At the Water's Edge (4 page)

“Rekindling your love affair with Northville?”

“Something like that.” I suck in a deep breath. “Bit of a burnout situation in Boston. Buried myself in work a tad too much.”

“You could have gone to Hawaii, though. Or to Europe. Some place a bit more exotic than this sleepy old town.” Her voice is low, nonjudgmental, barely quizzing—just conversational.

“Sometimes, you need to go back to where you came from.”

“Not so easy for me.” She gives a light chuckle. “I was born and bred at this lake, and I’m still here.”

“Have you never felt the urge to leave?” I try to keep my tone level.

She shrugs. “Not really. This is what I know. I feel good here.” A wide, swooping gesture of her hand. “Look at this. Why would I want to leave this behind?”

Instead of letting my gaze drift across the lake, its surface glowing in the light of the flames, I stare at Kay’s hand: long fingers, trimmed nails, no rings.

“But what do you do for, uh, entertainment?”

“Entertainment?” The word rolls off her tongue like the punchline to a bad joke. “Can you be more specific?”

The blush that left me earlier is back. “Movies? Museums? Culture in general, I guess.”

“When I have a crushing, burning desire to see a painting or some wacko modern art installation I probably wouldn’t understand, I take my car and drive to the city.” An edge has crept into her voice—as if she has had to answer a question like this too many times in her life. “And when was the last time you saw a good movie in the theatre? A movie which you can truly say was worth paying twenty bucks for?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply—”

“That small town people have boring lives?” The friendliness is back in her voice, a smile breaking on her lips again. “Most people I know here, I’ve known all my life. That’s a strong connection. And trust me, they provide all the
entertainment
I need.”

Perhaps I should be jealous of Kay’s ties to Northville’s community—of the feelings of safety, of truly being known—that come with life-long acquaintance. But, apart from a few, very brittle, family ones, I have no ties here. Only nostalgia and a deep, deep melancholy that I know has sprouted here, that is rooted in the soil of this very town.

“My turn to ask a question.” Kay swings her ankle into mine. I’ll need some more time to adjust to her questions-disguised-as-statements way of conducting a conversation.

“Sure.” The beer has made me light-headed now, almost carefree.

“Will it just be you in the cabin all this time? Or will a lady from the oh-so exciting city be joining you at some point?”

Thank goodness the alcohol is helping me to relax enough that I don’t blush at her question. “No, just me,” I say in a small voice.
I’m very good at chasing city ladies out of my life.
I don’t say the last part out loud.

“What? A hot shot Boston U professor like you is single? Just when I thought all was right with the world.”

“I have a PhD in Biology. It’s not the most sexy subject.”

“Could have fooled me.” For the first time, Kay’s flow of words is interrupted by something, perhaps self-consciousness, or maybe the beer is getting to her as well. “I mean, with the birds and the bees and all.”

I laugh at this—a raw, deep chuckle that’s been waiting to come out. A release of tension. “What was your major in college?”

“College?” Kay bangs her beer bottle onto the deck. “This is where I went to college, learned everything I ever needed to know.” That sweeping gesture of her arm again—my eyes once again drawn to her hand. “I’d better get going. Lots of check-outs in the morning.”

“I’m sorry—”

“You should really learn to stop apologizing for every little thing you say, Ella. Trust me, the world will survive without you being constantly sorry for everything.”

Taken aback, I have no reply—just a familiar crushing feeling in my gut. Stomach dropping, chest tightening.

“Good night.” Kay touches me lightly on the arm before taking the two stairs down off the deck and disappearing into the darkness.

CHAPTER FIVE

The next day when I emerge from the cabin around noon—head fuzzy, stomach upset—the sun hangs high in the sky, bathing West Waters in the light I remember from my youth. But I’m no longer ten years old. I’m forty and a mess.

When I walk back inside to check the fridge and find it near empty, I consider my options. For some reason—always the same one—I can’t bear the thought of bright supermarket lights, so I decide to take a load of laundry to the shop at reception and pick up some unhealthy snacks while I’m there. I also want to apologize to Kay… until I remember her parting words from last night. But still, I want to express at least a little bit of regret over my baffling ignorance when it comes to her.

