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“I know.” I watch Jonah adjust his baseball cap. “I guess I was expecting them all in the winter.” That’s all anyone ever talks about—the long, cold, dark nights that stretch forever. “And now Jonah’s fighting fires all day long and I’m trying my best to be supportive. Meanwhile, I feel like I’m constantly worried. About everything.”
“You’ll always worry about him, no matter what. I’ll always worry about him. That’s what you do with the people you love.” She sighs. “I think he’s still figuring things out for himself.” She reaches out to give my forearm a gentle pat. “You’ll figure things out for yourself, too. I have faith.”
Jonah’s deep, bellowing laugh echoes clear across the lake.
I shake my head. “He’s so loud.”
“Jonah’s always been loud.” Her appraising dark eyes shift over the lake, to the trees beyond and the looming mountains. “But, no, it’s just that quiet here. Peaceful,” she says quickly, as if correcting herself. “Your own slice of heaven.”
I think of the way Diana would sink into the wicker chair behind us, donning pajamas, a glass of wine cradled in her hands, and marvel at the vista and the serenity. “I think I like my slice more when I’m sharing it.”
“You won’t ever catch us complaining.” She buries her smile in her mug.
“You know, you two should move here. Come live with us.” It’s an impulsive invitation, not at all considered, and yet as soon as the words escape, I know I mean them. The idea of having Agnes around warms my heart. She is a piece of my father as I knew him.
“A young couple needs their space, Calla.”
Thoughts of last night—of the steady drumbeat of our headboard against the wall, of Jonah climaxing—make me flush. Permanent house guests would be hard, especially in our small house. “You could build your own cabin.”
“My own cabin.” She laughs and shakes her head, as if the idea is farfetched.
I examine the far end of our vast, private lake. “There’s an old place on the other side, from, like, the ’60s.” I point in the general direction, because I’m not entirely sure where it is.
She squints as she searches the trees on the opposite shoreline.
“You can’t see it. Everything has grown in, the cabin’s old and musty, and tiny. Diana thinks I should try to fix it up and rent it out to weekenders.” Couples, looking for a
romantic escape. I don’t know if that’s even possible given its state, but I haven’t been able to shake that idea since she suggested it. It would be nice to have signs of life within view.
“How’d you ever find it?”
“Muriel. She took me.”
“Ah … Yes.” She frowns. “That is one motivated lady.”
I snort. “That’s one word for it.” By the time I’d given Agnes, George, and Bobbie a tour of the house, and led them out to the garden, Mabel’s fingers were already stained red with berry juice. George and Bobbie continued on their journey, and we spent the afternoon in the kitchen, filling dozens of sterilized jars with Colette’s prized strawberry jam recipe, Muriel instructing through each step. “Anyway, she took me out one day. It’s in surprisingly good shape, for as old as it is.”
Agnes nods slowly. “Sounds like she’s taking good care of you two.”
“She gave me a gun for my birthday.”
“Jonah mentioned.” Agnes’s eyes twinkle with her laughter. “Have you learned how to shoot it yet?”
“No. But I probably should,” I admit reluctantly.
“It would be smart, given where you live,” she agrees. “And I think that rental cabin is a good idea, too. I’m sure lots of people would enjoy it year-round.”
Mabel lets out a playful shriek, followed by a firm, “No!”
“I haven’t heard her like that in a while.” Agnes smiles. But I also note how her eyes gloss over as she regards her daughter.
“Mabel is changing, huh?”
Agnes’s mouth opens but she hesitates for a long moment. “One of her friends died a few weeks ago. He was from a village nearby.”
“How—”
“Suicide.”
