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“A commercial, Jake. Sit down and be quiet like a good boy.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” Jake asks.
Mr. Jacobson’s eyes meet mine. “Because this was a surprise,” he says softly. “I had a little help with it.”
He starts the projector and we don’t see a commercial. Not really. Instead, it’s our story. It’s random photos strung together of all of us as children, including Jake, Katie, Aaron, Lynda, Bess, and me, along with a bunch of other happy kid faces from the campground. It’s kind of a then-and-now and there are pictures I took that summer of the kids, juxtaposed with pictures my mom took when we were all younger. There are even some home movie reels in there that someone took when we were young, and then more from Aaron’s last summer. There’s even a short video of me tossing that little red ball against the side of the building on the hill. The “commercial” highlights the events that happened and are still happening at Lake Fisher, the campground, the complex, the family atmosphere. It shows it exactly as it is, a place where magic happens.
And at the end, I see Aaron’s smiling face taking up the whole screen. He’s wearing the red shirt that Sam gave him for that last Father’s Day, and it reads My kids think I’m awesome. He smiles into the camera and says, “Lake Fisher is a place where lifelong friendships are made, miracles happen, and love grows. So why would you want to go anywhere else?” He blows a kiss at the camera, and then the screen fades to black as the movie stops.
Bess gets up and goes to hug Mr. Jacobson. He squeezes her tightly, but he’s careful. Even so, when she steps back from him, her gaze looks for mine. “Hey, Eli,” she calls.
“Hey, Bess,” I respond as usual, but I’m already starting across the grass toward her. “Are you all right?”
She nods and smiles, but inside I’m scared to death. “I think it’s time,” she says. She clutches my shirt, her hands shaking.
“Everything will be fine,” I assure her. I motion to Jake, and Jake leaves to get our van, which already has our hospital bag in it. The baby was overdue by five days today, so I was hoping this would happen soon. I hold tightly to her hand as I usher her into the van, and Katie herds our children toward her house as we take off.
“Are you sure it’s going to be all right?” she asks, worried as only someone who has lost so many pregnancies can be.
“Yes,” I say, my voice strong. “I’m sure.”
I have no doubts.
And later when we hold that happy, healthy baby in our arms, I know that Aaron was right when he made his final speech. Lake Fisher is a place where miracles happen and love grows. Aaron fixed our marriage, he fixed Bess, and he fixed me. He fixed everything. And I will forever be grateful.
Keep Reading for a Sneak Peek at Book 3!
Feels Like Rain
42
Abigail
“It feels like rain,” my grandmother says as she sits on the porch step, staring up at the star speckled sky. The sky is clear, and a gentle wind lifts my hair. Gran hugs her arms around herself and shivers, like someone just walked over her grave. The temperature is ninety degrees outside. A storm isn’t in the forecast. It seems like a gentle summer night.
“I don’t think so,” I say. “The weatherman said to expect clear skies today and tomorrow.”
Gran makes a rude noise in her throat, the kind she would slap me for if I did it. Then she gets up and goes inside the house. I stand up and follow her, the screen door clanging loudly behind me as it slams shut.
“Take an umbrella when you leave,” Gran says, and then she kisses me on the forehead and goes to sit on the couch. She turns on the TV and finds “her stories” that has recorded during the day.
“I thought I might spend the night tonight,” I call to her as I clean the kitchen.
She makes another absurd noise. It’s a cross between a grunt and a snort. “I don’t need a babysitter,” she says. “Take yourself home to that husband of yours.” She nearly spits the words “that husband” at me. She doesn’t like Charles. She hates him, in fact. Some days, I do too. The rest, I just don’t care.
“I told Charles I was staying over.” I wash the last of the dishes and go to sit with her.
“And what did Charles have to say to that?” she asks. She doesn’t look away from the TV.
He looked relieved, honestly. “Nothing.”
Gran grunts. “A wife’s place is at home,” she says. She clicks the TV off, pulls an afghan from the back of the couch, and covers herself with it. “Go home, Abigail. I’ll be fine.”
“I don’t like leaving you,” I say. Gran hasn’t been feeling well. She hasn’t been herself for quite some time.
“Go home, Abigail,” she says more firmly. Then she rolls over and pulls the afghan close under her chin.
“You should go to bed,” I tell her.