Unwashed—I’ll have a swim and a shower later—I trudge down the path to reception, having forgotten that most of the weekenders are checking out today, leaving their keys with Kay, and scheduling cleanings and such. I’m still a few yards away when the unbearable sound of too much high-pitched laughter makes me stop in my tracks. But it’s just a family of five making their way from the shack to the parking lot. Two small girls are skipping from one tile to the other—the exact same thing my sister and I used to do when leaving West Waters.

In the moment during which I’m trying to decide whether to turn back or go ahead, Kay appears in the doorway of the shop. Instantly, a wave of comfort washes over me, her consistent presence already forming a safety net I will have no choice but to reject.

“Morning,” she shouts, a sly grin on her lips.

I re-sling my laundry bag over my shoulder and head in her direction.

“You don’t have to wash that.” Her eyes spot the sweater she loaned me last night at the top of my overflowing laundry bag. “Have you eaten?”

I shake my head, suddenly self-conscious because of not washing. “I’ll grab some—”

“Breakfast bars? Nuh-uh. I’m not having it. Put your laundry in and meet me back here. I’ll cook you some eggs Brody-style.”

“But—” I try to protest but I already know resistance is futile.

Today, she’s wearing olive green shorts and a faded black t-shirt. Her skin gleams in the midday sunlight. Hands on her hips, she tilts her head and it’s enough to make me shut up.

 
“Go on.” She moves out of the entrance to let me through and I saunter to the back of the shop where I figure out how the washer works and set it in motion.

When I arrive back at reception, she’s busy with Uncle Pete, handing him his newspapers. He turns to the door and offers me a sweet smile that, instantly, warms me to the core.

Kay guides me to the lodge-like bungalow behind reception. “Please have a seat out here and give me a shout when someone approaches the shop. They should all have gone, but it’s not uncommon on the day after the bonfire for folks to drop by again because they’ve forgotten something. Coffee?”

“Yes, please.” I sit and let my gaze glide over the lake. From where I’m sitting on the deck, I can see all the way to the other side, even spotting the landing of my family’s cabin.

“Here you go.” She plants a steaming mug in front of me. “This shouldn’t take long.” My eyes follow her as she struts back inside with a light sway of her hips.

Friendship
, I repeat over and over in my head. Friendship is good, anything more will distract me from the reason I came here.

Five minutes later Kay deposits a large plate of scrambled eggs in front of me, flanked by two slices of dark rye bread.

“Gosh,” I murmur. “Are we sharing?”

“Nope.” She sits opposite me, cradling a mug of coffee in her hands. “What have you been eating since you arrived?”

The eggs are delicious, creamy but not too runny, with just the right amount of seasoning, leaving a hint of something spicy on my tongue. “Oh my god,” I exclaim, ignoring her question. “You’re a domestic goddess.”

“I know how to make eggs.” Her tone is flat, but her eyes sparkle.

My hangover retreats as I wolf down the eggs. “I’m not much of a cook. No one in my family is, really. Although Mom seems to be into baking cakes lately.”

“Will you come out with me tonight?”

The piece of bread I’m chewing gets stuck in my throat. I cough to loosen it and swallow slowly to hide my shock. “What?”

“I don’t mean
out-out
. It’s just that, after the conversation we had last night, I feel it’s my duty to take you on a tour of Northville’s finer spots.”

Both disappointment and relief surge inside me. I draw my lips into a pensive pout.

“I don’t mean a bar crawl, Ella. Just a drive in my truck. A few stops along the way. I know just where to go to make you fall in love with this place all over again.”

“How can I say no after you fed me eggs like that?” All the worry I carried for years seems to slip off me for that instant.

“That’s what I figured.” She cocks her head. “Nostalgia, here we come.”

“Look, Kay, about the things I said last night…” She doesn’t interrupt, just stares at me with an amused smile on her lips. “I didn’t mean to be insensitive in any way. If anyone should understand, it’s me. I, uh—” I had truly expected her to interrupt me at this point, what with her take-no-prisoners attitude, but she lets me talk freely—lets me get stuck in my own train of thought. “I didn’t mean to imply anything or claim that one way of life is better than the other.”

