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ONE
natalie
KITCHI FALLS, FINGER LAKES, NEW YORK
“I’ve got it, Jamie. You go ahead. Your dad is waiting.”
I watched as nine-year-old Jamie bounded up the hill to the makeshift dirt parking lot. As I finished tying off the boat, I waved one last time at Jamie, who jumped into the passenger seat of an old Ford pickup truck. I refused to cry. Every time the sweet little kid mentioned his “mama” who died last year, I had to hold back the floodgates.
Of course, this wasn’t unusual.
I cried at a lot of things. Always had. The other night I was watching a rom-com, one that was supposed to be more funny than sad, and needed a half box of tissues when the couple broke up. If nothing else, I was a source of amusement among my friends.
“Why do you look like you’re about to cry?”
Speaking of friends.
“Where the heck did you come from?” I asked Charlee.
“The lake, silly. I came in from the lake like a mermaid right in front of your eyes. You didn’t see me?”
Smiling, I turned back around to where Jamie’s father’s pickup had been a few minutes before. In its place, not surprisingly, was Charlee’s car.
“Funny. I didn’t even hear you pull up.”
“Probably because you were staring so intently out into the lake. Penny for your thoughts?”
“Without wine? No way.”
Charlee lifted a wine tote. “Just need some glasses.”
“Be right back.”
By the time I returned from the wooden shed where the boats were stored, Charlee was sitting on one of the Adirondack chairs opening the wine. Her fiancée had a five-hour tattoo today that didn’t require her help, so the two of us had decided an impromptu day-drinking session was in order.
I held out one of the two wine glasses, and Charlee poured.
“It still cracks me up that you keep full-on wine glasses in there.” She nodded to the shed.
“Pfft. As if I’d have us drinking out of plastic cups. Here you go,” I said, holding out the second glass.
“To impromptu day drinking,” she said, holding up her glass.
“And a beautiful spring day.” I clinked her glass before sitting down—not an easy feat, getting myself into an Adirondack chair with a full wine glass.
“That is so on-brand for you.”
“What can I say? Nature lover at heart.”
“A good quality for a conservationist.” Charlee extended her legs out and tilted her face up to the sun. “How’s your marshland project going?”
“It’s going. Mostly stalled at the moment, but that’s the story of my life.”
“Any word about that developer you were telling Zoe and me about last week?”
Zoe was the third of four spokes on our friendship wheel but couldn’t make it today courtesy of a surprised weekend getaway from her boyfriend. It was rare for the two of them to go out of town for a night, especially on a weekend, since Nate owned the local bar on Main Street. But Zoe had been so busy at work the past two months, he somehow made it happen.
“Nothing besides what I told you guys. I thought for sure the regulatory requirement report in January was the nail in the proverbial coffin. So I have no idea where all this is coming from.”
