I might be tired of being alone. I take another sip from the bottle. This time, it goes down easier. “I barely recognize you without your companion,” I say.
“Ginger got the morning off. She’s at the condo.”
“I meant Gilcrest.”
“Him, I’m not so sure about. He’s on probation.” Freya dips a bare toe in the water. “Cold,” she says.
“Reid swims every afternoon. Memorial Day through October.”
“I don’t have that resolve,” Freya says, stubbing the cigarette out and tucking the butt into the pack. “You know what I like? A big-city gym with bikes that don’t go anywhere and hot men who spend their workouts watching each other instead of hassling me.”
“Sounds like New York,” I say. “You just said that Hero would be a good place to land?”
“I keep going back and forth,” Freya says. “Your brother hasn’t made much headway on building the house since the fire, though. And my decision depends on a few other things, too.”
She means Gilcrest and his marriage and whatever choices he needs to make to makeherchoice worthwhile.
“Talk to me about something besides my mother,” I say. “Anything but being sad.”
“I can do that,” Freya says. “I saw your aunt for a few moments just now. She’s the one who told me where to find you. It was nice to catch up, but I want to hear more about where life has taken her. I’d forgotten what good friends we used to be, how much fun we had together, and in a way it was as if no time had passed. Hadley’s lived the exact life shetalked about living when we were teenagers. She’s done good work and seen the world. I hope we’ll keep in touch now. At the very least, we can be friends online, unlike before.”
Freya swivels around and faces the shore. “You remember the old Burkehaven cabin. Two bedrooms and a bathroom that barely worked. It was about there, close to the path that leads to your cottage. My dad thought Hadley was bad news, so I had to sneak out and meet up with her on the sly.”
I can’t imagine anyone considering Hadley bad news, and it makes me laugh, and when I laugh, I realize I stopped thinking about my mother, if only for a few seconds, and even though the grief swings around and wallops me in the gut, I welcome the respite. “Hadley’s such a do-gooder,” I say. “Why would your father think she was a bad influence?”
“He was in the air force,” Freya says. “He expected order and wanted a daughter who did what he told her to do, and for the longest time, I went along with it without question. He thought I should earn a teaching certificate, get married, and have kids, and I probably would have—not that there’s anything wrong with any of those choices—but Hadley told me I could move to New York and do whatever I wanted. She dared me to have a dream. She told me about Juilliard and encouraged me to apply. I don’t know if I’d have come up with that plan on my own. That’s a lot to owe someone you haven’t talked to in a long time.” Freya cups water in her hand and splashes it on her face. “It’s as if she opened a door, and I walked through it and found my whole life on the other side.”
The night before my mother died, she also mentioned passing through a door, a metaphor I understand better now. Like my mother and Reid, I have a before, one I won’t be able to return to, no matter how much I wish I could. I flip onto my stomach. In the shadow of the dock, a school of sunfish darts along the lake bed. “Tell me more about Burkehaven,” I say to Freya.
“We stayed here every year for two weeks. The Burkes would come over most nights, or we’d visit friends around the lake. On the last night of our stay, my parents hosted talent night. It’s the first place I ever sang in public.” Freya pauses. “If I tell you what I sang, it can never be repeated. Ever. You have to swear.”
“I swear.”
“‘Physical,’ by Olivia Newton-John. I wore a leotard and a headband. I bet you don’t know the song.” She sings a few of the lyrics. “You must have heard it in the grocery store.”
“And the oldies stations,” I say.
“Stop with the ageism. Anyway, I took my performance very seriously. Hadley helped me with my dance moves. I remember rehearsing for most of the week, and that some of the kids around here would come by to watch. They probably spent the whole night laughing at me.”
“Like Paul Burke,” I say. “And my father.”
“Yep. Paul. Isaac Haviland, too. Your father was there, but he was too nice to make fun of a kid like me. Speaking of your father, any new sightings?”
“Do you think I imagined seeing him?”
“Do you?”
“Sometimes.”
Freya hands me the Scotch, and this time I take a long swig.
“Are you doing okay, Harold?” she asks.
“I’m fine,” I say, as I’ve said to anyone who’s asked so far. “Actually, not really.”
“It’s okay to be sad,” Freya says. “You might be sad for a long time. I think about my parents when I come to this cove. My dad was an amazing person, even if he was a disciplinarian. So was my mom. She was a computer programmer when a lot of women didn’t have jobs. They both died about five years ago. My mom first, and then my dad a few months later. It takes a while to fill the hole from losing a parent,and part of you may never heal—I know I haven’t—but eventually the grief fades into the background.”
“I don’t feel anything,” I say.
