by Mere Joyce
I’d like to know what the hell will happen then.
Nolan
Me: So much for being tactful. Thomas knows about Bea.
B: Did you tell him??
Me: No. My stupid cousin Hailey stole my phone while I was sleeping.
B: Wtf? She told him?
Me: Sort of. She actually told him I got Bea pregnant.
B: …
Me: She thought you were the one taking the test. She told Thomas “B” was pregnant. He figured it out.
B: Okay, I know this is serious, but I literally lol’d at that.
Me: It is pretty ridiculous. You should’ve seen it.
I felt like I was in some bad after-school special.
B: Cousins are as bad as siblings, aren’t they?
Me: I think in my case, they’re much worse.
B: Speaking of … what’s he going to do now?
Me: I don’t know.
B: It’s a lot to take in. Bea’s going crazy.
But she told Rodge. She’s staying at his tonight.
He seemed to take it okay. I think he wants to help.
Me: Good. With everyone’s luck, it’s his, anyway.
B: And if it’s not?
Me: I have no idea.
B: I miss you.
Me: I miss you, too. A few more hours and I’ll be on my way home.
B: Be on your way to me instead, okay?
Me: That’s what I meant. Home, you … it’s the same thing.
The morning is cold when I step outside. The sun has only just made an appearance, peeking out between the trees on the far side of the bay. Without its warmth, I’m surrounded by air crisp and damp, the earth soggy from the storm that passed sometime around four in the morning.
We fell asleep in the living room, all of us sprawled on the floor and furniture. I tossed and turned for a while, but I must have dozed off at some point because I was surprised when Thomas shook me awake, beckoning me to follow him and Forrester outside. Neither of them looked like they’d slept at all. Thomas had good reason for suffering through a restless night. All things considered, it’d be stupid not to admit that Forrester did, too.
Now, Forrester hands us jackets smelling of dirt and old sweat, but I shrink into the warmth of the heavy fleece as we unload the canoe and get out the paddles. We don’t say anything as we carry the boat down to the docks and lower it into the water. I’m not entirely sure why they’ve even included me in this venture, but I don’t ask. I’m tired, and feeling bad for Thomas. Plus, I’m flattered they wanted me to join them, while the others are all still asleep inside.
A hovering mist shadows the bay in silent gray as we climb into the boat. I’m glad I’ve got the middle position, Thomas up front and Forrester behind. I don’t like the idea of disappearing within the folds of the fog, and it’s reassuring to know these two will keep me anchored between them.
I haven’t been in a canoe for a while, but it doesn’t take long to catch the rhythm of paddling through the smooth water. We glide into the morning, and I breathe deep, trying to keep my head clear but unable to stop the thoughts playing on an incomplete loop, like the end of a film reel flapping against my brain.
Bea is pregnant. And it has nothing to do with me, but it affects the people I love. Brandon is going to be an uncle before he even reaches his seventeenth birthday, and I have a sickening feeling that once his parents find out, they’ll put extra pressure on him not to “screw up” like his sister. Which, pregnancy-wise, shouldn’t be a problem. Still, if they knew I’m the one he sneaks into his bedroom when they’re not around, I don’t think they’d be thrilled.
And Brandon’s only one half of the equation. The other is Thomas. He’s not panicking, at least not externally. The baby is not likely his, a probability I’m sure he’s clinging to. But the possibility, however slim, still exists. And I hope he’ll be there if she winds up needing his help.
I focus on the stroke of my paddle, liking the way it pulls heavily through the water and then floats up above the surface. Heavy tug, weightless float. Tug, float. Heavy, weightless.
“So,” Forrester says a long time after we’ve set out, “when are you leaving for your trip?”
I rub my nose, its tip like ice against the back of my hand as Thomas answers.
“Next weekend, I think,” he says.
I’m annoyed by the way Forrester has asked the question, like he knows my brother’s going is a certainty. And I’m frustrated at how quick Thomas was to respond, like he’s not even considering altering his plans with the new information he’s received.
