The Lake Page 3

  Looking down from the window there’s a patio, or because it’s so big maybe it qualifies as a courtyard. I hadn’t taken enough notice last night during dinner to see which doors lead to this outdoor space, but I assume it’s off the kitchen. Luke and Claire are at the table eating breakfast so I redirect myself to join them. My exploration of the wall of books will have to wait until later.

  When I get to the kitchen Claire is refilling their coffee mugs, still in her pajamas: a t-shirt and lounge pants. It is in this small commonality that I take one small step forward in feeling at ease here.

  “Good morning,” I say in as chipper a tone as I can muster. My goal is to have a clear perspective today, so I want to have a good start, a clean slate.

  “Good morning, Layla! Can I get you some breakfast? We’ve got eggs, bacon, fruit…anything sound good?” Claire asks cheerily.

  “Actually, I’d love a Pop Tart…or some toast,” I say with some level of bravery. I once asked Gram for a Pop Tart and was swiftly told I wasn’t being appreciative of the time and effort she takes in providing a hearty most-important-meal-of-the-day.

  “Got ‘em! Strawberry or Cherry?” she says joyfully having met my first need.

  “Um…strawberry. Thanks.” Amazing that a toaster pastry could bring me such joy.

  “Luke’s out on the patio. Go ahead out,” she points to the French doors I hadn’t noticed last night. “I’ll bring your breakfast out in a minute. Would you like some coffee or orange juice?”

  “Orange juice, thank you,” I say as I pull open the doors to the patio. The view is just as magnificent from here as it was from upstairs. There’s a beautiful breeze blowing that rustles the leaves in the trees. I love this sound.

  Luke sits with his back to the doors, facing the water, reading the newspaper. He must have heard me answer Claire as I opened the door because he addresses me directly.

  “Good morning, Layla. How did you sleep?” he asks.

  ”Like a rock,” I lie.

  “Great!” He folds the paper halfway down toward his chest so that he can see me.

  “This view is amazing,” I say.

  Luke smiles and takes in the view for a moment before responding, “Yeah, it’s pretty spectacular. That’s Lake Davidson. You should see it from the dock.”

  “Do you have a boat?” Even though I’m not the best swimmer, I’m itching to be out on the water. I went a couple of times with a friend from school on her dad’s boat when Gram was feeling generous. It could have been being out on the water, or maybe it was just because I was away from home and acting my age, but I had the most incredible time.

  “We used to.” His answer is slow and thoughtful. “What would you like to do today?” he asks, bringing his attention back to me.

  “Well, I’m not really sure. You’ve got a pretty impressive library up there. Do you mind if I borrow a book?” I don’t feel like going anywhere. There will be plenty of time for exploring later. I’ve got nothing but time.

  “Of course not. It’s your library now, too. You can read anything up there. Although I doubt you’ll find the law books very interesting.” Luke seems different this morning. He’s lighthearted and open. Our conversation doesn’t feel forced like it did last night. This is the real Luke. He isn’t coddling me like Claire, not that I mind her treatment of me. It’s been so long since I’ve been on the receiving end of care that I’m not sure how to respond to her, but I appreciate Luke’s attempt to make my life here normal right from the beginning.

  “Aren’t you two going to work today?” I ask.

  “No. We’ve arranged for the whole week off. We’ve planned to be home more often than not for the next several weeks. We want to make sure that we’re here for you as much as possible while you…transition and get settled,” he says.

  “That’s not really necessary…” I say. Luke looks at me with serious eyes and I know there is no point in arguing. “…but thanks.” I could tell him that I spent the last three years being caretaker to an old man. I washed dishes, did laundry, and handled all of the finances, so I’m pretty sure I can handle being home by myself, but I don’t tell him that. I am doing my best to be 17 not 70. “What do you have planned for today?” I ask changing the subject from my perceived neediness to Luke’s plans for the day. I’m also wondering how much time I might get to myself today. I play with my hair, tightening the ponytail, sectioning it off and braiding skinny braids in the locks. It gives me something to do with my hands while I wait for Claire to bring my long-awaited toaster pastry to me. I’m not used to having idle hands.

