by Harper Bliss
“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 d
on’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.”
“Rekindling your love affair with Northville?”
“Something like that.” I suck in a deep breath. “Bit of a burn-out 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.”
