Page 11 of The Last Five Yards

Maren tilts her head and listens to the lake. It slaps the rocks in a soft rhythm. A simple metronome. She can feel her own breath matching it. She can feel the space inside her body that the water leaves when she gets out. It is not a bad space. It is a kind of echo that reminds her she was held. She looks at Reese. The fire answers in her eyes. Not bright. Steady.

“I will go with you,” Maren says.

“Deal.” Reese smiles, slow, like something that took its time to arrive. “But first, we will dominate everyone here with our synchronized marshmallow skills.”

“We have no skills,” Maren states.

“We have enthusiasm,” Reese says. “And we have a captive audience.”

Maren huffs out a laugh. The team chatters around them. Coach Hensley tells the moon it owes him five degrees warmer. Heat strokes her shins, a ribbon of comfort against the outside chill. She tucks her feet up under her and lets her shoulder rest against Reese’s on purpose this time instead of an accident.

Across the fire, someone strums a guitar, the sound more confident than it is in tune. The song is slow and sweet. It floats out over the darkness. The embers pop as a few sparks draft up like tiny stars that forgot where they were going.

“Tomorrow,” Reese says again, as if the word itself is a vow.

“Tomorrow,” Maren echoes.

They watch the fires settle into a red heart. The evening folds in tighter but does not feel like a closing. It feels like a hand cupped around a flame to keep it steady. Their friends laugh and sing around the fire. Coach lifts the lid on a cooler and calls for five more minutes. Car doors thump softly in the lot beyond the dunes. Maren tucks this into the part of her that keeps important things. Between her and the next chapter, there is only this. Warmth. Quiet. And a buoy rocking somewhere out in the dark. A promise spoken softly that the night is allowed to keep.

5

Tomorrow

Maren stretches quietly in bed. She’s never needed an alarm clock on the weekend; her internal one is permanently set early. Rolling over, she glances at the old-school clock on her nightstand. 7:15. Sounds about right, she thinks to herself.

Even on a Sunday morning, her feet find the floor before her mind catches up. A quick glance out the window shows an overcast sky, the trees swaying in a restless wind. She slides into her suit and layers a pair of warm-ups over it. Her mom will be annoyed she is skipping church, but Reese had said tomorrow, and Maren, being a person of her word, won’t back out now.

She grabs her bag, tucking in her journal, a bit of homework, and a few snacks from the kitchen. She is almost out the door when she realizes she should probably leave a note for mom at least. Turning around, she writes on the whiteboard next to the fridge.

Out with Reese. Sorry, team stuff.

Maren is sure her mom is going to have questions, but right now she doesn’t know what else to write in the note. Before she leaves the kitchen, she grabs one more protein bar, just in case she is waiting a while for Reese. Reese didn’t say what time she would be there, and Maren isn’t even 100% sure that she will show. But Maren is willing to wait as long as needed.

Pulling into the state park lot, Maren backs into a space, habitually precise. Only two other cars are in the lot right now. She grabs a blanket from the back seat and spreads it across the trunk before climbing up to sit. The lake stretches out, before her grey and glassy, the waves lapping at the shore. The sound steadies her and brings her back to zero.

The sound reaches her senses before the sight, tires crunching over the gravel, a low, soft hum of music leaking through open windows. Is that Katy Perry, again? Maren doesn’t need to look. She already knows who is pulling into the spot next to hers.

Reese steps out of the car, the wind catching her hair and blowing the blonde streaks across her face. She tries to puff them away as she walks towards Maren’s trunk with two coffee cups in hand. She pauses when she sees Maren sitting there, as if she hadn’t truly expected her to come.

“I didn’t think you would beat me here,” Reese says, offering one of the cups. “I hope you like it sweet.”

The sleeve wrapped around the cup bears the logo from Red Cup, Maren’s favorite shop. She smiles softly, taking it from Reese. “Well, you said tomorrow.”

Reese tilts her head to the side and smiles softly. “I guess I did, didn’t I?”

Reese turns, pausing for just a moment before she starts walking towards the water. Her sneakers sink softly into the sand as she moves. Maren slides off the trunk of her car, grabs the blanket, and follows. Coffee in hand, they stop in front of a fallen tree that has been sandblasted smooth. Maren spreads out the blanket and gestures for Reese to sit.

For a while, neither of them speaks, just taking it all in. Maren notices everything: the way the wind draws across the sand in front of them, the calm surface of the lake still breaking in soft ripples against the shore, and the faint smell of the steel mill in the distance. The warmth of the coffee in her hands, the small curl of steam rising from the lid. Beside her, Reese traces slow circles across the top of her cup. Maren’s brain finds the rhythm in all of it and settles.

The silence here is peaceful, not lonely.

Reese twists her coffee down into the sand next to the blanket. She pulls her knees up, wrapping her arms around them, and rests her chin on top.

“So,” she says, staring out at the horizon, “are we going to do this? The buoy thing?”

Maren follows her gaze. The lake stretches out flat in front of them, the buoy is only a speck of orange in the distance, but it looks further away today than it did yesterday. A breeze stirs, breaking the surface into hundreds of small ripples. She shakes her head softly. “Not today.”

Reese hums, nodding like she expected that answer. “Guess the lake gets to keep its secrets,” she says, a softness of relief in her voice.