“I could leave at any time,” Thomas continues, his voice far too easy for the topic at hand. “But I need a few days to make some initial plans. Figure out which direction I’m headed, where my first major stop will be.”
“Sounds great,” Forrester says from his spot behind me.
I don’t turn to look at him, focusing instead on a splash in the water to our left. A fish, maybe, or a beaver. I wait for a repeat jump as we move by.
“You know, I have an empty passenger seat,” Thomas says after a beat.
For a second I almost snort, thinking he’s offering the spot to me. But then I realize that I’m not an active participant in this discussion, that I’m only here to witness the decisions being made.
My frustration should be growing as I notice how unburdened Thomas’s voice is when he extends the casual offer to our cousin. But it doesn’t. Something in my brother’s tone shivers down my spine, and for the first time I think there might be a good cause behind his plans for departure.
I remember the night when Thomas explained to me where he’d been for the week he’d disappeared, why he’d vanished without a word. I’d been furious and hurt at the beginning of that conversation, but by the end I’d idolized my big brother in a way I never had before.
In the canoe now, I stay silent, forcing even my thoughts to sink down until they are nothing more than soft ripples in the water.
“I can’t offer much,” Forrester replies. His words are soft. “A bit of money. An unimpressive bit of company, I imagine. And a canoe.”
Thomas lets out a quiet laugh. “Sounds like a winning combination to me.”
They don’t say anything more, and I make no effort to question their motives or argue against the proposal. As far as companions go, Forrester will be a good one for Thomas. His presence is unobtrusive. Sitting behind me, he’s like something solid and heavy, but something xthat doesn’t pull us down. A tree, maybe. Quiet and still, with strong, living roots that dig deep into the earth. Thomas needs that, even if he doesn’t think so. And if Forrester’s asking to join Thomas’s trip, it’s because the trip is one he needs to take.
With any luck, Bea is pregnant with Rodge’s child. He will be there for her, and I will be there for Brandon. And, if it all plays out like it should, Thomas will be free to be there for Forrester. I hate the idea of my brother taking off for an extended trip of who-knows-what and who-knows-where. But I’m not so bothered knowing my cousin will be by his side, keeping him tethered.
Forrester’s brought his fishing equipment with him, and we canoe to a favorite spot of his for a few minutes of trying to catch a bite. He and Thomas cast and reel as I relax into the canoe. Geese fly above us, and there’s more unidentified splashing far out near the shoreline. The quiet sounds of the early morning are enough noise for all of us.
Thomas
I WONDER WHO THE girl is, why they’re so worried about time. How she almost died. Why they even care.
I wonder where they are going to go, if they go at all. I wonder which brother will win this argument.
“If we do this, it has to be in the fall,” my father says with a sigh.
I imagine him rubbing his hands over his face, his gold wedding ring glinting in the sun. I sink lower, almost
to my ears, almost to the point of not hearing another word.
I don’t allow myself to be swallowed by the bay. Not yet.
“That’s fine,” my uncle says, happiness bursting through his worry.
“Late September, October even … I can’t get time off work before then.”
“October will work. She likes the cooler weather.”
“Okay, but you’re in charge. I never could plan a trip to save my life.”
“If it was up to you, you’d never go anywhere.”
“I don’t know why you feel the need to travel, Simon. You own a slice of paradise.”
“Paradise is everywhere. In everything. If it was just me and Forrester, well … someday I’ll take him on a trip, too. After this one is complete.”
Kayla
I WAKE UP TO FIND my hand resting on the soft fur of Star’s back. I don’t know where she came from. Last night, sometime after dinner but before pie, the dogs disappeared. Forrester said Runner likes to sleep upstairs, and I suppose Star must have been with him. They didn’t even make an appearance during the midnight fiasco that brought us all to the living room.
