget.

“Are you sure about that?” She scans my outfit with a scrutinizing glance. “You’ll have to take that to the dry-cleaners after tonight.”

First, I’m not sure what she’s getting at, but when she points her thumb in the direction of the fire, I understand she’s referring to the smell of smoke and ashes that will penetrate the fabric of my blazer.

“Oh, it’s fine.” I scan the people gathered around the fire, bottles of beers and plastic cups of wine in their hands, for familiar faces. In the pale-orange light of the flames, the only person I recognize is Uncle Pete.

“Here, take mine.” Kay starts unzipping her hoodie, revealing a powder-blue v-neck t-shirt clinging to her chest. “I’ll take your fancy jacket inside.”

Our eyes meet and in the instant of hesitation that comes next, as if following a command, I slip out of my blazer and hand it to her.

While she saunters to the lodge behind the shop, I let the cozy fleece—warmed up by Kay’s body heat—envelop me, and a faint whiff of her scent wafts up into my nostrils. It’s not perfume, but an unexpectedly flowery soap, an unmistakable summer smell that takes me back to way before all of this began.

Silently, I look around me again, at these strangers with their children, their own stories safely tucked away behind the masks of their—mostly—carefree faces.

When Kay returns, in a navy sweater with the West Waters logo displayed on her chest, I know the warm glow that spreads through me at the sight of her isn’t only due to the growing fire. But, this moment, too, will pass. This fleeting second of being at peace with things. It always does.

“Ella Goodman?” From behind me, a beer-drenched voice calls my name. “Is that you?”

I turn and stare straight into Drew Hester’s pudgy, red-nosed, loose-skinned face. I remember my mother’s glee when she found out I was dating one of the Hester boys. To this day, I’m still not sure if it was because Drew’s father, Bruce, owned half of the land in Northville, or because, even at sixteen—quite some time before I worked up the nerve to tell her—Mom had her suspicions about me.

“Drew. Wow,” I sputter.

Kay pushes a bottle of cold beer into my hand and I eagerly accept it, locking my eyes with hers for a moment.

“What brings you to these parts?” My teenage romance with Drew was short-lived, restricted to a few sloppy kisses and unsuccessful groping sessions behind the town hall.

“Family.” I say it in the tone I use when one of my students is acting up during a Friday late afternoon class.

“Hey.” He slants his long body in my direction, his beer breath slamming into my face. “Is it true what I hear? Is that why you dumped me all these years ago?” He narrows his eyes as though he just reached an important conclusion with the few remaining brain cells operating his mind. “Oh, I see.” He looks at me, then turns his head to Kay, and back. “Oh, yes.”

His bloodshot eyes rest on me. For all the battles I’ve fought with myself, my sexual identity has never been much of an issue. But the way he alludes to Kay’s stuns me into silence nonetheless.

“That’s enough, big guy.” Kay steps in—literally blocking my body with hers.

“Didn’t mean to offend.” Drew holds up his hands. “Let’s catch up before you leave, Ella.” With a drunken man’s swagger—ridiculous and wobbly—he turns and disappears into the darkness.

“Don’t mind him. He doesn’t get out much.” Kay’s voice is soothing and apologetic. “If and when he does,” she shrugs, “well…”

But I don’t care about Drew and his ignorant questions. I want to ask her, but don’t immediately know how without coming across just as rude as Drew.

Surely I would have heard about it if Kay were a lesbian like me. After I came out, despite my mother’s urging to keep ‘my news’ quiet—a wish I obeyed not because she wanted it that way, but because I wasn’t exactly keen on becoming the talk of the town either—rumors started cropping up almost immediately. Halted whispers when I went into the butcher’s. Hushed voices at The Attic, not just one of Kay’s favorite watering holes, but also my father’s preferred spot for relaxation.

“It’s fine,” I say, instead, but the discomfort has settled. Not because of the brief, almost silly interaction with Drew, but because of the same old question that keeps rearing its head: was it really a good idea to come here?

Kay bumps her shoulder into mine. “They’ll all be gone tomorrow. We’ll have the place to ourselves all week.”

I giggle and pull Kay’s fleece tightly around my body, resisting the urge to lean into her.

“Kay.” A vaguely familiar looking woman dressed in a linen pants suit walks up to us. Her grey hair is done up in a neat, tight bun. “That man in your shop says you’ve run out of diet coke, surely that can’t be the case.”

“I’m on it, Mrs. Innis. Come with me.” After Kay has addressed her by name, I realize the woman taught me in third grade.

I stare into the fire while emptying the rest of the beer Kay gave me. She’s fully engaged in chit-chat with Mrs. Innis and slowly, a circle of mostly elderly people forms around her, obstructing my view. I stand too far away to hear what she’s saying and, growing tired of the shrieking children playing tag and nearly bumping into me a dozen times, I retreat back to the privacy of my cabin.

* * *

I’ve built my own fire in the pit between the porch and the lake and, because of the cracking sparks and light whoosh of the flames, I don’t hear her footsteps as she approaches.

“Thought you might want this back.” Kay stands next to me, holding my blazer.

I’m still wrapped in her sweater, drinking more beer. “Thanks.” I look up at her. “Want one?” I present my half-empty bottle.

She nods and sits on the edge of the porch.

While I duck inside to stow away my jacket and fetch Kay a beer, I believe I know why she has come. Or perhaps I’ve had one beer too many.

“Don’t like crowds, huh?” Kay asks when I sit next to her, our feet dangling in the air, our thighs nearly touching.

“Depends.” I let my gaze rest on the flickering orange glow in front of us. “Can I ask you something?”

A loud, gurgling chuckle erupts from Kay’s mouth. “By all means, Little Ella. By all means.”

I turn my head to look at her. Her lips are drawn into a thin smirk, eyes brimming in the light of the fire.

“Are you gay?”

A short silence before she replies. “No.” She tilts her head a bit more. “Which doesn’t mean I’ve never fallen in love with a woman.”

“Oh.” I feel my face flush. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”

The skin of my cheeks feels as though the flames have started licking it with broad, sweltering strokes across my face.

“So bloody ignorant,” I murmur. “I should know better.”

“I’m not that thin-skinned, and, living here, I’m used to worse.”

“But still.” I sip from my beer, hoping it will cool the flush on my cheeks.

“I’m truly not fussed with what people think about me. It’s my life and I do what I do.” Lightly, she jabs her elbow into my biceps. “You’re not like that. I can tell.”

I huff out some air. “Let’s just say I’m a work in progress.” My stomach tightens. I drink more beer.

“We all are.”

“You look pretty much complete to me.” My words come out as a whisper, disappearing instantly into the soft roar of the flames.

I don’t expect the loud cackle. When I look at Kay she’s shaking her head, an amused glint in her eyes.

“We all have our thing, Ella. All have our very own cross to bear.”

I wish I was the kind of person who could sit on the edge of that porch with Kay until the morning, continuing this line of conversation, but already I feel myself clamming up—my tongue and thoughts growing paralyzed.

Kay drains the rest of her beer with quick, quiet gulps. “Permission to go inside and get us another?”

“Yes.” I nod almost feverishly, before my anxious brain can take over and ruin everything.

When she returns, I watch her sit gracefully, her movements supported by strong muscles.

“To a quiet September,” she says as she clinks the neck of her bottle against mine.

In the silence that ensues I imagine telling her; I imagine her probing, kind eyes on me as I do.

“When Dee informed me about the occupancy of your family’s cabin she didn’t give a check-out date.”

It takes a few seconds before my brain registers her statement as a question. “Yeah, uh, no. I’m not sure yet when I’ll be leaving.”