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“This trip might be her swan song,” I say as I trot around to open the door for her. “It sounded like she was protesting the entire way up here.”
“It’s about as far away as you can get,” she says a moment later as she snaps her seatbelt into place. “I felt like I was being exiled to Siberia when I first got here.”
I shift into gear and she points me in the direction we’re heading. “When was that, exactly?”
“Um, early October…Couple of months after you left.”
“Was it your decision? I mean, how did it all come about?”
She looks to me. “Can we hold off on the questions until after we grab some food?” She looks down to her lap, and I notice she’s wringing her hands. “I mean, I’m holding it together but I’m kind of a mess right now…Be prepared for me to start leaking like a faucet once I start talking.”
“Understood.” I want to tell her that my thoughts are running haywire too, but I think she knows as much. “So where do you want to eat?”
“You mind if we just get some take-out? It’s a nice night, we can have a picnic.”
“Ok.”
“It’s just that this is a small town, like microscopic compared to where we grew up. And I’ve always been like a roadside attraction here. And tonight of all nights, I don’t need an audience.”
“Roadside attraction?”
She gestures for me to make a right at the stop sign. “You know, Janelle’s wayward niece…Uppity little thing from down south…Pregnant.” Her voice trails off on that last word, and I don’t know if it’s my place to reassure or comfort her. “Pull in right here. I’ll go inside,” she says, making it clear I’m meant to wait in the truck. She turns back to me with an apologetic look. “It’s just that with you showing up, and Ethan looking like your little mini-me…I can hear the phone lines buzzing already.” As Charlotte hops down from the footboard, she adds, “Sadly, I’m what substitutes for newsworthy around here. It’s the nature of being an outsider in an insular community like this.”
Two guys in their late twenties, maybe early thirties, come out of the shop as she’s going in. They nod and smile at her, one holding the door open and then pausing a full ten seconds just to watch her as she moves inside. Charlotte has no idea. The men trade looks that express appreciation for her form, and smile as they head back to their truck talking. Taking it all in, I’m one hundred percent sure she’s the topic of their conversation. She’s oblivious to the effect she has on people, on men. One thing that hasn’t changed.
“I was going to go with burgers, but then I figured I should give you the full tourist experience. Cudighi sandwiches, a pasty for us to split, and some Trenary Toast for desert.”
“It smells good, so I’ll just trust that you’re not trying to poison me.”
“If I wanted to poison you, you'd be having creamed trout à la Lawrence back at the house.”
I’m so grateful that she’s making things easy, that it’s not strained when we talk, but I’m itching to know things and the mention of Lawrence’s name triggers my need. “Is it all right to ask a question now?”
“Turn left and pull into that area.” Once I put the truck in park, she says, “You want to know who Lawrence is.” Gathering the bags, she hands me two bottles of water. “Come on,” she hops out and calls behind her, “I’ll tell you everything.”
“What a spot.”
It’s a perfect late spring day and the sun is dancing off the ripples on the lake. You can see how crystal clear the water is. It looks like you could cup your hands, take a mouthful, and it would be the best thing you’ve ever tasted.
“I used to come here by myself every day after school that first year, just to sit and think. It’s spectacular, right?”
“You always said you wanted to live by the water.”
“I think I was envisioning a place with water warm enough to swim in. I don’t hate this place, not at all, but it’s unbearably cold and it feels so damn remote up here in the winter. Makes Ann Arbor seem like a tropical paradise.”
She opens the containers and breaks a beef patty apart, handing me one half. “This is a pasty.” She pronounces itpast-ee. When I go to take a bite, she leans back on her hands, her own food forgotten. “So Lawrence was Janelle’s boyfriend. He’s lived up here his entire life. Ethan adores him, calls him Paw-paw.”
“Seems like he’s a big help to you.”
“He is. And I think having Ethan around has been a big help for Lawrence too. He took Janelle’s death really hard.”
“I bet you all did.”
She nods. “Even Ethan. I never thought a child so young could grieve, but he spent hours sitting on her bed at our place in Ann Arbor, like he was waiting for her to come home. And he went back to wetting the bed and sucking his thumb. It was heartbreaking to watch.”
“How is he now?”
She smiles, picking at a blade of grass. “Kids are resilient. He talks to her picture sometimes, but it’s not in an unhappy way…More like he’s just telling her about his day. We’re all better. Lawrence and I can talk about her without breaking down. In fact, we make a point of bringing her up at some point just about every day.”
