I can’t remember the last time I laughed like that. Belly shaking. Eyes tearing. Full body immersed in the depths of something funny.
Again, I remember someone laughing just like that, and as much as I don’t think it’s a possibility, it seems undeniable.
Britton McKay is here.
Take 2
Scene: The Lake
[Britton]
Some afternoons, it’s nice to take a stroll through town after a busy day. Elk Lake City is wedged between the larger lake of Lake Michigan and a series of inner lakes, the closest of which is Elk Lake. The two are joined by a short, rapid river, and I cross the bridge over it to walk along the flowing water for a casual jaunt.
As I saunter, I reflect on my crazy day. My tea shop—TeasMe!—is doing well for a two-year-old business. Summer sales are better than I anticipated, and the additional help of Henry and Jenna has made all the difference. It’s my personal business that’s been a Ferris wheel of lifts and drops today. For one, Rebecca Sterling is at it again, wanting me to name a price on my uncle’s property.
“It isn’t for sale,” I told her for the five hundred-millionth time.
“Everything is for sale.”
She’s absolutely wrong. Some things you just can’t place a value on.
With this in mind, I’m grateful again for Henry. He suggested I leave early to take this momentary breather before picking up Gee. The pressure from the Sterling Realty company can be relentless, especially considering the weight of the unpaid tax bill on Leo’s property. Some days, I can handle Rebecca. Today was not one of those days.
Because the second issue of the day was recalling the film festival begins in the next town over, and I’ve seen the program announcing featured films. In big, bold, black, and white was the image of a man from my past who haunts me every day.
Gavin Scott.
I didn’t know he made movies as I hadn’t seen or heard from him in thirteen years. He’s also the last person I’d like to see. Of course, the chances of that happening is like the angsty moment in a movie, where you hope you’ll see all the hot passion play out between a couple only to have the film fade to black.
Ghosted.
That’s what happened when Gavin left me in a hotel room thirteen years ago.
Then again, I could be living that scene in a horror film where you’re screaming at the screen, telling the silly female not to open the door because a mass murderer is ready to stab her in the heart on the other side of the barrier.
It’d be the same sensation as Gavin’s absence.
Heartbreaking.
Taking a deep breath, I walk along the boardwalk, leading under the highway overpass and connecting to the inner lake’s boundary.
As soon as I hit a small beach area on the other side of the Rogue River bar, I kick off my shoes and wade along the lake’s edge. My toes wiggle through the water licking at them. Kicking up a spray of droplets, it’s refreshing, and instantly, I calm.
Late July can get surprisingly warm in this small town. Being the Midwest, it won’t last. This summer especially, fall feels like it looms around every corner, like a dark cloud ahead, bringing with it more than a change of season. A change I can’t explain but feel within me. I don’t like the omniscient sensation. The last time I had this feeling, my world turned upside down.
Gavin Scott. A hotel room. The hottest weekend of my life.
By hot, I don’t mean the weather.
Since then, the past dozen years have been a tumbleweed of life changes.
To continue to calm my thoughts, I take a few minutes to comb my toes through the wet sand, feet flopping in the shallow water. My sandals dangle from my fingers, and I whip my head to the side as my long, blond hair wraps over my face. I should have brought a hair tie with me. However, the warm breeze feels wonderful, and I spin in a half-circle, allowing the wind to blow back more of my loose locks. Closing my eyes for a second, I sometimes pretend the sunshine on my face is a message.
I’m doing okay. I’m in a better place.
Raindrops on my cheeks have a similar effect. I consider them kisses from heaven.
Unfortunately, other kisses come to mind—eager, hungry kisses, full of promises for one wild weekend. Gavin’s lips on mine were memory and mistake rolled into a delicious combination of hard to resist, and I didn’t resist him—not one request, not one position. It was a moment burned into my brain like a favorite movie. Some days are like a release trailer—snippets and blips—of reminders, and other days, it was a full-blown film, haunting me in times of too much quiet. A reel only I can view again when I’m alone.
However, I’m hardly alone.
With that thought, I return to my initial quest. I need to pick up my son. Next to Rogue River is a newish condo building with a water adventure shack on the opposite side. Spencer Sports is a place to rent kayaks, canoes, Jet Skis, and paddleboards for the day. My nephew works there, and he lets my energetic twelve-year-old hang out with him some days. Theo is a good cousin to Gee and a godsend to me this summer.
I pause before the condominiums and look up at the three-story structure. The locals were not pleased when this building passed village codes, allowing for a multi-story, multi-housing complex to be built on these shores. Most residents of the building, and I use the term loosely, use the spaces for rental profit as it’s the only place of its kind on this lake. The only other spot with short-term, small space rentals is the local motel up the highway.
A different hotel in the opposite direction comes to mind.
A balcony railing. A hotel desk. A king-sized bed.
Quickly, I rid the thought. It was a lifetime ago—unlucky thirteen years.
Have they really all been unlucky years?
I’d split the difference fifty-fifty.
Life. Death.
Change. Choice.
A lot has happened in the past thirteen years, luck or not.
Still looking at the building, I notice a man sitting on a third-floor balcony. Shielding my eyes, I stare up at him. He has dark hair with a light covering of facial hair in a similar shade. My breath catches a moment, and then I chuckle to myself.
It isn’t Gavin.
A silly game I play with myself is seeing Gavin in every man with dark waves and a trimmed beard.
The man on the balcony waves toward the beach, and I feel even sillier when I think he’s waving at me. I’m the only one down here on this quiet evening, but he could be greeting a boater off in the distance. Boaters are friendly like that, waving at everyone as they pass. My attention draws to the sports hut to the side of the condo building, and I see Gee speaking with Theo. I wave to my son, and Gee tips his head. His twelve-year-old self is too big for his britches some days. The head tip is a new thing he’s learned from his older cousin. Theo is seventeen.
While I wait for Gee, I take a final look up at the man three stories up, feeling as if he’s watching me. While he can’t be Gavin, my body still hums with the possibility of Gavin Scott being in the vicinity. The buzz is a mix of trepidation and thrill. How great would it be to see him again? How awful could it be?
Very awful. The awfulest of awful moments in the history of anything awful.
It cannot happen, and I have one main reason why.
Gee runs toward me, breaking up the anxiety rising within me, and I pull my attention away from the balcony. I extend an arm for my son, motioning for him to step into my embrace.