“I’ll see you tomorrow, sweetheart.”
“Bye, Papa. I’m so excited.”
When we hang up, I feel a little less hollow. I told myself the solitude would be good when I first moved to Windy Harbor. And it is, mostly. I have my best friends, Erin, who runs Cox Trading Post with her parents, and Goldie, who’s now living inWindy Harbor full-time too, and I couldn’t be happier to have more time with them. But after a day at the cafe, it’s almost always nice to come home to the stillness.
From the time we moved to Summit Avenue and our family met the Whitmans, our families have been close. My parents still own their home in St. Paul and plan to retire here before too long. As for me, I needed the quieter pace of Windy Harbor a little sooner.
After the hectic day, I don’t want to people another second. Bosco, one of the crankier regulars at The Kitty-Corner Cafe, was in rare form today. He was extra grumpy. If I hadn’t offered him free coffee, I think he would’ve chased everyone off.
I’m exhausted. My shoulders are tight and my brain is tired. If I don’t distract myself, I will go pick another fight with Camden, and that’s just unnecessary.
We’re already deep in a constant fight.
The sooner I can get past this, the sooner I can get rid of this tight feeling in my chest.
This is who we are now.
It was easier when he wasn’t in Windy Harbor. I still thought of him often when he lived in Colorado, but it wasn’t like a scab being constantly picked, the way it is now that I have to see him all the time.
I go home, get the bedrooms ready, clean for a bit, and watch something mind-numbing. The cold makes the wooden balcony off my bedroom pop, and the loud sounds make me jump every time, interrupting my relaxation. This is one of my favorite places to be in all the world, but the house has never felt bigger or emptier than it does tonight.
When my parents bought a lake home, they didn’t go the usual route with a cute little cabin. They went big, like they do with everything else. The house sprawls out on Wildbriar Lane, Windy Harbor’s main drag through town, and the place is ashowstopper. A yellow Victorian with an updated wing at the back of the house and a cozy addition above the garage, the place is tucked into the trees, Lake Superior framing it perfectly. The Kitty-Corner Cafe is next door, situated closer to the street.
If the cafe hadn’t taken off, I’d considered running a bed-and-breakfast here, but I’d decided I wanted a place to decompress after work, not have people in my space at home too.
There’s only one room that hasn’t been remodeled, and it’s my fault. The bathroom off my bedroom is horribly outdated, and not the good kind. The rest of the house has a lot of character, original woodwork and all, but my bathroom has an eighties vibe with dusty blue everything. Toilet, sinks, and a chunky blue tub that juts out of the wall like a ship that’s lost its way, stretching out into the middle of the room in the least efficient use of space ever.
I thought for sure I’d trip over the tub all the time, but I quickly got used to it, and once I’d finally taken a bath in the thing, I fell in love.
Mildred––that’s what I’ve named this hunk of cast-iron goodness––perfectly encases my body. She slants at the back, allowing me to lounge at just the right elevation. I can look out the window while I bathe or read in there for hours. Mildred has comforted me during many a tear session and soothed my tired feet after a long day, and, since she’s four hundred pounds soaking wet, she’s not going anywhere.
I sink into the water and practically purr. This is often the best part of my day.
But then I toss and turn all night, my mind too full of all the things.
The next day, the anticipation of seeing my grandpa and uncle is high. Midafternoon, I see them roll in, hauling a trailerwith their Harleys behind the SUV. I watch them park at the house and then stroll over, walking in sync.
The bell above the door jangles as I rush to meet them. They walk in wearing cute cable-knit sweaters with jeans, sunglasses, and wide smiles. Having been around them most of my life, I know that they did not plan to match. It just always happens.
“Papa,” I say, opening my arms wide.
He hugs me tight. “There you are. It’s so good to see you, sweetheart.”
“You too.” I sigh into his teddy-bear hold.
“Okay, my turn,” Uncle Hal says.
He’s grinning when I turn and barrel into him.
It’s crazy how alike they look, but I can pick them out a mile apart. Papa is sweet and reserved, and Uncle Hal is pure mischief. Their personalities show in their eyes and smiles, but once they speak, their differences are more evident to everyone.
“You ready to put us to work?” Uncle Hal asks. “I can be the taste tester.”
“Hmm. We’ll see.” I laugh. “I promise to keep you supplied with sweets for sure.”
“I knew it was the right thing to come here,” he teases.
“The place looks wonderful, Juju,” Papa says.
