Danika felt confident in her party plans, too. Zami’s menu was impressive: honey-glazed spareribs, homemade fennel chicken sausages, jalapeño cornbread, watermelon feta salad, and tabbouleh. They would eat on the screened-in porch, have s’mores by a bonfire, and, when the next town over set off fireworks at nine, head up to the deck to watch.
The guest list had also gone better than planned. The Greenes couldn’t make it—thank goodness—and the Fravels had agreed to come alongside the Harrisons and Joshua Mike. Danika knew Joshua Mike would never deny the invite. As she thought about it, she realized he might have been the one to pressure Bill into this whole ordeal. Their cabin was a bit famous in the area due to its impressive deck and design, and Joshua Mike had mentioned wanting to see it on more than one occasion. Maybe Bill wasn’t going as crazy as she thought.
Danika always forgot how much land sat between the Cities and the northern border—yet as they sped through the forest, lakes appearing and disappearing like magic, thick evergreens rushing by in a wash of emerald, she enjoyed feeling as if entering a different world. Chat must have felt this, too, because after an hour or so, as the boys fell asleep and Chat stared out the window, he suddenly turned to Danika and lowered the music.
“Do you guys come out here a lot?”
Danika adjusted her hands on the steering wheel. Chat’s tone was normal, but with only the two of them awake, it felt intimate.
“We try to. It’s a good escape.” She slid her hands down the wheel.
“Did you grow up camping? My dad and I used to go out to the Boundary Waters every summer, without my sisters. He wasn’t around a lot, got sucked into that whole oil boom up in North Dakota, and we were never close, but it was fun when I was little. We fished all day.”
Danika tightened her grip, pretending she didn’t already know this.
Even so, her mind surpassed those memories and focused on her own father. She didn’t have it in her to tell Chat that she had indeed grown up camping with her dad. Once, when they had been living in North Carolina, they went on a canoe trip outside of Asheville, one of her fondest memories. She was ten years old, and it had been pure joy. It had only been her dad, one of his army friends, and herself, and the men had been so happy slicing salami for sandwiches, telling jokes she didn’t understand, asking riddle after riddle. Her dad had loved riddles. She never knew where he got them, but it would take her hours asking the right yes-or-no questions to unlock the mystery. He was always proud when she got the answer.
That trip was six years before he killed himself. Danika wished she could stop pinpointing every memory of him in relation to his death, but when he died, he stuck a maypole in the ground. Every other memory, every other moment of his life, was tied to a ribbon, circling around it.
Danika sat up, correcting the swerve of the car.
“A little, yeah. Although I have to admit, this isn’t exactly... camping. This house is not acabincabin.” She was glad to change the scenery in her mind. It felt important for Chat to hear her say this, too—to know she could see their wealth for what it was. She knew real camping.
“I know, I know. But something tells me I’m going to like this kind of camping, too.”
Danika exhaled and stared ahead, the pavement shimmering and shaking in the heat. They were a little over halfway now, and she thought maybe here, in this closeness, in this fresh silence, she should say something: The pool. The girl. Theirprivacy. But she couldn’t bring herself to ruin the moment.
Plus, every time she thought about what to say, it sounded more and more trivial. Maybe she’d been overreacting after all.
The house, indeed, was not a cabin. Not even close. And as they pulled off the highway, looped down into a dense expanse of woods, and hit the gravel road, Chat leaned forward. Danika couldn’t help but watch for his reaction as they reached the final turnoff, bumbling across the pebbled driveway toward the house, the boys now awake and chanting, “We’re here, we’re here!”
“Oh my god,” Chat said as the house finally emerged.
Danika tried to see the cabin for the first time. Her chest swelled with pride as she killed the engine.
The house was a rambler. From the driveway, it looked like onestory: wide and expansive, a low spread of teak wood, slate shutters, and a big stone entryway. It was built into a hill, and from the back, you could see the walk-out bottom floor and the way the deck twisted and turned above. It was an extraordinary deck; it consumed the whole house, reached every bedroom, had little steps and landings that made it feel like a tree house. There was a circular firepit in the middle, maples shooting up all around, a screened-in dining area with string lights, and a general air of peace. After they’d built the house, the architect had been featured inArchitectural Digest, and the deck, in all its glory, had gone viral on Pinterest.
Danika didn’t mention the deck to Chat. She helped him unbuckle the boys, told him they could go explore around back, green lawn and sunlight engulfing them. Everything was comically bright, like the world was painted in the palette of confetti.
Danika checked her watch as she grabbed the first round of bags, relieved to see it was only noon; the guests wouldn’t arrive until three. She’d have time to unpack, settle in, change. Check on Zami and the food.
“Hello, hello.” She stepped into the foyer, the smell of oil and garlic mixing with the fresh air and pine trees.
“Welcome home,” Zami called from the kitchen.
Danika dumped the bags and stretched her neck, massaging her driving kinks while soaking in the house. Everything looked perfectly untouched. She loved this entryway view: Immediately, the stairs headed down to the lower level, a landing and railings lining the cut-out space above, and beyond that was the immense living room, all Norwegian carpets and furniture, colorful cushions and soft striped throws. There was a modern Contura woodstove in the corner, more high wooden beams above, and, of course, Gull Lake filled the windows like a mural.
Zami grinned. Danika did not like most people, but she’d felt instantly connected with Zami. While he came only twice a month to meal prep and stock their freezers, she had grown to love him and his daughter, Teuta, who ran their bakery. She was also beautiful and charming, entirely up front. It was a nice change from the passive Midwesterners. Danika didn’t see Teuta often—Danika rarely visited Hyla, since Zami came to them—but Teuta always helped with parties, and Danika was excited to see her tonight. She’d made sure to bring extra cash for tips. She loved to spoil them.
“The byrek is almost ready.” Zami wiped his hands on a towel as she stepped farther into the kitchen, his body framed by the glossy, navy cabinets. He was deeply tan, and while his beard turned whiter each year, he still had a youthful air about him.
“These tomatoes look amazing.” She picked one up, the lush vegetable filling her palm.
“The best time of the year.” Zami held another to his nose.
“So.” Danika put her hands on her hips, then removed them. “I was thinking we’ll have appetizers around four, then grill by five thirty? Is that still the plan?”
“Yes, exactly,” Zami said.
