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The Straits of Mackinac are below me, the water clear and beautiful. Lake Michigan is to the west, Lake Huron to the east, and in the distance, everything is green and vibrant.
It’s pretty shitty that the place I hate most in the world is also one of the most beautiful…and that with each mile I travel, the ache in my chest only grows.
It’s a three-hour drive before I’m in Birchbark, the town I called home for the first twenty-five years of my life, but it feels like it takes five minutes before I’m pulling into the familiar small town on the shores of Lake Superior. Most of my childhood was spent swimming on local beaches until we lost Ella. It took years before I was willing to get into anything other than a pool after that. And while it holds bad memories, I’ve found ways to allow myself to enjoy it.
I’m not staying at Dad’s. I don’t have it in me to do that, and it was too late to get any kind of long-term rental. Tourists flock to the UP in the summertime, taking advantage of all the beauty and nature it has to offer. That means finding a vacation house rental isn’t easy.
I head straight to the hotel in downtown Birchbark, where I reserved a room. Even though it’s early June, there’s a nip in the air. It smells like a mixture of minerals and fresh water that might not be obvious to out-of-towners but is familiar to me.
The second I step inside, the man at the counter looks up, gaze snagging on me. “You’re Morgan Swift.” He’s clearly younger than my thirty-five years, so I don’t think I went to school with the guy or anything, but then, he’s expecting me. Or recognizes me.
“I didn’t tell my dad or Rhett where I was staying.”
He shrugs because we both know it doesn’t matter. No one has as much control in Birchbark as Mayor Gregory Swift, former member of the United States House of Representatives before he took a step down in his career and stayed local. Funny how he waited for that until we were all grown.
Apparently, the stroke hasn’t changed him much. He’s still meddling in other people’s business.
“You reserved the two-room king suite?” the clerk asks. That part is right, so at least my dad didn’t fuck with my reservation. If I’d gotten something smaller, he would have upgraded me—not for my comfort, for appearances.
“Yes, sir.” I pull out my credit card and ID, but he waves them off. Sure, the number is on file from when I made the reservation, but the only reason they’re not asking for it is because of who my father is.
My skin prickles with annoyance, but I don’t call him on it. What’s the point? It won’t change anything. Nothing ever changes here, and again, I wonder what in the hell I’m doing. Why I’m back in this place that’s filled with nothing but bad memories.
I finish checking in, get my keycard, and take my two suitcases up to my room. The main area of the suite has a view of Birchbark—shops and restaurants where people laugh and eat and work. When I get to the bedroom and open the curtains, I’m not surprised to see it’s facing the harbor. Of course they will give me the best views in the hotel. Gregory Swift’s son deserves the best, if for no other reason than to get on Dad’s good side.
I unpack my things, knowing I’m stalling. I didn’t update Rhett about my schedule or let him know my flight arrived, but there’s no doubt in my mind he’s already heard I’m here.
The perfect son is nothing if not exactly like Dad. Left Birchbark for college and law school, not caring that Easton was only nine and grieving. I stayed and finished my senior year of high school, then went to the local university because there was no way I’d leave Easton with just Dad. Dad had shut down when Mom died, but it was even worse after we lost Ella, like our connection to not only Mom, but our family in general, had died with my little sister.
At least Rhett and I had Mom until we were eight and nine. Easton hadn’t had her at all. Leaving him with only Dad would have been cruel, but I’m not sure I did a better job at helping raise him. Easton is a fucking mess. From everything I’ve heard, he couldn’t even hold down a job until Dusty took him on as an apprentice at his auto body repair shop—probably as a favor for his new best friend Rhett.
Fuck. Why am I thinking about this shit again? Being back in Birchbark is already messing with my head.
I finish putting everything away, and when I can’t think of any other reason to stall, I text Rhett.
I’m here.
I hate myself for the tightness in my chest. Hate that my own brother fills me with rage more than anything else in my life ever has, except our father.
Rhett: Meet me for dinner at Angelo’s. Six.
Nothing is ever a question with him. He issues demands just like our father and expects the world to fall into place around him.
Me: Do you really think in public, just the two of us, is the best way to handle this?
Rhett: I’m not looking to spend any more time with you than you are with me, but we should talk before you see Dad and Easton.
As heavy as the boulder in my gut is, he’s right. We won’t argue in public the way we would in private. Rhett would never risk making a scene.
Me: I’ll be there.
*
Rhett’s schedule doesn’t give me much time. When I end the call, I shower and get dressed. The good thing is, Angelo’s is within walking distance from my hotel.
The streets are a little busier now, people getting off work and going about their day. Quite a few of the restaurants have patios where people can eat in nice weather. If there’s anything to be thankful for in this whole situation, it’s that it happened during the summer. It’s been so long since I’ve experienced a UP winter, I’m not sure I’d be able to handle it anymore.
“Just one?” the hostess asks when I enter the Italian restaurant. The lighting is muted but not too dim. Dark-wood tables are scattered across the room, with chandeliers above them. It’s been updated since I was here last, the hanging lights being new, and I’m sure they’re from someone local. That’s one of the things I do love about the area. They strive to shop local first and to build up the community around them.
