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Charlotte handed Alex her phone. It was an acceptance letter from Tulane School of Law dated May 15, 2022. Alex looked at the reply icon at the top and saw it wasn’t highlighted. “That’s from this year, and you haven’t replied. There’s probably still time. What’s holding you back?”
“I’ve wanted to utilize my language skills in immigration law for years, but it’s a risky, cutthroat field for a woman. I guess I just don’t want to fail.” Charlotte’s jaw tensed, and as she kicked at the water, the water splashed up onto her calf. “What if I fail?”
Alex shaded her eyes as the glare of the sun intensified over the water and glinted like daggers in their direction. “What if you stop caring about who thinks what and show up for yourself for once?” She softened her voice and slowed her words so each one landed. “What if it all works out?”
“That’s it?” Charlotte smiled and shook her head. “Just reinvent myself?”
“You’re allowed to evolve,” Alex said, giving her shoulder a nudge. “You’re allowed to reinvent yourself as many times as it takes. And in my experience, if you’re not failing once in a while, you’re not trying hard enough.”
Charlotte was silent for a long time, as if letting each word sink into her memory, then she got up and offered Alex her hand. Alex took it and stood, slipping her sandals back on to shield her feet from the sunbaked dock. Charlotte fell into step beside her as they walked back up the dock toward the lodge. “You’re headed for the manicotti, aren’t you?”
“Listen, I don’t know what to tell you except my priorities are in order.” Alex shot her a wink and paused at the end of the dock. “Care to join me?”
“Tempting,” Charlotte said, glancing down the trail leading to the staff cabins. “But I think I’m late for a call with a law school in New Orleans.” She paused, her voice soft. “But seriously, thank you for this. I won’t forget it.”
Alex hugged her warmly and watched her walk down the trail until she turned at the halfway point and smiled back at Alex, who headed back up the trail to the main lodge just in time to catch a glimpse of Lily on the porch before she turned and walked away.
* * *
Later that evening, Sam bit her lip in concentration as she rearranged the AV equipment on the kitchen table for the fifth time in five minutes. Sara glanced up at her as she spooned steaming beef jus over the thinly sliced steak in her cast-iron skillet and replaced the lid. She dropped her oven mitt onto the counter and walked up behind her, running her hands up Sam’s abs and resting her head on her shoulder.
“What’s up with you tonight, baby?” Sara’s voice was gentle. “I’ve seen you work with this equipment before. It can’t be that stressing you out.”
Sam raked a hand through her hair and sank into one of the kitchen chairs, pulling Sara to sit on her lap. She started to speak, then lost the words and closed her eyes, rubbing them with the heels of her hands. When she finally looked back at Sara, her eyes were red, and the lines in her forehead more deeply etched than Sara had ever seen them.
“I don’t know how to describe it.” Sam leaned her head back, staring at the soaring Aspen ceiling dappled by the falling evening light. “It’s not a bad thing. It’s good, in fact. Gathering evidence on this loser could start the ball rolling and allow the FBI to get a warrant and nail this guy.”
Sara put one hand on Sam’s chest and one hand on her own, then took a deep breath, smiling as Sam followed. After a few more breaths, the worry on Sam’s face started to ease, and she slid her hand around Sara’s neck to pull her in for a kiss.
“How do you know how to do that, my love?” Sam paused. “How do you know a thousand different ways to calm me?”
Sara touched their foreheads together and closed her eyes for a moment before she answered. “Because your heart is mine. I can feel what you need.”
Sam brushed a stray blond wave away from Sara’s eyes and held her gaze. “What would I do without you?”
Sara’s face brightened as she held up her left hand, admiring the sparkling, canary diamond ring Sam had proposed with five years earlier, now accented by a slim yellow gold wedding band. “Well, you were smart and locked that down early, so you don’t even have to think about it.”
“Thank God.” Sam pulled her in for another kiss, her hand warm around Sara’s waist. “I would have proposed the second you came in for that damn boat license and threw a little fit, but I had to find the perfect ring. Takes some time, as it turns out.”
Sara’s mouth dropped open in protest. “I didn’t throw a—”
“I think we’ve established you most certainly did.” Sam pulled her closer. “And it was adorable.”
Sara winked and slid her hands into Sam’s hair, ruffling it just enough to remind her of what Sam used to look like when she came home from Lake Patrol. “So what’s got you so stressed?”
“I do feel stressed.” Sam paused. “But it’s not the bad kind of stress. It’s the kind that reminds me what I’m doing is important and could change someone’s life. I just don’t want to get this wrong and fuck it up.”
Sara smiled, then got up and gave the beef strips another stir, lifting the lid on a pan of sautéed onions and peppers in cast-iron skillet behind it. “By the way, didn’t you tell me last night that you had something big you wanted to talk to me about?”
The doorbell rang, and Sam promised to tell her after dinner as she hurried to open the front door. Alex was there, holding a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, condensation already dripping down the label in the late summer heat.
“Dude,” Sam teased, holding the door open for Alex and playfully rolling her eyes. “Where’s the beer? This might as well be wrapped in flowers or some shit. It’s like you don’t know me at all.”
“Whatever.” Alex gave Sam a playful punch and walked through to the kitchen, handing the bottle to Sara with a warm hug. “I know where the amazing food comes from in this house, so I choose hostess gifts accordingly.” Sara gave the label a look of approval then handed her the bottle opener. “Besides, I’m committed to expanding your palate when it comes to wine.”
“Good luck with that.” Sam popped the top off a Sam Adams and caught the cap. “I married a chef, so that ship has sailed. If she can’t do it, no one can.”
“She’s not wrong,” Sara said, spreading a floury baguette with liberal lashings of sweet cream butter. “I tried the same thing on that first trip we took together and gave up in about five minutes.”
