I sigh and begrudgingly take her offer, downing half the bottle in one long gulp. She watches with a satisfied grin that shouldn’t annoy me as much as it does.
“Can you believe how Richard looked?” The tone of her voice makes me think she’s been waiting for me to be put together enough to bring him up.
“He looked like anyone would who just lost their son unexpectedly,” I say, trying to put an end to whatever gossip she’s trying to spew.
“I guess you’re right.” She taps her fingers on the counter. “But I think it goes deeper. He looked so much older. Maybe thinner? What do you think?”
“Mom.”
“I know, I know.” She sighs, and I think she’s finally done, but nope. “I bet Victoria is back on the pills again. I understand it, losing a child like that, but...” She trails off, picking at her nail polish. “I just wonder if she’ll even be able to handle the funeral arrangements. If Richard will have to do everything himself? That woman’s always been so fragile.”
And I’m done.
“I’m not getting into this. Not right now.”
“I know. I’m sorry. That was awful of me. I’m just...I’m bitter, Sawyer. About everything that happened. And seeing Richard again after so long…And Owen...” She pauses, and when she continues she sounds like my mom again. Real and genuine. “Owen was the one good thing to come out of that whole mess. He was so kind to you. To us. When no one else was.”
Tears prick my eyes again. “I know.”
“He loved you so much.”
I turn away, biting my lip to keep from crying again. “I know, Mom.” And I loved him, just not the way he deserved. “I’m going to get some air.”
I slip on my sandals and hurry out the door before she can try to stop me.
The air is starting to get warm and humid now, a typical June day at the lake. If life were like it used to be, Owen would have insisted on taking the boat out today and Knox would be hanging on the dock, reading some boring book about Ancient Greece or space or some other non-fiction topic.
I walk down the gravel driveway, pebbles finding their way into my sandals. The small amount of discomfort feels good, in a weird way. It distracts me from the actual pain.
The cottage sits on a quiet street a short walk from the lake. I’ve grown to love this part of Lake Mercer, with its collection of summer rentals and small lake houses scattered among the trees. The county may neglect maintaining the area, and the dirt roads get flooded when it rains, but it’s nice to be around homes that don’t have seven days a week landscaping services and sports cars in the driveway.
This is the part of town that families come back to year after year, roasting marshmallows in backyard firepits and spending their days playing on the sandy shores. No fancy boat slips or private docks. And they’re not here because it’s trendy. It’s the exact opposite. I felt bad that Owen was missing out on staying at the Aldrich lake house on the better side of Lake Mercer…but really, we are on the better side. I wish I realized it sooner.
A screen door slams on my left. I glance over and see an older couple walking out onto their porch, coffee mugs in hand, watching me. I can’t help but wonder if they saw me on this morning’s news.
I look away and keep walking.
The street smells like wet earth and pine needles, that familiar scent of an Upstate New York summer morning when the dew hasn’t burned off yet. Somewhere a lawnmower starts up, and a dog barks.
Normal sounds on a normal day…like the world didn’t just end.
I pass by another yard with nautical towels hanging on a clothesline and wind chimes tinkling in the slight breeze. As the road curves, I spot the weathered “Lake Access” sign. Once I start on the path, it feels like the temperature drops a few degrees. The canopy of maples and oaks overhead creates a tunnel of green, blocking out most of the sun. My feet welcome the soft dirt and scattered leaves. They’re so much better than gravel.
Birds call to each other in the branches—chickadees, I think, and maybe a cardinal. Knox would know. He was always pointing out birds when we were kids, trying to teach me their songs, but I never held onto the knowledge for more than a day. I always knew he’d be there, loving the way he got to repeat his knowledge for me to hear.
The path slopes down, getting steeper the closer I get to the water. I have to watch out for thick tree roots that snake across the path like veins, and vines of poison ivy growing along the edge of the path.
Finally the trees thin out and the lake comes into full view, dark green and calm. The morning sun shimmers on the surface, turning certain areas silver. Across the water, there’s other docks and cottages nestled among the trees. A pontoon boat sits motionless in the middle of the lake, probably someone fishing for bass.
I kick my sandals off and walk out onto the dock. Its planks are uneven and the wood is sunbleached, but I can imagine somany children jumping off it into the water, or families fishing from the edge.
I walk to the end and sit down, letting my legs dangle. Everything is so still, so quiet.
And I hate it.
Owen should be here with me. He should be cannonballing off this dock, splashing water everywhere, laughing like a goof, and trying to convince me to jump in after him. Or just sitting beside me, his long legs skimming the water’s surface, his warm hand in mine.
But he’s not here.