“Are you done?” She lets her eyes slide from my face to the empty plate in front of me. “I mean with your food. I know you’ll never be done saying sorry, so you can just go on while I take these dishes into the kitchen.” She stands and leans over the table. “No offense, Little Ella, but I’m truly not interested in your millions of excuses for everything.”

Flabbergasted, I watch her saunter off again. Through the open door, I hear dishes clatter into the sink. For someone who grew up finding an explanation for every little action I undertook, Kay’s approach is wildly refreshing.

“Shall we meet at six?” She reappears in the doorway. “No need to dress up.”

* * *

Kay’s driving style mirrors her personality: calm, confident, relaxed. She has one elbow propped out of the open car window, while her other hand rests on the steering wheel. We zip through the streets of Northville, mostly lined by houses just like the one I grew up in—the same place where my parents have lived for more than fifty years.

“Well, I surely wasn’t expecting that.” I give her a smirk when she pulls up alongside the woods skirting the edge of town.

“Just wait.” From the backseat, Kay unearths a tote bag, the neck of a wine bottle peeking through its opening.

In this light—dying, the sun low—the woods have a dream-like quality, as if anything could happen. The air is cooler and damper between the trees. Kay leads the way to the clearing where I expect she’ll stop. Only, she doesn’t. She takes a left at the picnic bench where every inhabitant of Northville must have enjoyed an alfresco lunch at some point in their lives.

Next thing I know, I’m climbing a steep little hill. Once again I’m confronted with how out of shape I am, my breath wheezing in my lungs as we make our way up. Another left and then… The memory hits me hard and fast. Nancy Moore. Tenth Grade. She’d just gotten her driver’s license and we used to drive to the woods after school and—

I watch Kay pull a blanket from the bag and spread it out over the ground.

“How did you know?” I ask, because this can’t be a coincidence.

“Small town. You know how it goes.” Kay gives a quick nod with her head. “Why don’t you sit down. The view is wonderful from here, as I’m sure you remember.”

I had prepared myself for some gentle nostalgia, for a few bouts of joyful reminiscing about mutual acquaintances and how they had fared—Kay being a well of information—but I am not ready for this mind fuck. I feel tricked, fooled even. “B-but,” I stammer.

“Do you really think you and Nancy were the only ones smart enough to figure out the beauty of this spot? Half the teenage population of Northville came here for the exact same reason you did.” She starts fiddling with a corkscrew and the bottle. “If it makes you feel any better, my first time happened here too.”

I sit on the blanket and overlook the valley below. Nancy Moore was the first girl who broke my heart.

“I see Nancy at The Attic sometimes. She remembers you fondly.” Kay offers me a plastic cup of red wine. “It’s from the winery in Fairfax. I’ll take you there if you like it.”

The wine may taste divine, but if it does, it doesn’t get through to me. “You see Nancy?”

After digging a little hole in the ground to keep the bottle upright, Kay installs herself next to me, legs folded under her bottom, staring out into the distance. “I see everyone who hasn’t left.”

“How is she?” Nancy with the dimples in her cheeks I used to trace my finger along in this very spot.

“Married to Tommy Waterman. Three children. Works in the mayor’s office, just like her daddy used to.”

“God, that was such a long time ago.” A small smile starts breaking through the stern, shocked expression on my face. “I haven’t been here in, erm, twenty-two years.”

“These days, kids don’t come here anymore. So many more interesting things to do, you know? Facebook, video games, internet porn…”

“It’s gorgeous.” My muscles relax into the moment and the taste of the wine explodes in my mouth. “So impossibly green.” The exact same thing I used to think when I came here with Nancy in the summer of 1990, listening to Roxette and Sinead O’Connor tapes on our Walkmans, unable to share one device because they only made one type of headphones back then.

Already, I had wanted to leave. Because I knew it wouldn’t last, knew I was just a temporary distraction for Nancy, who couldn’t shut up about Drew Hester, even when it was just the two of us down here, her hand in my hair—and my heart in my throat.

She ignored me for weeks after I started dating him, but never breathed a word about the activities, though innocent enough, she and I had engaged in behind everyone’s back.

“I was eighteen,” Kay says. “Brett Dinkle was a real gentleman about it. Not a bad word to say about him. We stayed together for two more years after.” She turns to me. “Are you a gold star, Little Ella?”