Fortunately, in the summer, Fishy’s is significantly busier with tourist lake traffic coming from the bed and breakfast located at the far end of the lake property. They are known to the locals for their spectacular Christmas decorations that often illuminate the entire property, and with the new snowfall the reds and greens will reflect perfectly.
For a small town with very little population, we are fortunate to have a large area so everything is spread out aside from the town center. Heck, I’d argue there are more producing cranberry plants on our farm than there are people in Fisher Creek.
Our family cranberry farm is on the northeastern side of the town, the town center in the middle, and then the lake and FishyBar are on the opposite corner of Fisher Creek.
A few hours later I feel the faint grumble of my stomach and look down at the time on my computer, 1:30 p.m. The shop will be closing in thirty minutes and I'm sure my family is wondering where I’ve been hiding for most of the day. Plus, I should probably tell them I won’t be home for dinner, and to certainly not wait up for me. I finish checking off my to-do list and pack everything back into my bag to head back home.
My car does not like the snowy, hole-filled dirt driveway as I drive toward the house. We have lived on this property for as long as I can remember. My parents, siblings, and I live in one house toward the front of the property, and my grandparents toward the back of the property. Our house is a white-paneled farm-style house, a dark green roof, with a beautiful wrap around deck. The dark wood panel deck reflects light perfectly into the main floor of the house through the giant windows surrounding the first floor. The property is mostly at the top of the hill and when you look down over the back there is an old, blue-green filled pond that my great-grandfather dug to fish with the kids over the years. Now this pond is covered with a few inches of ice and snow and hasn’t been cleared off in ages.
I will always rememberwhen the boys would employ me to help shovel the snow off as payment for being able to hang out with them and their friends in the winter. We would skate in circles around rough ice, getting endless scrapes from the roughness and contemplating ways to create an at home Zamboni for the next day.
Our ancestors' vision for the farm came to fruition over the years and I can only be so grateful that they planted a large family of coniferous trees lining the front and side yards of the house to protect the privacy of our family during tourist season. Now, as I pull back into the driveway those beautiful full green trees are dropping with the heaviness of the white snow, wearing it like a loose, droopy sweater to stay warm throughout the winter. They were set up as if they were two separate properties sharing the same driveway.
Since losing my grandmother earlier this year, the whole family worries about Gramps in that big house all alone. We have tried to convince him to move in with my parents now that I’m in Milwaukee and Pen is in Georgia. But the best we’ve been able to do is get him to eat dinner with us every night.
Losing Gram was easily the hardest loss to date, and I genuinely don’t think I will ever fully recover from it. I wish the tears from my eyes. They come every time I think about Gram. I have no desire to have that conversation with my sister today. Penelope is the oldest of the four of us and since becoming a mom she mothers us more than anyone else.
Carter and Cole are twins, which runs in the family, here’s to hoping it will skip our generation, the middle and then I'm the youngest of the four of us. Although there are four of us, I had the closest connection with Gram. We shared a love for baking and books and would even spend entire weekends nose down in our books together. As an adult that connection continued, even from two hours away. We had a standing phone call every Sunday morning to chat about the books we were reading, but in reality, it turned into Gram gossiping about the family and interrogating me about my love life. Thankfully, she never asked questions about Noah.
“Hey, Mom,” I say as I walk through the front door into the kitchen placing everything on the table nearby. She's covered in flour as she attempts to bake holiday cookies. And yes, an attempt is an accurate description of what she’s doing. Mom is a nurse by trade and has never been much of a baker. But we all love that she tries every year, especially now that the littles come up. We decorate them all together as a family, as a newer family tradition.
“Hi, baby,” she replies, “How was your day?”
“It was good, I had a delicious peppermint mocha from the new coffee place and hunkered down to get some work done. When does Pen arrive?”
“She just called to say she's delayed…again…due to the weather and will be here tomorrow.”
Pen met her husband in college and decided to move to Georgia to get away from the cold and the snow. In reality, I think she just needed a break from all of us.
“Oh, okay,” I reply quietly, feeling disappointed. I love my sister but I only get to see her boys, a few times a year and am in dire need of some auntie time. “Noah texted me today...” I hear my voice tremble as I say this to my mom, and I’m thankful she is the only person around to hear me.
“Noah? I haven’t heard that name in ages. Is he finally home from overseas?”
“Yeah, he got home last week. He wants to get drinks tonight at Fishy’s. I’m going to meet him around seven-thirty, so don’t count on me for dinner. And please, please, please, do not wait for me.” I hear the creak of the old wooden front door open but barely have enough time to turn and duck before I'm pelted in the side of the shoulder with a snowball, courtesy of Cole.
“Come on, not in the house,” Mom says as she chuckles.
Cole comes sprinting around the table to throw me into an excited hug when my phone buzzes and Noah’s name pops up on the screen with a photo of us from high school.I really need to change that photo from his contact information,I think as I flip over the phone in hopes Cole didn't get the chance to see it. Too late, though. Cole’s eyes grow big as a sheepish grin starts to slide across his face.
I know Cole really wants Noah and me to rekindle some resemblance of a friendship so he can have his friend back. Even though he would never actually pressure me to do so, being the protective big brother and all. Cole declared it would no longer be okay for him and Carter to be friends with Noah after everything that happened. Not that they even know the full extent of everything that happened. I still haven’t told anyone the full story.
Cole reaches for my phone, knowing that I may have graduated summa cum laude in PT school but have the brain of a squirrel and will never change my passcode.
I swat his hand away and exclaim, “it’s not what you’re thinking. Do not give me that look,” and then turn to walk run, rather, out of the room.
As I get upstairs to my childhood bedroom, I look around and see how my mother really has not changed a single thing, which is weird considering I’m now twenty-eight years old, and the teal walls definitely do not fit me anymore. Plus, I don’t live here, so I’m surprised she hasn’t changed the room into something more useful. I hurry to read my texts before one of the boys comes barging into my room demanding answers.
Noah: “Hey I know Fishy’s is a bit from you, do you want to just park at my house and then ride together?”
Noah’s text reads as if he is standing in front of me at school planning our weekend. I mean, he isn’t wrong, Fishy’s is pretty far from my house and he knows how much I hate driving down that way in the winter. The road is just a maze of twists and turns along the river. One wrong move, one small ice patch, and you’re going to be swept away to the next city. But am I ready to be alone in a car with him?
Me: “yeah that works, thanks”
I reply before I have time to think too hard about it. I hear a knock on my door, assuming it's either Mom or Cole because I haven’t seen Carter since getting in yesterday. He has grown distant and kind of mysterious over the last few years. I should probably talk to Cole about it since they at least both still live here and he would know best if something is going on that we need to address.
Cole is a volunteer firefighter for our town and responds to calls in the surrounding towns too. He also makes a point to come to visit once a month, which I can’t tell if it's to check on my sanity or if he enjoys flirting with Caroline. But my money is on Caroline. Carter, on the other hand, has never really had any interest in anything outside of working on the cranberry farm. Which, in terms of Christmas makes him the easiest to shop for, because we just each get him new gear for wading through the cranberry crop. Now that I think more about it, I don’t think he has ever been in a real relationship.
Our family has owned the cranberry farm for generations, my dad’s great-great grandfather started it and it has stayed in the family since the start. Our parents were high school sweethearts, which is about as small a town as it can get. Mom is a nurse at the local hospital, which is actually like twenty miles away, so once we were all in school, she went back to work and Penelope kept us in line.