  “Not a lot, really. I’m getting ready to start a project down in the basement, but I’m still working up the plans, so I’ll probably spend some time down there. The town puts on a summer concert series, mainly local musicians. It’s tonight and Claire and I always go. We’d love for you to come with us,” he says hopefully.

  Claire’s exit from the kitchen couldn’t have been better timed. “Oh, yes, Layla! It’s a lot of fun! Everyone sits on the Village Green in front of the library with blankets and picnics. Please come.” She nudges me and seals the deal when she tells me it’s the best place for people watching.

  “That sounds…really fun,” I say trying to show my excitement. I think about it for a moment more and then it sinks in. They asked me to come. They didn’t demand it or even just assume that I would go with them. I suppose I could have said no if I wanted to, and by the looks on their faces, they’re actually really happy that I’m going. I pick apart my breakfast as I try to digest this realization. This is perhaps going to be the biggest adjustment. I don’t think I can recall a single time Gram gave me a choice.

  Luke smiles so big that his eyes almost disappear. “Great! We don’t need to leave until 5:30, so if you want to go out, I know Claire is dying to show you around.”

  “That’s ok. I think I’ll just hang out here for now…if that’s ok,” I answer, testing the waters of their flexibility. Do I really have the ability to choose? Am I allowed to say no?

  “Really? I was hoping to take you shopping, maybe get some new summer or school clothes, but if you don’t want to go today, we can go another time…whenever you want. No pressure.” Claire is disappointed. I must have looked terrified when she said shopping. I can be just as girly as the next girl, but shopping is definitely not my thing. Mainly because I wore a uniform to my old school, and Gram and Gramps never had an excessive amount of extra funds for things like new clothes. Gram was handy with a sewing machine so she mended anything that started to get worn. I didn’t have time for a job, so I never had the money either, except for what I squirreled away from Gramps.

  “Oh…er…thanks, Claire. You don’t really have to do that. I’m sure I’ll find something to wear when school starts.” I haven’t soothed Claire’s disappointment so I quickly amend my statement. “But I know I don’t have any winter clothes, so maybe we can go then?” I really will need winter clothes and Claire’s willingness to let me decide certainly deserves a good deed in return.

  Claire smiles and I swear I can see her eyes actually sparkle. “That’d be great. It’ll be nice to have a new shopping partner, someone with a fresh perspective!” She’s in for more disappointment because my perspective on fashion is anything but fresh.

  I eat my Pop Tart and enjoy every morsel of this breakfast that was five years in the making. Even after Gram died, I felt like I would be disrespecting her in front of Gramps if I totally abandoned all that she had done. I push down the twinges of guilt that begin to emerge and I decide that part of my clean slate will be to do my best not to compare anything. It’s not like I have an old life that I could go back to, so any comparison would be completely unfair. This is my life now and, while it is only hours old, I am optimistic.

  “So, Luke,” This is the first time I’ve called him by his name since the funeral and I wonder if he’ll correct me to call him Uncle Luke now that we’re here, on his turf. He doesn’t. He just lowers the newspa
per again and gives me his full attention. “You said there’d be chores. Did you have anything particular in mind?” I’m not sure I’ll know how to exist here without something to do.

  “Well,” he says, putting the paper completely down. “Now that you mention it…” “C’mon, Luke! She just got here!” Claire says in cute protest.

  I really want, no, need, something to do. If they don’t give me some chores, I know I will spend every waking hour of the next eight weeks upstairs reading in the loft, which, I guess, really isn’t the worst thing.

  “It’s ok, Claire, I really want to help.” My insistence is followed by her chagrin, which is followed by her sweet smile. With every passing moment I feel like I’m diving deeper into this parallel universe. I was met by Gram’s harder expression at any hesitancy in my obedience, but here I get quasi chastised for wanting to do chores.

