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“I’m good.” Claire holds out her left hand and splays her fingers, a small diamond glinting in the light. “Got engaged to Tommy Westover last month. We’re gonna get married next summer in my parents’ backyard.”
“Oh wow! Congratulations! That’s wonderful.” I remember Tommy Westover. He graduated the year below me, played football for the school team, had two older brothers.
“Thanks.” Her smile is softer now. “He’s managing the hardware store. Took over ’cause Harry wanted to go down to part time, being retirement age and all. I might start doing the books or something after we’re married.” The bell at the kitchen window dings, and she glances over her shoulder. “Anyway, it’s nice to see you, Dillion. Maybe we’ll see you around, if you’re in town for a while.”
I swallow down the awkwardness and smile. “Absolutely.”
She nods and turns to the kitchen window, balancing plates along her forearms so she only has to make one trip.
Thankfully my mom is finished cashing out, which means we can skedaddle before I run into any more blasts from the past. I follow her out the door, and when we get to the U-Haul van, I realize as my mom hops into the passenger seat that once I return it, I won’t have a car. I’m used to living in the city, where I didn’t need to own one. Hopefully my dad will have a work truck I can use.
“How was the drive down? Traffic okay?” Mom smooths out her skirt and crosses her legs. She clasps her hands in her lap, and I assume it’s to avoid fidgeting. My relationship with my mom hasn’t been particularly easy. I love her and she’s a great mom, but my life goals and hers are not the same. She’s never once been to Chicago, happy living in her little bubble where nothing ever changes. We get along well enough, but she doesn’t understand my desire for more. She likes the simple life, and I like the city.
“Once I was out of the city, it was smooth sailing. How are things? How’s Billy?”
“Oh, you know your brother; he’ll be fine. It’s not like anyone was hurt.”
I glance briefly at her. “He was driving drunk, Mom.”
“It was two in the morning. The only thing he was at risk of harming was a deer and himself.”
“He drove into the McAlisters’ mailbox! What if it had been their house?” Leave it to my mom to downplay a drinking-and-driving accident.
Mom scoffs. “They’re fifty feet back from the road; he’d have had to hit a lot of trees on the way through to make that happen. Anyway, he’s learned his lesson. It won’t happen again, especially since he can’t drive for the next few months.”
“Dad said Bernie was going to try to get it down from a year to six months.”
“It’ll be reduced. And he’ll be able to catch a ride in to work with your dad until all of that is sorted out. Anyway, enough about that.” Mom doing what she does best when it comes to my brother—deny, avoid, and change the subject. “Did Claire tell you she’s marrying the youngest Westover boy? He’s such a nice young man. And they’re having the wedding in the Bells’ backyard. At least that’s the plan. They’re going to have a pig roast. Don’t you think that’s lovely?”
I leave the Billy conversation alone for now. I’ll be seeing him soon enough, and hopefully my dad will have the full story. “It sounds great, Mom.”
“I’m sorry things didn’t work out with that Jackson boy you were dating. It’s too bad we were never able to meet him.”
“His name is Jason, and we just had different life plans, is all.” I bite my tongue so I don’t say what I want to, which is that they could’ve met him if they’d come up to visit even once. I never brought him home because . . . well, there wasn’t anywhere for him to stay in our little three-bedroom house, and he went home to his family during the holidays. They at least made the effort to come see us in the city a few times.
“Mmm.” My mom nods and does some more skirt smoothing. “I honestly half expected the two of you to get engaged. You’ll find the right person, someday.” She pats my arm and gives me a small smile.
“I’m sure I will.” And whoever that someone is, I doubt I’m going to find him in Pearl Lake.
We pass familiar driveways lined with tin mailboxes, some prettily decorated, others seeming like they’re about to fall off. Our driveway has a mailbox that looks like a miniature house. My mom repaints it every year with a new design. This year’s is a cute white home with a red roof and flower boxes lining every window.
I turn down the gravel drive lined with trees and pull up to the old, worn-down house that’s more like a typical cottage for this side of the lake. My dad constantly has a project on the go, a renovation he’s trying to tackle in his spare time, which admittedly he’s never had much of. Based on the scaffolding that surrounds it, he’s repointing the brick on the chimney. The wood siding has been restained on the right side but is still aged and faded on the left. I love it and loathe it in equal measure.
