And according to my mother, by up north, he means Marquette.
I don’t say any of that aloud. Instead, I respond in kind, my smile unsure. “I’m Jill. I live west. Way west. West Coast.”
He lets out a low whistle. “You’re a long way from home.” His gaze goes to the empty chair on the other side of a small table from mine in a silent request.
“I don’t have much to offer, but you’re welcome to join me,” I say, motioning to the chair to my right.
“Thank you, Jill.” He climbs the stairs. Now on equal footing, he stands at least six inches taller than me. Lowering his mug to the table, he takes a seat. “It’s nice to talk to someone.”
He isn’t wearing a wedding band. Checking for that is subconscious, yet the thought registers.
I settle back in my chair. The lake before us is calm, alarge mirror reflecting the images of the trees along the edge. The shades change, growing darker in the center. Beneath the water is a bottomless hole, the darkness showcasing the depth, not the blue of the sky above.
The crimson hues have given way to sapphire as the sun continues to rise.
“I could ask,” Keith says, “what brought you here, but I suspect that this time of year, it’s the same thing that brought me here.”
Should I be upfront or should I fish for what he knows?
“I’m here,” I say, “to learn some truths, ones that can only be found in person.”
“Then we are here for the same reasons.” Keith turns to me. “Were you familiar with Craig Gilbert?”
Though I can’t stop the memories his question evokes, I refuse to acknowledge them. “The teacher and football coach.”
“Yeah. I’m his brother.”
“Oh” —I tilt my head— “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Keith sips his coffee. “If I had a dime...”
“I’m sure you’ve heard that a lot. He was well liked around here.”
Keith’s eyes narrow and his forehead furrows. “Is that the feeling you get?”
“What do you mean?”
He settles against the chair and peers forward, collecting his thoughts. “I hear the words people say. I watched the display of emotions at the funeral. Hell, they packed out a high school gym.” He shakes his head. “Craig would be proud. He’d say he fooled them all.”
“Excuse me?”
Keith takes a deep breath. “Nothing. Forget I said that. I’ve just been cooped up in this shitty little town for over a week, and it’s getting to me.”
While I would and probably have said the exact same thing, hearing it from an outsider causes an unexpected response, a need to defend Blue Gil, to stand up for the people who have set their roots deep in this town’s soil, refusing to be affected by the winds of change.
“If you’re Cra—Coach Gilbert’s brother, why stay out here?”
“As opposed to the vast hotel options Blue Gil offers?”
My lips curl upward. “I meant with your sister-in-law.”
“So, you do know Craig?”
“I know he’s married. Was. Or...”
Saving me from tripping even more over my own words, Keith answers, “My parents were with her and Joey. And her parents were here.” His head shakes. “My folks left Saturday, but hers are staying for...” He looks my way. “What is the appropriate length of stay when your daughter becomes a widow?”
“I-I would need to google that.”
