“Oh,” Dottie says. “I wasn’t expecting anyone.” She walks over to the old radio and turns it off. “I’m sorry,” she continues, searching her apron for her glasses. “Can I help you?” she asks, sliding them up the bridge of her nose.
“Dottie?”
“Yes,” she nods, standing up straighter, despite a new hunch in her upper back. “That’s me. Last I checked, anyway,” she laughs. She squints. “Taylor Roberts? Is that you?”
I smile. “It’s me.”
Dottie closes her eyes, drawing up an image from her memory. “You and Lisa used to drive me crazy. I’ll never forget the time you got in that fight. What was that boy’s name?”
A laugh escapes my lips. “Matt Thompson. Dottie, this is Matt’s daughter, Brett.”
“I’m so glad to see you two finally got together.” The old woman claps her hands.
“Oh, she’s not mine. I wish she was, though.” I look at Brett and wink. “We’re just good friends.” I place my hand on Brett’s shoulder. “Honey, this is Dottie. She was the cook for all the years that yourdaddy and I came here. And still is, apparently,” I add, raising an eyebrow.
“Would you girls like to join me for a cup of cocoa? My cake’s almost ready.”
I exchange a glance with Brett, getting the visual cue that she’s okay with it. “That sounds great. Thank you,” I reply.
I lead Brett over to a round table with folding chairs set up for ten people. The chairs scrape across the glossy wood floor, covered in years of annual polyurethane coatings. We have a seat, and Dottie brings over two melamine mugs of hot water and two packets of Swiss Miss hot chocolate.
“Sorry, no frills here,” Dottie explains, setting the provisions down. “I do have milk, though, if you’d like some.”
“That’s okay. We’re grateful for this.” I gesture at the offering. “Thank you.”
Dottie grabs two napkins and spoons from the serving counter as I carefully tear open one of the packets and pour it into Brett’s mug. Finally, Dottie pulls out a chair and joins us at the table.
“I guess you’re wondering…” Her voice trails off.
“What you’re doing here?” I reply.
Dottie shrugs. “Yeah. But I could ask you the same thing. How did you get in? Isn’t the gate locked?”
“It is. And there’s a ‘For Sale’ sign by the road.”
“So, what did you girls do? Jump the fence?”
I laugh, imagining Brett and I abandoning the car on the side of road to jump over a chained gate into camp. “No. We came up through the beach stairs,” I say, realizing that the real story sounds just as ludicrous as Dottie’s hypothesized one.
Dottie’s brow furrows. I remain silent, waiting for her to reciprocate with her own explanation.
“I never imagined someone would come in that way,” Dottie begins. “I’m glad it was you, and not some stranger.”
A million questions swirl in my mind.
“I guess the jig is up.” Dottie chuckles. “I suppose I couldn’t keep it up forever.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Did Lisa ever tell you about her great-grandparents?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Well, a long time ago, my grandparents—my dad’s parents—settled out here and started a farm. They owned a farm stand and lived off the land. It was our family business for many years.” She stirs her cocoa. “They left it to my father when they were too old to work anymore. He married my mom and they kept the great farm going.” Dottie pauses, swallowing. “But when I was very little, they were approached by developers who wanted to buy the land. It seemed like a lucrative opportunity, so they sold about half of what they had, and that became what is now Bluff Oaks, the little community next door.”
“That’s where we parked the car,” I say. Brett takes a sip of hot chocolate.
“That’s where I live.”
