Our plastic glasses meet in a tap.
“And we should pinky swear,” Chloe adds, “that we won’t ever lose touch with each other after this is all over.”
We all smile and join pinkies much the way we locked elbows just hours ago in the storm, using our combined strength to lead ourselves to safety.
In unison we agree. “Pinky swear.”
1
Laiyla
Six years and 364 days later
I turn onto the drive leading to Wildfire Lake with so many emotions crawling through my body, my stomach aches and my skin feels a size too small.
I still can’t believe my grandfather won’t be waiting for me on the front porch of his home, a sweet log cabin he built himself decades ago, and the place I called home every summer from age nine to age seventeen.
He passed away three years ago, but it feels like I just spoke to him last week. It’s no secret I still haven’t quite figured out how to grieve his loss. Not to me and not to anyone close to me, which is, admittedly, not many people.
I’m the one who offered up the property for my reunion with KT and Chloe. Before we left Niue, we all swore we’d make this union to celebrate our thirtieth birthdays.
KT didn’t care where we met up, and Chloe suggested going back to where it all began, which was a big hell-no for me. So, I offered the lake and my grandfather’s house. And, okay, yeah, it might have been a bit selfish. I’ve been avoiding the property Grandpa left me, because I’m not ready to face his absence, and I thought having KT and Chloe here would help buffer the pain involved in coming back. But I was upfront with them, and they are more than willing to support me through this.
That is more than I could say for anyone else in my life, including my parents.
The bright blue summer sky and seventy-degree breeze flowing across my skin tell me this was a good call, despite the anxiety. June at this lake is magical.
My front tire drops into a pit in the asphalt so deep, my teeth click hard and my breath comes out in a puff. With overgrown shrubbery crowding the road and more potholes up ahead, I slow, and anger coils inside me. This road should be maintained. My father gave me the name and phone number of the caretaker he’d hired to look after the property until I could decide what to do with it, but it’s clear the caretaker hasn’t been doing his job.
Still, by the time the brush clears and the road opens, anticipation expands inside me, and I’m giddy when the lake comes into view.
I stop the car and soak in the sight of the big, beautiful body of water in a multitude of blues depending on the depth. The way the colors bleed and transition always reminds me of a watercolor.
Joy floods me, making it feel like my chest has wings. A joy that always came along with this lake and the freedom I enjoyed here, the unconditional love of my grandfather, and…Levi.
Melancholy slips in, but I accept Levi for what he was, a childhood crush. Puppy love. If only that kind of infatuation could last, this world would be a much better place. I have no idea if he’s still here or not, and even if he is, I doubt I’ll run into him, which is really for the best. I don’t need any reminders of how poorly my love life has turned out since I last saw him at seventeen.
My gaze skims the opposite side of the lake, property that was sold off by the owner decades ago, where homes dot the shores. Grandpa’s property, or rather my property now, includes half the lakefront and nearly a thousand acres of rolling hills dotted with huge live oak and wide swaths of meadow. This property cost my grandfather a few hundred thousand dollars all those years ago and its now worth millions. How many millions, I don’t know, nor do I care. Right now, all I care about is the way the sight steals my breath and pumps me full of joy.
I ease the car forward, finally taking in the full sight of my grandfather’s side of the lake and the marina docking houseboats he used to rent out. For a long moment, I don’t understand what I’m seeing. Then a fist reaches down my throat and clamps my stomach hard.
The marina is a mess. The metal overhangs shading the houseboats are oxidized and dented, entire sheets missing in places. The exterior upholstery on the boat decks is faded, worn, and torn. The parking lot asphalt is cracked, and weeds and grass grow through, making the lot look like it’s filled with moss-covered rocks.
“What in the holy fuck?” Anger and bone-deep disappointment war inside me.
By the time I roll to a stop outside the marina office that doubled as a market and tackle-and-souvenir shop, tears burn my eyes. Tears of fury. The wood exterior is faded and worn, the windows cloudy from years of disuse. It doesn’t look like anyone has touched this place since my grandfather died, and I wonder what in the hell I’ve been paying the caretaker to do.
I am livid.
Livid.
I was so devastated by Grandpa’s death, more so than either of my parents, including my mother, who had been his daughter, that I couldn’t fathom making a decision about the land. When my father offered to find a caretaker for the property until I was ready to deal with it, I said yes.
I stand from the car and cross my arms tight, fingers digging into my biceps. This is the result of jealousy, pure and simple. My parents expected my grandfather to leave the property to them, and they’ve never stopped trying to get me to sell. They want to do what a dozen other developers want. To rip this place apart and create a “real” resort. Ditch the boats, the marina, the store, anything and everything that had my grandfather’s stamp on it.
I’m going to ream my parents. Absolutely ream them. But I have to calm down first. I have to collect all the data, take photos, write notes, because when it comes to my parents and their logical, scientific brains, disagreements are always an intellectual debate. The moment I show emotion, they dig in and exploit it.
“How in the hell could they—” My voice breaks, and tears fall, hot on my cheeks.