1
MAKE YOURSELF AT HOME (MARGOT)
It’s a long drive up to the lake house from Portland.
Over three hours on the road where city comforts bow to marching mountains and tall forests as thick as my memories.
I make the entire trip with the windows down, though.
It’s fall, and the wind streaming through my hair gives me a sense of freedom I’ve been missing forever.
Why does this feel like a new beginning when it’s really just a working trip to assess the mess I’ve been handed?
Thanks, PopPop. You always did love to send me on scavenger hunts.
By the time I pull up the gravel driveway outside my grandfather’s secluded lake house, I think I’m ready.
I tell myself I’ve braced for the emotional sucker punch.
I’m sure I’m old enough to handle this like a grown-up and not a hurt little girl who still desperately misses the old man who held her entire universe together.
Ha, no.
This is the first time I’ve seen the place since Gramps died. Honestly, since my first year of college.
Half a lifetime ago, we’d head up here every summer as kids for deliciously lazy weeks lost among the country greenery and an infinite canopy of stars.
It’s been a hot minute since I’ve made the trek up the long, dark, winding path through the tall pines and vibrant maples.
The old house’s exterior certainly doesn’t match the memory in my head.
“Ouch,” I mutter, wincing at the worn blue paint.
The short steps leading up to the porch are a little overgrown along the sides. We’re talking weeds poking through the slats like they’re scheming to trip you.
The handrail looks like it’s a heartbeat away from falling over the second you grab it.
With a heavy sigh, I linger in the car, just taking it in for a second.
Dead, black windows stare back at me. The nostalgia trapped inside this place suddenly feels gloomy.
The old blue house has certainly seen better days.
So have I.
But at least it’s a warm, sunny day for September.
One of those breezy autumn kisses that likes to pretend it’s still summer. Cloudless blue sky, rolling breeze, gold splashed everywhere.
It makes this house feel picture-perfect even if it’s looking more rustic ruin on the outside.
Makes coming here feel a little less morbid, I guess.
In the will, PopPop left me the lake house and vast land around it. The only real estate with my name on it.
The rest of his sprawling empire went to my brother, Ethan, and that’s fine.
There’s still some big secret waiting in the wings for my little cousin, Cleo, too.
