“I spent more than a few nights out here,” said Ellie, gazing up at the moon.
“You never talked much about that summer. Why?”
Ellie shrugged without looking at her. “I don’t know. I thought if I said too much, Mother and Father would find a way to ruin it for me. Which in the end is exactly what happened.”
“I take it you haven’t spoken to Mother about what you and I discussed?”
Ellie shook her head. “But given the circumstances, that conversation may be unavoidable.”
“Maybe that’s a good thing,” said Amelia. She leaned against the rail, one leg over the other. “At least then you’d have some clarity.”
Clarity was the one thing Ellie seemed to lack in several areas of her life. “I still can’t believe Clara’s gone,” she said, struggling to comprehend her loss. “Earlier, when I walked through the door, I expected to find her standing in the kitchen, making one of her famous blackberry cobblers.”
“I wish I’d known her better.” Amelia’s expression turned wistful. “From the stories Mother was telling me before you arrived, Clara sounds like a real firecracker.”
The thought brought a smile to Ellie’s face. “Yes, she most definitely was.”
Silence descended on them, and it was several minutes before either of them spoke.
“Do you ever stop and think if you’d done something as simple as going left versus right, how different your life might be?”
Amelia considered that. “I suppose at one time or another everyone thinks about the choices they’ve made and what might have happened if they’d done things differently. But I try not to dwell on such things.” She rolled her head to the side and looked at Ellie. “Are you having regrets about something?”
Ellie stared into the darkness, reflecting on the decisions that had led her to this point. Was it fate that had brought her here? No, she thought, laying the responsibility at her own feet. She had chosen this path, and it all began when she decided to leave Jack. “I keep wondering what would have happened if Mother hadn’t shown up when she did.”
“So this is about Jack? Did you ever write him?”
“I wanted to,” Ellie answered with regret, “but I could never think of the perfect thing to say.”
“Well, you’d better think of something, and fast,” said Amelia. “Be it fate or destiny or something else, you’re here, back where it all started, and if he was as close to Clara as you say, it’s only a matter of time before you run into him.”
At the mere thought of seeing Jack again, Ellie’s stomach clenched tight.
* * *
That first night, sleep was nearly impossible. For Ellie, returning to Sims Chapel was bittersweet. Some of her most precious memories had been made on its sandy shores but had also given rise to some of her deepest regrets.
Lying in bed, listening to the chirping of crickets and katydids, the events of that summer—hot days, cool nights, and stolen kisses in the dark—played inside her head like a movie reel. Twelve years had passed since she and Jack had navigated the coves and channels of the lake, yet it felt like yesterday.
Unable to sleep, she slipped out of bed and stood by the window, peering into the darkness, and thinking of Jack. With his newfound success as an author, she imagined him traveling the country, visiting the places he’d talked about when he was eighteen. Or perhaps he was married, living in North Carolina. He’d mentioned having family there. Either way, she couldn’t imagine him in Sims Chapel. Not anymore.
The next morning, Ellie woke to the smell of bacon frying. Shrugging into her robe, she shuffled down the hall toward the kitchen and found her mother preparing breakfast.
“Someone’s up early.” Ellie found a seat at the table and sat down.
“Morning, dear,” said Marie. “I couldn’t sleep, so I figured I’d get up and start breakfast.”
“That makes two of us.” Ellie pressed her palms against her temples. When the throbbing in her head ceased, she offered to help with breakfast.
“You still remember how to make biscuits, don’t you?”
“You forget who you’re talking to.” Ellie rolled up her sleeves and gathered the ingredients—flour, baking powder, salt, and sugar—then checked the fridge. After grabbing the buttermilk and a stick of butter, she found a bowl and sifter and began mixing the dry ingredients. Pressing a fist into the center of her mix, she added the buttermilk a little at a time, then rolled the biscuits by hand.
“I see you haven’t lost your touch,” Marie noted as Ellie placed the biscuits in the skillet. “You always were a whiz in the kitchen.”
Ellie reached for the knob and turned on the oven. “Still am.”
When the oven had preheated, Ellie put the biscuits in and closed the door. “Where’s Amelia? I figured she’d be the first one up.”
