Alice.
38
Saturday, August 9
23 Days Left at the Lake
I meet the rising sun on Saturday with a sense of hope and purpose. The reflection from the lake dances on the ceiling of my bedroom, and the living room is cast in deep yellow. Nan is still asleep, so I fix myself coffee and head down to the dock with my notebook. Charlie has been gone for two days, and I’ve missed him like a rib. Too much, maybe. But he’ll be back today, and Heather and Bennett are arriving this afternoon. I’m counting the minutes until they get here.
Steam from my mug curls into the air. I take in the silent stillness of morning for a few minutes before opening my notebook. I’ve spent much of the last forty-eight hours writing down all the strange and surprising and meaningful things that have happened so far this summer. I’m almost up-to-date—recounting the events of Percy and Sam’s baby shower bash. How nervous I was, and how included I felt. The speech Charlie gave before revealing the tree house. I stop, flip back to the bucket list I wroteat the beginning of the summer. It seemed frivolous then, but now I see how I tricked myself into taking risks, into stepping outside of my comfort zone.
I look across the bay at the yellow boat. The one I’ve now spent so much time in. I’m not the girl I was at seventeen. I’m thirty-three-year-old Alice Everly, and I can do hard things. Jump off cliffs. Kiss cute guys. I can’t backflip into the water, but I can say no to opportunities that don’t serve me. And I can make Charlie Florek blush. I can still feel my legs circled around his hips in the water.
My sister and niece pull up to the cottage shortly after two.
“What happened to you?” Heather says, giving me a hug, and I breathe in her perfume. It’s an almost masculine scent—smoky and dark, bold like she is.
“I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen your hair like this,” she says, holding me out with both arms.
I’ve worn it down and let it air dry after my swim. It’s a tornado of curls.
“It’s my lake look,” I say as Bennett climbs out of the car and bounds over to me.
“I wish I had hair like yours,” Bennett says, giving me a hug. She smells extra sweet, that artificial sugar candy smell of thirteen-year-old girls.
“Ditto,” I say, pushing a strand of her long, dark hair away from her eyes. She’s tall like my sister, but she’s constantly trying to make herself small, crossing her arms over her middle and rounding her shoulders. She reminds me so much of myself at thirteen.
“Come give your great-grandmother a hug,” Nan calls from the door, and Bennett rushes to greet her. Nan is standing straight—no cane in sight.
“I’ll give you the grand tour,” I hear her say as Heather and I carry Bennett’s things inside, including two canvas bags full of her books.
“I’m worried about her,” Heather says to me quietly as Nan takes Bennett out to the deck.
“Really?”
“She’s watching all these makeup tutorials.”
“You were getting into Mom’s makeup when you were four.”
“It’s not just that.” Heather looks at me with horror. “She has a crush on a boy.”
“Oh?” Bennett has been a bit of a late bloomer.
“Anthony. I looked at her diary.”
“Heather!”
“What? She’s become so secretive and even more self-conscious.”
“Do not read her diary,” I hiss. “Don’t you remember what it’s like to be thirteen?”
“Yes! That’s why I’m worried. Thirteensucks.” My sister is as tough as nails, except when it comes to her daughter. Wherever Bennett goes, she carries a piece of Heather’s heart in her pocket. While the differences between my siblings and me are plentiful, this we have in common: The Everly family loves big, and it loves hard.
“I can try talking to her if you want,” I offer.
“Please do. I need her to turn out like you.”
“You just want her to stay a virgin until she’s twenty-two.”
