“I know! I just wish she lived closer,” she continued. “You’re all still little girls in my mind. But she’s 24, so I guess that’s not unheard of.”
I smiled thinking about my storied past with Lisa. We were in a cabin together every summer for nine years, until we were old enough to work as camp counselors. We used to take classes together and lament over boys until the summer when we were 12 and got into that fight over Matt. Things were never the same after that. But, bygones being bygones, it was nice to hear she was doing well.
“And you, sweetheart,” Dottie continued, swallowing. “Howareyou? I heard about…” her voice trailed off.
“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m doing good, actually,” I replied, in my most convincing voice.
“I’m sorry about your dad.”
“Thanks.” I shuffled my feet.
Dottie sized me up. “Well, you look good, dear. You’ve been through so much.” Her face downtrodden, she offered me another hug.
“I’m really okay now. Happy to be back, actually.”
“And? What brings you back to our little slice of paradise?”
“Well, I just graduated from UConn with a master’s in social work,” I explained. “I interned at the Boys & Girls Club my final semester and loved it. It reminded me of working at camp, so when I heard this job was available, I applied.”
Dottie nodded. “That’s terrific. You young people are always running. God bless your energy!”
I smiled.
“Are you hungry? Dinner’s not for another few hours yet, but you’re welcome to make yourself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich if you need something now. There’s also plenty of yogurt and fruit in the walk-in. Help yourself.”
“Thanks, Dottie, but I’m actually looking for empty milk crates, if you happen to have any. And cleaning supplies. Paper towels, all-purpose spray, that type of stuff. Maybe some rags?”
“Sure thing. There’s plenty of crates out back, stacked up beside the grill. Take whatever you need. And the cleaning supplies are down in the cellar.”
“Awesome, thank you,” I said. “I’ll see you at dinner. Smells delicious as usual, by the way.”
“Good luck cleaning. I don’t envy you that,” Dottie replied.
I collected the supplies and headed back over to the cabin, changed out of my graduation clothes, and slid into a pair of cutoff jean shorts and a ratty old T-shirt. I pulled my hair up into a loose ponytail. No stranger to hard work, I unpacked my clothing into the crates and hung a few of my nicer outfits up on the rod in the alcove. I opened all the windows to let in the fresh air, then wiped the plastic cover of the mattress with disinfectant and, once it was dry, made the bed. I dusted the windowsills, sprayed down the bathroom fixtures and wiped the walls of the shower clean. It reminded me of the annual spring-cleaning weekend I used to have with Mom. It was always the first weekend in April, except for the one year that it collided with Easter. Mom and I would blast old disco songs from her youth and pretend the mop and broom were our microphones, singing at the top of our lungs. The memory stirred up an old ache, so before tackling the kitchen, I decided to take a quick smoke break.
Covered in a light sheen of sweat, I bent down into the passenger seat of my car to reach for my gold pack of Marlboros and neon green lighter. I lit up, appreciating the warmth of the afternoon sun on my face and the breeze from the Long Island Sound that gently wafted through the tall pine trees. The quiet was interrupted by the rumble of approaching tires on the gravel road, and I walked around to the driver’s side of the car to get a glimpse of who it might be. In the distance, I saw the headlights of the black truck, and I knew. I leaned against the car door, summoning my armor, which consisted only of a smile and a quick smoothing of my old Counting Crows T-shirt. The truck slowed to a stop in front of me, the tinted glass of the passenger window lowering to reveal the grown-up version of Matt Thompson. Same defined jawline, only covered in scruff now. Same brooding eyebrows. Same know-it-all, shit-eating grin. I took in thesight of him, exactly the same yet mildly worn and weathered by time, or circumstance, or maybe a combination of both.
My nerve endings fired up into a manifestation of goosebumps despite the 80 degree heat.
“Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in,” Matt called out through his half-open passenger side window.
I exhaled a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, letting go of the nagging concern that he was going to make this hard for me. Matt put the car in park and walked around the hood. “Get over here, Roberts.” I happily obliged, falling into his arms for a strong embrace.
He pushed me back by the hips. “Let me look at you! God, how long has it been?”
“Seven years,” I replied.Well, six years, ten months and 19 days. Not that I’m counting.
“Time flies. You look…” He shook his head in teasing disapproval. “Absolutely filthy. It’s sad, really. I had much higher hopes for you.”
I laughed aloud. “I am. It’s pretty gross in there.” I nodded at the cabin.
“Yeah, when I heard you were coming back, I thought about airing it out for you.”
“And? Why didn’t you?” From under the sleeve of his black T-shirt, I couldn’t help noticing that his bicep was covered by a tattoo of what looked to be the bottom of an ornate cross.
He smirked. “Well, then I wouldn’t have an excuse to come see you.”
“Punk,” I muttered, taking a drag.
