Page 13 of Buried in the Woods Below

But even at ten, I see it: the cracks behind his grin, the wreckage, a man grieving his own life.

The here and now crashes back as a locomotive blurs down the tracks. But the fear remains; a throbbing scar. I flinch and shake off the memory, reabsorbing my surroundings.

Perched right on the lake is a Hamptons-style restaurant clad in white-wood panels and royal-blue shutters. Just my mom’s style. Hopefully, it will help me forget.

As I enter, I’m struck by how, unlike the town, this restaurant has changed. It used to be called Sunsets and was more of a sleepy village joint. Cov is a scene. Middle-aged singles crowd a white-wood bar that looks out on a devastating view of the lake. The sounds of upbeat jazz music and mingling fill the air, blended with an intoxicating scent of grilled meat and fish. The dinner crowd is a perfect balance of couples on dates and affluent parents and kids having forced family fun. It’s a long way off from Maguire’s.

I’m greeted by four platinum-blond teenage hosts who look like they were pulled straight from the movie Mean Girls. One host flashes me a uniquely teenage smile—warm on the surface, but hollow underneath. The kind that says they’ll be mocking you the second you’re out of earshot. “Welcome to Cov. Can I help you?”

“Yes, I’m—” I spot my mom sitting on the outdoor patio, linen-clad and radiating her typical stylish confidence. She removes her oversize Audrey Hepburn glasses and waves a long, bony arm, her strawberry-blond bob blowing in the wind. “Never mind.” The host shrugs and returns to her conversation with the others.

I snake my way through the inside tables, knocking into not one but two low-tops on my path to the patio. Char-klutz.

“Sweetheart. You look marvelous,” she says, the r vanishing from the word as she smiles, the freckles on her cheeks dancing with the motion. She gives me a hug and straightens the shoulder of my dress. I take a big whiff of her Ralph Lauren perfume. Ah, nothing beats the scent of Mom.

“That’s very kind, Mom, but I do not look marvelous. Not after that drive.”

“Well, I think you’re positively radiant. Come, sit, sit.”

I join her at the table and place the gift bag next to me.

She cranes her neck. “What do we have here?”

“Oh, nothing. I got a little something for the Parkers to thank them for hosting me.”

“You’re so sweet. What did you get them?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Oh, you’re no fun.” She pouts her glossy lips.

I grab a tin of Garrett Popcorn and place it on the table. “Or am I?”

“You didn’t.”

“I did.”

She grabs the tin and gives it a loving tap. “Caramel-and-cheddar mix. My favorite. I don’t know if I can focus on dinner with this treat staring at me.”

“You’ll have to try.”

She leans over and plants a kiss on my cheek. “Thank you, dear.”

We soak in the view. The lake gleams in the golden-hour light. Even my hangover seems to pause for it.

The waiter arrives with an obscenely expensive bottle of sauvignon blanc and a basket of warm popovers with honey butter. My mom beams and gestures to the bottle. “I’m so delighted you’re here. I thought we should celebrate.”

We toast. I melt into my chair and tear into a popover, the honey butter oozing onto my fingers. The sound of lake water slapping against the docks lulls me into a trance.

“Honestly, I wasn’t sure I wanted to come back, but I’m happy I did.” I take a bite of the popover. “Mmm, so good. I haven’t had one of these since we lived here.”

“They’re just divine, aren’t they? I’ll never understand why they haven’t caught on around the rest of the country.” She pauses to tie a scarf around her hair. With the sunglasses and the headscarf, she looks poised to embark on a convertible ride through the hills of Monaco. “Why were you unsure about coming to Minnesota?”

I straighten my napkin so that it’s aligned with the table edge and place my wineglass in the dead center. “I don’t know. I don’t have the fondest memories of Minnesota. You know, with Dad, and Olivia and all that.” As I say that, I realize I don’t have many memories of Minnesota. Only flashes and slivers.

Mom swallows hard and clicks her tightly clipped nails against the long-stemmed glass. “Yes, there were some challenges here.” A storm crosses her face, but she clears it with a practiced smile. “But whenever I come back, I block out those negative thoughts and focus on the good times we had together here. Those days on the lake. All the friends we made.”

“You mean all the friends you made?”