  “Well, as I was saying…” Luke continues, winking at Claire. “Yes, I did have something in mind. How do you feel about handling the dinner dishes?”

  “That’s great. What else?” I say, agreeing to the start of his list.

  “Well…uh…” Luke stumbles having clearly not thought of anything else for me to do. “What did you do…at home…in Florida?” He has a hard time finding the words that will be the least painful for me.

  “I did…everything…especially after Gram died. Gramps wasn’t able to do much, so I pretty much just handled it all.” I’m surprised by my own honesty. I feel like I’m tattling on Gramps, but it’s the truth. I did everything because he couldn’t. I once caught him trying to trim his fingernails with a pair of scissors. Later that day it occurred to me that Gram must have helped Gramps with his grooming. Which made me think that maybe she wasn’t a mean and hateful person; maybe it was just me she hated.

  Luke and Claire give each other an apprehensive look and I can’t tell what they’re thinking. It’s been so long since I’ve seen two people work together on anything that had to do with me. Gram took the reins on the “parenting” stuff. Gramps did his best to help me when he could tell she was tightening them, but it never changed anything. Knowing he was there for me helped a little. It helped make me feel not so entirely alone all the time.

  “Layla, with all due respect to Jack and Carol, we know you had a lot of responsibilities there…more than you should have. We don’t want it to be that way here. You’re 17-years-old and we want you to really enjoy your senior year.” Claire’s words are soft, like her. I can tell that she and Luke have already talked about this. It’s definitely the kind of thing that has to be decided ahead of time. I think they would have given me no chores if it weren’t somehow the “right” thing to do.

  There was no disrespect. I understood what they were saying and I really appreciated it. I’m just not sure how to exist without having to hurry through a list of chores so I can get to the only leisure activity I have in reading. It seems I’ll no longer have to use my contraband flashlight to read after lights out. It will take some getting used to, but this is what I have been longing for. To be…considered.

  “That’s really nice of you. Thanks, but please don’t hesitate to ask me to help out with anything around here. I definitely want to pull my weight, and it doesn’t have to be all inside work either. I used to cut the grass and pull weeds for Gramps. I actually enjoy that kind of stuff.” I smile awkwardly. Staying busy or burying my head in a book are my two preferred options for occupying my mind. With Luke’s non-list of chores, it seems I’ll have time to do the latter.

  “I’m sure there will be plenty for you to do,” Luke says agreeably with a bit of a wink.

  I try to help Claire with the breakfast dishes, but since Luke said the dinner dishes were my responsibility she won’t let me help any further than clearing the table, and that’s only because I had the dishes gathered before she could stop me. Luke has made his way down to the basement while Claire finishes in the kitchen. With nothing but time on my hands, I excuse myself to wander the house, exploring.

  The furniture is all so beautiful and perfectly designed. It isn’t a hodge-podge of mismatched thrift store furniture like I had in my room or the circa 1960’s décor I’m used to. Everything is so well thought out, so strategically placed. Two light blue wingback chairs are flawlessly flanked with their backs to the front window so the view is unobstructed when you sit on the brown, tufted couch facing them. I sit there a moment, feeling the soft material of the couch, looking at the view of the trees and landscaping on the other side of the circular driveway, lost in the silence, watching the leaves rustle in the wind.

  I have to force myself to break my gaze. I go upstairs with the intention of choosing a new book, but once there I decide it would be unfair not to finish the current book I’m reading first. So, I find what will become my permanent reading spot in the oversized celery green chair facing the wall of windows and open up to the page where I left off and begin to read. I haven’t gotten far when I’m struck by Clare Abshire’s words.

  “It’s hard being left behind. I wait for Henry, not knowing where he is, wondering if he’s ok. It’s hard to be the one who stays.”

