Page 12 of Barefoot Lake

Piper makes good points that my brain accepts, but my heart still feels uneasy about Jake disliking me so strongly. I’m a people-pleaser and this feels wrong, even though I’m still ticked at him for being so unreasonable. I go back to breakfast prep, trying to shove Neighbor Jake out of my mind.

Having seemingly stuck with her “he sucks” conclusion about Jake, Piper changes the subject to somebody I want to think about even less than Señor Grump.

“Now that I’m here, you’ve got to give me more on what happened with Reid. Because if you want to talk about trolls, that man is a troll.”

I laugh with her and shrug. I have years of reasons to end things with Reid, and I regret having ignored them all for so long. Whatever I was waiting for from him was never going to happen.

“I’m sorry it’s not more exciting, but there isn’t really more to say,” I downplay.

It’s an outright lie. I’ve never told Piper about how Reid belittled me, the way he kept me under his thumb year after year. It was mortifying, and there was always this little voice in the back of my head telling me that Reid was right. She knew he was a workaholic, and I felt neglected, so I leaned into that part of the story to avoid lying outright.

“He just did more of what he always did and put work before me. I realized I wasn’t even that disappointed because I’d come to expect it of him. It was my job to be Reid’s silent woman.”

I bite out that last part and realize I’ve begun beating our eggs more vigorously than they need. I can hear the volume of my voice increasing, but it’s like my rant is a runaway train now.

“I kind of got used to never being first on his list of priorities. It was dumb, but I did. At some point, though, he moved me to dead last. My needs and feelings only mattered to him when it was convenient, and it took way too long for me to figure that out. He just kept taking from me every single day. And then he made me feel guilty about asking to be seen as a damn person!”

In spite of my efforts to avoid that day, my mind drifts to our last fight, and equal parts rage and shame rise in me.

“I don’t know who I was with him,” I say.

I feel myself about to start angry crying when Piper slides her arms around me from behind, pinning my biceps to my torso and stopping my hands from mutilating our eggs. She takes the bowl from my hands and sets it on the counter before squeezing me.

“You are worth so much more than he ever realized, and I am so proud of you for leaving.”

Her words are steady and clear even though her face is squished into my hair. I sink against her, and we stay like that silently until a loud crackle from the pan captures our attention. Thankfully, we both like our bacon extra crispy.

Piper reaches around me to turn off the stove before spinning me and wiping her hands on my wet cheeks.

“Fuck Reid, and may he rot in hell,” she says definitively.

She directs me to set the table on the back porch while she quickly cooks our scrambled eggs before plating them with the bacon and some toast. Wrapped up in blankets and with a small space heater blowing on us, we’re comfortable, and no view can beat the lake.

After we eat, I give her a tour of the little house and take her things to the second bedroom upstairs. While she showers, I look up scenic drives so we can do some top-notch leaf-peeping like the basic bitches we are at heart.

Once Piper’s dressed, we’re off, taking winding roads that head vaguely north. I crank the heat so we can keep the windows down and smell the wet leaves and nearby real-wood fireplaces burning. The trees around us are glowing with color, showing off like a bunch of hams while we prattle on.

“His name is Bernard, and it’s not going well so far. He showed up out of nowhere, even though we have plenty of experienced librarians who are more than qualified to take on the director role, and he’s unilaterally changing everything without soliciting any of our opinions or taking into account any of our feedback. His word is law, and the law is stupid.”

The library Piper works at hired somebody new, and he’s making everybody miserable. She’s been telling me about the everyday struggles libraries face, like nonstop budget cuts and the need to defend their worth every single day, and it sounds like Bernard is only making things more painful.

“Once you’re back in Boston, want to come with me to key his car?” she asks hopefully.

“Oh, for sure,” I answer, and hope she can’t tell that the enthusiasm in my voice is faked. I’d love to key Bernard’s car, but I’m not exactly looking forward to being back in Boston.

She sighs dramatically, and I give her a sympathetic look. We approach a sign listing upcoming towns.

“Are you getting hungry?” I jerk my head toward the sign and take the opportunity to change the subject.

When we stop for lunch at a cute diner in a random town, she shows me pictures of the squirrels in the Boston Common, basically spherical as they pack on weight for the winter. They’ve always been one of my favorite parts of the city.

We wander in and out of shops in a large strip mall before catching a mid-afternoon movie, sitting in the far back of the nearly empty theater so our constant giggling and whispered commentary won’t disturb anybody.

With her by my side, I feel safe and like I don’t have a trouble in the world.

Since it’s getting late, and the sun sets around five, we begin the winding drive back to my house. I tell her about how things have been going for me since I came to Wilcox Grove.

“Is it possible Mom’s house is out to get me?” I ask, quite seriously.