Love Next Door (Lakeside 1)

“I completely agree. And I’m loving working on Bee’s garage, finding a way to take the existing structure and turn it into a functional living space.”

“You should talk to Aaron or my dad about looking at your plans before you start on that. They’ll be able to make sure you’re adhering to the bylaws.”

“I talked to Aaron about it at the beach party.” The beach becomes progressively more overrun with weeds the closer we get to the beach party’s location. “Why doesn’t this get the same treatment as the beach on the other side of the lake?” I thumb over my shoulder.

“Because the other side is where all the summer homes are. They generate income for the town, so they put more effort into maintaining the beach there.”

Here the tree line isn’t interrupted by as many huge homes and docks with boathouses. “But this side is gorgeous. If the beaches were better taken care of, wouldn’t they be even nicer?”

“Maybe. Probably,” Dillion agrees. “But the locals worry the north side people would take it over like they’ve already done on the other side of the lake.”

“So it’s partly intentional?” I press.

“Yes and no. Obviously we’d love to have a nicer public beach, but it’s what we’re used to, and we can’t afford another marina on this lake, which is probably what would end up happening. It’s just too much pollution, you know? This lake used to be pristine, but as soon as they added the marina on the north side, it changed the entire ecosystem. The town tried to fight against one on the other side of the lake, but obviously we lost. They had the money to make it happen, and they have the money to keep the beach clean and family friendly, so that’s where they put it.”

“Do you think they’d want to use this beach when they already have their own?”

“We just don’t want it to catch anyone’s attention. The summer home boundaries are already creeping to the east and west. We don’t want to lose the entire lake. It’s about maintaining balance. So much of the town is based on tourism, and of course we want to keep that thriving, just not at the expense of the entire community.”

“Is there a way to do that? To maintain the beach on this side of the lake without making it too appealing?” I stop to pick up an empty beer bottle and toss it in the trash.

“I don’t think anyone has tried too hard. Bee was vocal at town-council meetings back in the day, but no one else has stepped up to the plate. Besides, there’s a hefty price tag attached to that kind of thing. Maintaining the beach costs man-hours, and that’s not in the town budget.”

“It should be equitable, though, shouldn’t it?” The docks on this side are falling apart, whereas the public beach on the other side has lifeguards, new floating rafts, and gorgeous sand.

Dillion gives me a knowing look. “It all comes down to the money and who’s providing it. The people in this community are middle class, and most of them make ends meet just fine, but they don’t have thousands to spare to pay someone’s salary to maintain a slice of beach.”

It’s not like I don’t already know this. I witnessed it firsthand every summer. While I chose to stay in Grammy Bee’s cottage and spend most of my days on this side of the lake, if I’d wanted to, I could’ve gone to the beach on the other side, and no one would have given me a second glance, but it’s not the same for the locals. Or at least that’s how it seems.

There’s a level of tolerance between the local community and the vacationers. But it isn’t necessarily symbiotic. Especially since now, more and more of the vacation homes are becoming permanent residences, which changes the dynamic of the community. I see it more clearly now than I did when I was younger, and I can only imagine how hard it must have been for Grammy Bee when she married someone her family didn’t approve of and eventually chose his world over her own.

Warning signs are posted at the end of each dock, a single flimsy chain strung across the two anchoring posts. The signs are faded and peeling, indicating that they’ve been in this state of disrepair for a number of years already. Their effectiveness is highly questionable, with a few hanging so low even a toddler could step over them. As if that isn’t bad enough, several docks are missing boards along the way, a gap-toothed grimace of rotten wood.

It’s clear that people use them all the time, though, based on the words carved into the decaying boards. Some of it looks like the work of teenagers, while others are far more sophisticated, with messages like “Protect the South Beach community.” I look around the beach and notice for the first time that the mess from last night has already been cleaned up. Only a few stray red plastic cups are lingering in the bushes, and the bonfire has been put out and marked with signs so kids don’t accidentally run through the ashes.