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Cass: Shit. You want me to ask M to switch restaurants?
I should say yes. But then again, people are coming from out of town, and when they want Shambles, they want Shambles. How can I put my pregnant sister in that position?
At the same time, I receive a text from Titus, which makes me wonder who the fuck is driving the car.
Titus: Hey, buddy. We’re on our way for just a quick visit. Meghan’s having a tough time lately, so Leela organized it. Sorry you weren’t invited. It wasn’t my call not to ask you. It’s all awkward now; I don’t know what to say.
Me: Since you have free hands to text me all those words, I assume someone else is driving my pregnant twin sister around.
Titus: My wife is fine.
Me: Cool.
Titus: Listen, I was planning on texting you. We’re having dinner with Dad tomorrow night at the lake house. If it’s all right with Meghan, you should join us. If it’s weird, we’ll go out for fish or something.
I don’t resent my lifelong best friend and my twin sister for not being in contact with me every second of every day like we all used to do back in the day. They’re married now, and they have their own lives. I don’t expect anything. But I would like a heads-up when they do shit like this.
Me: Meghan’s lake house? Dad’s going there?
That’s pretty weird. As far as I know, Lilith and Dad have never met, and she’s hesitant to let new people into her circle of trust. I could see right away where Meghan inherited that distrusting gene.
There’s a long pause. So long, I tire of waiting. I stuff my phone back into my pocket and get on with my work in the kitchen.
Hopefully, I won’t have to help much at the bar while Beta Beta Psi hogs most of the room for the night. I’ll stay back in the kitchen with Dia, scoot out the back door, drink myself into oblivion and go to bed. When I wake up, everyone will be gone.
It’s about as solid a plan as I’ve got.
Despite decent tips that come with all my many jobs around Lake Lure, I’m not yet able to afford my own motorboat to get to my second job at the marina.
So, when I finish helping Dia and Devin, I hop in my car and wind my way up the hill, around the golf course, through the winding holler, and down the other side to the busier side of the lake.
When I’m not at the bar, I earn tips at the marina, leading one-hour pontoon-boat rides. It’s not a bad gig, but it’s pretty repetitive, especially when tourists ask the same questions about movies that have been shot here. While it’s fun to answer questions about local history, I would be happy to never talk about the movieDirty Dancingever again for the rest of my goddamned life.
I’m feeling even more antisocial than usual today and wish there were more fishing charters for me to hop onto. I like the small, quieter groups and the families that come through. There’s nothing more fun than seeing a little kid’s face the first time they catch a lake trout.
My ultimate goal one day is to have my own boat and lead my own fishing charters. Own my own small cottage on the river over in Chimney Rock, out of the shadow of the obscenely enormous houses on the lake. All I want to do is wake up in the morning to that mountain view, climb some rocks, fly fish in the Broad River, get hammered at the Wagon Wheel Bar with the rednecks, get high and play mini golf with the tourists, then stumble home alone and pass out to the sounds of rushing water outside my window. Wake up and do it all over again.
That’s my plan for avoiding Meghan for the rest of my life.
A wiser man would move away from her stomping grounds. But then again, I hold a business degree, and I’m working three sub-minimum wage jobs, one of which forces me to drive past my ex-girlfriend’s lake house every day and speak out loud into a microphone about local history—some of that history involving my ex-girlfriend’s family—in exchange for tips. Larger tips if I’m extra nice and jokey.
So, I dunno. Maybe don’t come to me for life advice.
THREE
Meghan
I love the lake the most in autumn. With the beach access locked up for the season, the lake is less busy. We still see many leaf-peepers and tons of traffic coming through to hike at nearby Chimney Rock in the cooler weather, but it’s more serene. Much fewer overheated tourists, unsatisfied with the area’s amenities.
Lake Lure has no Hiltons, no McDonald’s, and no jet skis or wave runners are allowed on the water. No straight, four-lane highways will get you here, which can make the day-tripping traffic tiresome. People forget that for an upscale lake community, we’re still remote. Not everything is precisely how everyone wants it. Most hotels are older and small but well-kept. Cottages are small and quaint, most restaurants are casual, and if you’re not spending all day outdoors, there’s not much for you to do here. It’s almost like we give a shit about preserving something special. If you find it boring here, then, by all means, go to Gatlinburg.
I love the old-school vibe. If I had to stare at a high-rise hotel in this part of the Blue Ridge? Well, it’s just unthinkable for these billion-year-old mountains.
Across the lake from where I float, the dense green hills form the panorama we call “The Sleeping Lady.” The evergreen curves of her calves and hips rise above an autumnal shoreline.
She’s so lovely I want to cry.
“I’m not okay,” I tell her.