I give the collie a few groggy pats before I turn onto my back and blink up at the bright daylight filtering down from the windows. What a night. My unexplained nightmare means nothing in the morning sun. Not after the explained craziness of Nolan’s obsessive texts.
A boyfriend and a baby. Hailey must feel awful. I hope she does, anyway. I do, and it wasn’t my nosing about that spilled the beans to Thomas.
I ache everywhere, but the smell of coffee and the feel of Allison’s legs pressing against my feet motivates me to move. I get up as soon as I’m awake enough to coordinate my movements, my limbs begging for the relief of a full-body stretch.
“Morning,” Hailey calls from the kitchen, her voice light.
She stands over the stove, something sizzling in a pan before her. I pad across the room, careful not to disturb Eli as I step over him. Thomas and Forrester must have gone on their canoe trip already. I don’t see Nolan anywhere, either, so perhaps he went along, too. At least it didn’t continue raining this morning. They’d be bummed about missing the opportunity to get the canoe on the water one more time before we leave.
“Morning,” I yawn.
I get in a good stretch before I sit at the kitchen table, where I pull an elastic from around my wrist and gather my hair into a quick ponytail. My face is in serious need of a wash and a fresh coat of makeup, and I fear my breath is in an even more dire state. But I can’t be bothered to clean up yet. I’m still tired, not to mention sore. Last night was rough.
“Something to drink?” Hailey asks.
She approaches the table with a huge pot of tea in one hand and an equally large pot of coffee in the other — the combined liquids full of enough caffeine for at least ten or twelve people. I laugh, and then I grab an empty mug and go for the teapot. I love the smell of coffee, but I only like the taste when it comes in the form of sugar-laden iced drinks. Pure coffee, steaming and rich, makes my stomach turn.
“So, what’s the plan for today?” I ask while I prepare my tea. Hailey’s back in the kitchen, grating cheese for what I think is an omelet. “My dad’s picking me up at noon. Only a few hours left to get everything sorted.”
“We only have the basement,” Hailey says. “We should be able to finish before then.”
“We’ll do our best,” I sigh. I can’t stay past noon, but I don’t want to leave while the others are still at work.
Allison and Eli wake up when the others return from their canoe trip. Thomas and Nolan wear matching expressions of complacency, but when they survey the rest of us it’s easy to see the tired strain in their eyes. Forrester, on the other hand, walks in looking almost care-free, color in his skin and a spark in the crinkle of his eyes. He holds up a fish, and with marvelous ease he and Hailey work together to fillet and fry it for us to eat. The fish is served with toast and omelets, combinations I’m sure don’t mix but which we eat in varying portions until our plates are cleared.
Last night at dinner, we talked without end. This morning, no one says much at all. Thomas and Nolan are lost in their thoughts, and the twins appear to still be tense from their own lingering argument. Hailey must feel some guilt because she’s as quiet as Forrester, and I’m not prepared to break the ice by forcing inane chatter on any of us.
We’ve taken a step back. Last night we were a family again. Now we’ve resumed our positions as vague acquaintances, and it’s more than uncomfortable — it reminds me too much of the way our parents behaved at Uncle Simon’s funeral.
We eat, we clean dishes, and then we get dressed. I take my time in the upstairs bathroom, giving my face a thorough wash and my teeth a hard brushing. I put on my T-shirt and jeans, and then I begin brushing out my hair. We’re on a deadline, but I don’t rush getting ready. I idle upstairs, holding onto the cottage for every second I can.
The walls of the bathroom are a soft shade of lavender, which must have been Aunt Shirley’s choice. An empty vase is on the sink — one I’m sure used to contain fresh flowers — and the mirror is surrounded by a decorative frame of white-painted wood. The space is feminine, designed for the woman not dead but still recently lost to me.
