“Right,” I said, moving on. “Whose wedding was she talking about?”
“What?”
I nodded at the phone on the console between us. “She said there was a wedding coming up.”
“Oh.” We were coming up on a blinking red light now. “Her daughter. Your cousin. Anne.”
Her phone rang again.ELIZABETH.This time, I understood why she hesitated. A couple of buzzes later, though, she answered.
“I just don’t get it,” my aunt continued, picking up where she left off. “We’ve been begging you to deal with this for so long. And now you decide to come? Why? Or are you not willing to talk about that, either?”
“Liz,” my mom said, finally managing a full word.
“Oh,” she shot back immediately, “I know. You’re just sobusy making money and conquering the world. God forbid you consider where you came from or the people that love you.”
At this, I looked up. I’d heard a lot so far, but love? I shut my computer, then looked at my mom. She was biting her lip. “Look,” she said finally. “This is when I can come. Can you make this work?”
Silence. I wondered if my aunt had hung up, quietly this time. Then: “We’ll talk when you get here.”
“Okay,” my mom said. Tentative, as I’d never heard her.
“Drive safe,” Liz said. Then she did hang up.
We were coming up on a small downtown now, marked by a single stoplight. Drugstore, law office, grocery with a pink pig on top. I wondered what it would be like to live here, everything in a row. As the highway emptied out again, flat and framed by fields, I saw a road sign up ahead:NORTH LAKE 35.
My mom’s phone buzzed again. This time, she picked it up right away. “Catherine Hope.” Whoever was speaking did so at a reasonable tone, a murmur rather than a shout. “Yes. I’ll be working remotely for the next week. I’ll have access to my phone, email, and VizUL. I’ve left detailed instructions with Marella. She will set up the meetings with outgoing staff and begin the HR outreach.” A pause. “No. I’ll still be going to Minneapolis to be there in person for the restructuring.”
This, at least, was familiar. Corporate speak, comforting like a lullaby. I yawned as I put my earbuds back in, the voices of my podcast blending with her crisp tone rattling off details beside me. I meant to just close my eyes for a second, then openup my laptop again. Instead, I woke up to find us bumping down a narrow dirt road, framed by trees.
I sat up, startled. My mouth was dry, and I felt that post-nap queasiness, even before we hit a bigbump!that tossed me sideways in my seat. I looked over at my mom. “Where are we?”
She looked over, so startled by my voice, I wondered how long I’d been asleep. “Almost there.”
Another jolt as we went over a thick root twisting across the road. Outside my window, a sign tangled in vines saidPRIVATE.The road curved, sharp, the trees and brush falling away, and there was the lake. Huge, glittering, stretching as far as I could see in either direction as we went through an open gate with another sign, this one old and hand carved:WOODS.
The road became a driveway, leading up to a white house right on the shore. There was a smaller cabin with matching black shutters across from it. My mom pulled right up in front, cutting the engine. The water was so close, lined with trees trailing long strings of Spanish moss. In the distance, a few little white-sailed boats spun in the sun.
“Hello?” a voice said. “You lost?”
My mom jumped, then spun in her seat just as I did the same. A stout, muscular Black boy with bronze skin, about my age, was now standing behind the car. His hair was buzzed on the sides with a little curl on top, and he wore knee-length shorts, a fitted gray T-shirt, and high-tops. He peered in at us.
“If you’re looking for the Tides, it’s another two miles down the road,” he said. There was a toolbox at his feet. “Big sign. You can’t miss it.”
My mom opened her door, taking an audible breath before she got out and took off her sunglasses. “Clark,” she said. “It’s me.”
It was suddenly very quiet. Enough so that I could hear people out on the lake, distantly.
The boy came from around the bumper, slowly. “Cat?” he said.
There was that name again. Who was she here?
Just then, another noise: gravel crunching. I looked in the side mirror to see a red minivan pulling up behind us. There was one of those plastic signs stuck to the side:BLACKWOOD REALTY.A moment later, a short, heavyset woman wearing cropped khakis and a crisp white shirt got out. Her hair was cut in a bob, streaked with chunky blond highlights. My aunt Liz. Despite the years, I recognized her at once. “Well. Look who it is.”
My mom could more than take care of herself. But Liz’s tone as she said this—not exactly welcoming—made me feel a surge of protectiveness. I opened my door, getting out.
A gasp. It was Liz, who now had a hand to her mouth, staring at me. “Is that Finley?” She whirled to look at my mom. “Nowyou bring her? Really?”
“One thing at a time,” my mom told her. “Please.”
