One Golden Summer(73)

My sister and niece pull up to the cottage shortly after two.

“What happened to you?” Heather says, giving me a hug, and I breathe in her perfume. It’s an almost masculine scent—smoky and dark, bold like she is.

“I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen your hair like this,” she says, holding me out with both arms.

I’ve worn it down and let it air dry after my swim. It’s a tornado of curls.

“It’s my lake look,” I say as Bennett climbs out of the car and bounds over to me.

“I wish I had hair like yours,” Bennett says, giving me a hug. She smells extra sweet, that artificial sugar candy smell of thirteen-year-old girls.

“Ditto,” I say, pushing a strand of her long, dark hair away from her eyes. She’s tall like my sister, but she’s constantly trying to make herself small, crossing her arms over her middle and rounding her shoulders. She reminds me so much of myself at thirteen.

“Come give your great-grandmother a hug,” Nan calls from the door, and Bennett rushes to greet her. Nan is standing straight—no cane in sight.

“I’ll give you the grand tour,” I hear her say as Heather and I carry Bennett’s things inside, including two canvas bags full of her books.

“I’m worried about her,” Heather says to me quietly as Nan takes Bennett out to the deck.

“Really?”

“She’s watching all these makeup tutorials.”

“You were getting into Mom’s makeup when you were four.”

“It’s not just that.” Heather looks at me with horror. “She has a crush on a boy.”

“Oh?” Bennett has been a bit of a late bloomer.

“Anthony. I looked at her diary.”

“Heather!”

“What? She’s become so secretive and even more self-conscious.”

“Do not read her diary,” I hiss. “Don’t you remember what it’s like to be thirteen?”

“Yes! That’s why I’m worried. Thirteen sucks.” My sister is as tough as nails, except when it comes to her daughter. Wherever Bennett goes, she carries a piece of Heather’s heart in her pocket. While the differences between my siblings and me are plentiful, this we have in common: The Everly family loves big, and it loves hard.

“I can try talking to her if you want,” I offer.

“Please do. I need her to turn out like you.”

“You just want her to stay a virgin until she’s twenty-two.”

“Thirty-two, actually.”

“Bennett has a good head and a good mom. She’ll be okay.”

Heather takes a deep breath. “You’re probably right.”

I put my arm around her waist. “You know what you need?”

“A martini.”

“I got you gin, but no.” I kiss her cheek. “You, my dear sister, need a ride on a Pegasus-unicorn.”



* * *





Bennett, Heather, and I are drifting on the inflatable loungers while Nan watches from the deck with a cup of tea.

My niece wears a loose T-shirt over her bathing suit, even in the water. It reminds me of the summer I spent here. Mom had taken me on a shopping trip before I left, a rare occasion when it was just the two of us. I was giddy, hopped up on sugar from the milkshakes we’d eaten in the food court, and picked out my first two-piece bathing suit, a tankini that showed the smallest sliver of stomach. By the time I got to Barry’s Bay, my confidence had evaporated. I wore it under a terry cloth dress that I removed a second before I jumped into the lake and shoved back over my head as soon as I was out.

Heather, on the other hand, is wearing a magenta-pink one-shouldered suit with cutouts at the waist and has the poise of someone about to board a yacht. Everything about her says, Notice me, though Heather doesn’t care about what anyone thinks of her. Kind of like Charlie.

I haven’t heard from him since he got back today, if he’s back, and my gaze keeps traveling to his house.

“Forget the martini,” Heather says. “I need something with an umbrella in it. This is divine.”

“I wish you could stay for the week, Mom,” Bennett says.

Heather’s face is guilt-stricken. “I wish I could, but I’ve got…”

“I know,” Bennett says. “Work.” She doesn’t sound bitter, just bummed. I’ll remind Heather later what a gift it is that her teenage daughter wants her around.

“I have some news,” I say to change the subject. “I’ve decided not to participate in the show. I pulled my photo.”

Heather looks at me, aghast.

“Give me a second,” I say, before she launches into an opening argument. “I’ve been shooting while I’ve been here. It started out as just for fun, but I think some of what I’ve done might be good.”

Over the last two days, I’ve combed through what I’ve shot digitally. The photos are much more relaxed than my typical work. More natural. There’s one of Nan, a teacup and saucer in her hand, her head thrown back in a laugh, the afternoon sun slanting over her face. She’s utterly captivating. Charlie isn’t in the frame, but he was the one making her smile.

There are dozens, possibly hundreds, of photos of him, too. But I scrolled through them quickly. I was afraid of missing him even more if I lingered too long on the light in his eyes or the way he grins at me through the lens.