I wish my aunt were here instead of a country away, ignoring her son. I refuse to accept she’s as evil as Hailey believes. After all, she left Forrester’s dad the cottage when she walked out. If she’d wanted to be cruel, she could have taken this place from Simon during the divorce. Even if she’d tried and failed, the costs of fighting may have forced my uncle to cut his losses and sell the cottage, anyway. I don’t think she tried to take it, though. I think she left it because she knew what it meant to them, and that says something.
But then again, if she really cared, she could spare a few hundred dollars and a couple of days away from home to fly up here and see her grieving son.
People make no sense.
When my hair is knot-free, my teeth are smooth, and my eyeliner’s been smudged the right amount, I sit on the edge of the dirt-stained porcelain tub and stare at the purple walls. The bathroom is nice — a little outdated, but bright and airy thanks to the pretty color and the big window overlooking the forest out front. The same could be said for most of the rooms here. At its heart, this bathroom is a good representation of the whole cottage. A little outdated, but still remarkable.
The seven of us being here this weekend feels that way, too.
When I go downstairs, Forrester is standing by the staircase leading to the basement. The twins are on the back porch, Allison stretching and Eli pacing. Hailey’s in the kitchen still, wiping down the counters, and Nolan’s on the living room couch, surprisingly enough without his phone. I hear water running in the powder room, and soon see Thomas strolling down the hall, shirt off and a toothbrush in his mouth.
“Don’t leave the water running,” Nolan calls before Thomas even makes it into his brother’s line of sight. Thomas sighs, spinning on his heel and returning to the powder room. The water shuts off as I join Forrester with a smile.
“I always thought it’d be nice to have a brother or sister,” he admits.
Forrester’s the only one in our family who’s an only child, at least on our dads’ side. I don’t know about my aunts’ families. Thinking about my cousins having other cousins I’m not related to is weird. My mom is one of three kids. Her brother’s single with no children, but her sister has four kids of her own. They live in Manitoba, and they come here or we go there about once every other year. Her kids are all younger than me, though. The oldest is twelve now, the youngest only six. When we’re visiting, being around them is more like babysitting than anything else.
“Having a sibling’s awesome and awful,” I say, as Thomas reappears fully clothed, his toothbrush ready to be stuffed back into his bag. “But I like it.”
“How is Tate, anyway?” Forrester asks. He looks troubled, his eyes moving from me to Hailey in the kitchen. “I never even thought to ask. Sorry … I didn’t mean to forget, I just …”
“Tate’s fine,” I interject, putting my hand on his arm. “So are Marissa and Liam, as far as I can tell. There’s a lot of missed ground to go over. It’ll take a while for us to get caught up.”
“Yeah.” Forrester nods. He runs a hand through his hair and lets out a deep billow of breath. Then he raises his voice so the others can hear. “We should get going on the basement.”
Hailey leaves the kitchen and the twins come inside — Eli worn out, Allison refreshed. With a full stomach and sore limbs, I follow behind Hailey and Eli as we head back down into the rec room to begin the final stage of cleanup. For a minute, I survey the room as if we hadn’t spent hours down here last night, studying the outstretched sofa bed, the strewn cushions, the snack foods and empty pie dish left over from our evening dessert. The evidence of our presence is like something straight from a memory. The last memory of its kind we’ll have in this room. Even if the cottage weren’t being sold, we’d never have another night like the evening now gone.
One of the most vicious realities of life is that we can’t get back to the past. Time keeps rolling forward, and we’re left to survive on memories unable to keep up. This place, messy and outdated, is a miracle of time travel.
The room is well deserving of a moment of appreciation, but my reverie is soon interrupted by Thomas.
“Okay, let’s do this!” he calls.
He barrels down the stairs behind me, and I jump out of the way to avoid getting bowled over.
Thomas claps his hands together, his smile far too cheerful. He’s decided to play at being happy, and watching his effort is exhausting. Still, I don’t see any other way of getting things accomplished today, not if we ever want to move past the awkwardness left over from this morning’s earliest hours. So, I let my eyes sweep across the painting over the fireplace for a few lingering seconds, and then I step into the room with a smile of my own.