  I put the book down with the last sentence echoing in my head. It’s hard to be the one who stays. I know how Clare feels because I’m the one who stayed. Mom. Dad. Gram. Gramps. They all left me. I understand her loneliness. You can be strong but sometimes the loneliness is so overwhelming that you don’t know if you’ll be able to take another breath. The pain in your heart is so excruciating that it can’t help but spread to your stomach, eventually overtaking every fiber of your being. You cry until you’re sure you’ve dehydrated yourself, so you compensate. You throw yourself into mind numbing activities where you don’t have to think about anything. You find an escape, a way for you to be fully present somewhere your loneliness doesn’t exist. But for Clare, at least she has some hope that Henry will return. He isn’t gone forever. He will literally always be somewhere in time.

  At 5:15 we pack the car with a blanket, a few camping chairs, – which I’m pretty sure have never been used for actual camping – some sodas, and snacks and make our way to downtown Davidson. I hadn’t gotten as much as a glimpse of the perimeter of town on the way here yesterday, so I’m looking forward to seeing how accurate Claire’s description is. The weather is warm so I’m wearing my traditional ponytail, along with khaki shorts and a striped t-shirt and sandals. I am completely and utterly plain. We round the corner onto the main drag of town and I’m pleasantly surprised. Davidson is lovely and quaint. It’s like something out of story that begins “back in my day” and I half-expect June Cleaver to pop her head up from behind a rose bush and wave. Davidson College is nestled right in the middle of this nostalgic little town, and there are stores and restaurants on one side of the street. They’re contained mostly in one long building, but with different roof heights distinguishing between vendors. The exterior of each merchant’s store is different than his neighbor, which only serves to add more charm to this picturesque little town. The Soda Shop has huge windows with a few metal café tables and chairs out front, while the bridal store next door is adorned with hanging flowerpots and an awning that makes it look like a house. Luke tells me there is a bookstore right on the strip that I should check out. I make a mental note to do so sooner rather than later.

  A wide two-lane road runs through town on, of course, Main Street. We drive slowly since the speed limit is twenty-five and there are a hundred people making their way to the Village Green. I can see the Green where the Public Library is when Luke makes a few turns and parks the car. We gather our things and make our way across the grass, which I can tell has been freshly cut by one of my favorite scents lingering in the air. Luke and Claire say hello to several people on the way to finding a good spot in the middle of the crowd at the center of the stage. I use the word stage loosely since it’s really just a raised platform set up in front of the steps to the small Davidson Public Library.

  Claire wasn’t kidding
when she said there’d be some good people watching. There are so many people who reminded me of home. They’re dressed and ready for summer, having fun with no regard for who sees them. There are parents with babies and some dads with toddlers on their shoulders. Older kids are running around playing tag and screaming at the top of their lungs. Most of these townsfolk don’t have folding chairs. They just sit on their blankets eating homemade sandwiches and chips and drinking soda. I feel comfortable here.

  Then…then there are others who are distinctly different than the rest of the crowd, which is to say they are distinctly different than me. The first thing I notice is that they have positioned themselves almost exclusively to the right center of the stage. Their blankets are bigger and they all have chairs. Not a single one of them is sitting on their blanket on the ground. Several of them even have little folding tables for their food. There is nothing ordinary about the way any of them are dressed either. No t-shirts with silly characters or sayings. Nothing sloppy. They’re all very put together, crisp. I take closer note of a few families in particular that seem to be sitting together about six yards away from us. There are three older couples and I assume they’re the parents of the younger ones sitting with them who all look to be about my age. The parents are clearly uninterested in what’s going on around them and focus as they pour themselves another glass of wine. There are three boys and two girls. I can’t tell who belongs with whom, but all five of them are very attractive. The girls are stunning and the boys are better looking than any guy I knew back home. They all look like they just stepped out of an Abercrombie and Fitch ad, but one of the boys in particular stands out to me. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s his smile, or that he is, in my opinion, the best looking of the three boys. His posture is different, more open, and he engages with those outside of their circle with waves and nods of recognition and a brilliant smile. I shake my head out of my stare and can feel my eyebrows crease together. It isn’t like me to take notice of anyone, let alone a boy like this. I dismiss any attraction I’m having since I already know that I undeniably belong with the left of center concert guests and make a move for a soda.