“Got it,” he said. “And thank you.”
“Remember,” Hayes said. “She’s inyourneck of the woods. Expect her to feel uncomfortable. What did you used to do there, for dates?”
“Canoe to an island for a picnic. Stargaze. Swim. Napolitano’s Pizza has a video game arcade. There’s a drive-in theater fifteen miles up the road.”
Anna and Hayes both had the same blank expression, mouths half open, like they were witnessing something they’d never encountered.
“It’s rural Maine, not the West Village. But thank you. I’ve got this.” At that, Miles changed the subject. “Speaking of the Village, where are we with NYU?”
“They want to discuss how many therapists we need. After my film opens Memorial Day weekend, I’ll have more time to meet with them.”
Miles let out a sigh of relief. Their bereavement camp might work.
Anna leaned in again. “I know you grew up in the land of maple syrup, but Avery needs molasses. Take it slow.”
“Ayuh.” Miles nodded. Over time, he’d taught Hayes and Anna that “ayuh” was how Mainers saidyes. “I got it. I’ll see her on Tuesday. Nate called a staff meeting. I’ll let you know how it all goes.”
After they hung up, Miles opened his post-run bottle of chocolate milk and flicked the cap into the basket on top of his fridge. Linden Dairy still sold serving-sized glass bottles of chocolate milk, and although they’d replaced the metal caps with plastic, the little bottles were his favorite part of coming home. That, and fresh blueberries. He spent eleven months of the year waiting for blueberry season and looked forward to its return. Frozen blueberries simply weren’t the same.
He threw on a jacket and headed outside. The lake sparkled on cool, crisp days like this. He scanned the water as he zipped up his jacket. No sign of the survey crew at the corporate retreat, so he texted his realtor. He watched two ducks swim along the shoreline as he walked to his garage. If he got lucky, the birds would nest nearby. Avery loved baby ducks. She loved baby loons more, and the loons should be here soon. They returned every spring and nested in the cove between his house and Montressa.
Dust billowed out into the sunlight as Miles swung open the old wooden garage doors. He carefully uncovered the Mail Jeep, a 1985 Dispatcher he’d bought in high school from a retired postal carrier. He’d refurbished it a couple of years ago and kept it as an “around the lake” car. The passenger door no longer unlatched and slid back while driving. It was safer now, but he’d always loved how Avery had screamed and then laughed hysterically every time it had flown open. He smiled, put his key in the ignition. The Mail Jeep revved to life on the first try.
As Miles pulled the car out of the garage and into the gravel driveway, he felt a flutter of excitement. Avery had always loved this car.
He’d park right in front of the lodge, where she couldn’t miss it.
Chapter Three
Avery
Monday, May 15
Avery’s grandmother, Mimi, used to say lost things had a way of resurfacing exactly where she’d left them. Forty-some hours had passed since the incident on the dock. She’d moved into the loft apartment above the lodge, done three Peloton rides, and reoriented herself with Montressa’s sprawling campus of guest cabins. The entire time, her mind kept replaying the conversation with Miles, arriving at the same conclusion again and again. Dredging up a past they couldn’t change was pointless.
Once she’d finished her morning shower, Avery headed down the loft’s outside staircase on her way to the front desk inside the lodge’s lobby. Her breath hitched when she saw Miles’s Mail Jeep parked in Montressa’s circular drive. The refurbished 1985 Jeep Dispatcher hadn’t lost its novelty. She jiggled the passenger-side door handle to see if it still didn’t latch properly. He’d fixed it. As she peeked inside, her breathfogged the window in the chilly spring air.
He’d let her drive it once, but she enjoyed being his passenger more. Because it had been used to deliver mail, the steering wheel was on the right, enabling the postal carrier to reach mailboxes. Originally, there hadn’t been a passenger seat, but Miles added one in high school. The passenger sat on the left, normally the driver’s side. That change in perspective had felt the way he made her feel: off kilter, in a good way. Every time he shifted into reverse, he looped his hand behind her headrest as he looked out the back window. That simple, protective gesture never failed to send a flutter through her. When he turned to face forward and shift out of reverse, they often locked eyes and leaned in for a kiss.That summer, she’d craved any excuse to go in reverse.
There would be no going backward this summer.
She shook her head, walked into the lodge, and distracted herself with work. Everyone was concerned about Sam. Concentrating on lodge business could ease their worries a little and might push Miles out of her every thought.
Montressa had passed down from Cooper to Cooper ever since it opened in 1926. Over time, the Cooper family bought the surrounding land and Montressa now sat on ninety-nine acres, with twenty-two cabins sprinkled through the property. The centerpiece was the lodge, which housed the front desk, office, lobby, dining room, and six hotel-style lodge rooms. Avery was staying in the loft, a small apartment above the office with its own set of outside steps.
At the end of last summer, Sam retired, and his son Nate took over running the resort. Each Cooper updated the resort to fit their generation and Avery expected Nate to do the same. He’d planned a staff meeting tomorrow via Zoom, and she didn’t want to join in without having made herself useful, especially since Miles was working so hard on the waterfront. Early this morning, from the loft window, she’d noticed a neat row of freshly washed kayaks down at the marina beach.
She spent the morning getting familiar with the front desk and office. The L-shaped front desk sat in one corner of Montressa’s spacious rectangular lobby. There were two doors: the driveway door which opened to the back of the property, and the lakeside door. The front desk faced a sitting area with couches, a coffee and tea station, and the puzzle table, a guest favorite that saw heavy use all summer. A large stone fireplace climbed up one wall.
A hallway behind the front desk led back to two offices. Nate’s office, which hadGeneral Managerpainted on the door, looked out over the glimmering lake. The other office belonged to Nate’s mother, Laurie, who still managed reservations. Lily would join Montressa’s staff as activities manager once school ended. She was waiting a couple of years to decide whether she wanted to keep teaching or join Nate in the office year-round.
Avery knew of nothing more aggravating than someone rearranging your office and vowed not to meddle with Laurie’s system unless necessary. She decided to work from the front desk, which had a counter for serving guests and a lower, more functional seated workspace. It was more fun to work from the lobby anyway, given its view of the waterfront and proximity to the fireplace. Someone, probably Miles, had left a maple-blueberry donut by the phone. He’d always bought two. One for his post-run breakfast, the other for her. She set it aside. Time to work.
No thinking about Miles.
As Lily promised, everything was pretty much the same except for a new laptop. A sticky note pasted to the top cover said, “no password.” That wasn’t very secure. On the wall, the giant chalkboard still held Montressa’s famous handmade reservation chart. Dates ran across the top and the names of each cabin down the left side, leaving a square for each day of the summer. At some point, someone had switched from chalk to Post-its to block off each reservation.
On the board, sticky notes contained the names of some of thelongtime families who came every year: the Schwartzes, the Longneckers, the Lipscombs. The Michaelsons still reserved half the resort for their family reunion week, which staff used referred to as “Hell Week”. Avery laughed at the memory.
