Page 2 of It Started at the Lake

Realistically, I’ll have loads of time to text Peter. But I don’t want him to feel like he has to check up on me. He’s been a great friend the past few years, but with the family around, he’s officially off “keep an eye on Bennett” duty. Besides, I have a plan to keep active and my family will help with that. As long as I keep up on exercising and making new memories instead of dwelling on the old, I’ll survive.

Cranking the radio and air conditioning on high, I head home to get ready for my three-month holiday at Lake Lloyd.

“Are you packed?” Mom asks over the phone. She called right when I finished getting dressed after my much-needed shower.

I’m in my bedroom, in front of my wood dresser—the one I bought when I moved into my exposed brick townhouse—sorting through my summer wardrobe, making piles of what to bring with me. “Working on it right now.”

“Do you want Dad and me to pick you up in the morning? We’re leaving at eight.”

And be stuck without a vehicle all summer? “No,” I say, tossing another pair of shorts into the black suitcase lying open on my bed. “I don’t need a ride. I’m perfectly capable of getting myself to Lake Lloyd.” Her offer is sweet, and from a genuine place of concern, but unnecessary.

“I know you’re capable. But I worry you’ll get lonely or, you know…”

Overwhelmed with grief is what she doesn’t say. “I played basketball with Peter this morning. I’m in a decent head space.”

“Okay. What about snacks? Do you have a full tank of gas?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. Ever since Jen passed away, Mom’s taken it upon herself to check in on me frequently. Usually I don’t mind. Need the connection, actually. I love our relationship and how close we are. But in moments like this, where I’ve made this trip dozens of times, it makes me feel like a kid incapable of following directions.

I do my best to keep my frustration out of my tone. “I filled up on gas on my way home from the gym. The supermarket is my first stop in the morning, where I’m getting a grab-and-go breakfast and some protein bars.”

“Okay. You’re all set. I get it.” She pauses. Long enough I’m about to ask if she’s still on the line. “Ben?” she says with a tenderness that holds all the love and care she has for me as a mother.

My muscles tense as I try to figure out why she’s saying my name like that and what it means. “Yeah?”

“This summer would be a good time to dip your toes into the dating pool. There are a lot of women coming through Stokesley.”

I stiffen, immediately in defense mode. Out of all the things she could have said, I’m not prepared for what she’s asking of me. “I’m not ready to date again. I barely started hanging out with my friends on the weekends. Doing more than that is too much.”

“Sweetie, I’m not asking you to go find another wife. But don’t you think asking a few girls out over the summer will help you determine where you’re at? It’s been three years since Jen passed away. You won’t know how you truly feel about it if you don’t try.”

Mom means well, has always looked out for me. But this? She doesn’t get how it feels to lose the love of her life. “Maybe next summer, but this year, I want to focus on making memories and spending time with everyone. That’s all.”

“One date, Bennett. Please.”

Her begging tone gives me pause. Can I handle one night out with a stranger? It’s a few hours of my time. Doable in a logistical sense, but not remotely possible emotionally. I gave myself to Jen. She’s my person. It’s not her fault she’s no longer here to live out my life with her by my side. It’s mine. “I’ll think about it,” I say, twisting my wedding ring around my finger, though I have no intention of giving this another thought.

“Excellent! Thank you, Bennett. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised with how your summer will turn out if you focus on living your best life.”

Tossing the last shirt into my suitcase, I zip it closed. “Agreed.” But that “best life” doesn’t include women. It’s moving on the best way I know how. Content with who and what I have in my life.

CHAPTER 2

Bennett

I’m not sure what possesses me to do it. The conversation with Mom? The dream I had last night where Jen came to me at the rock at the lake house and told me she wants me to move on? Or if it’s part of trying to live in acceptance of my circumstances, but as I finish my morning routine after showering and putting my toothbrush in my toiletry case, I leave my black zirconium wedding band in the dish on top of my dresser, only picking up my watch and fastening it around my wrist.

On the road, I feel naked. Like I’m missing a part of me. But really, that feeling’s been there the past three years. It’s just amplified by my bare finger. What was I thinking, leaving it behind? I should have brought it with me.

Too late now.

The tires on my Range Rover hum along the winding asphalt driveway. My car windows are down, the wind whipping at my curly hair. I’ll have a frizzy mophead by the time I arrive, but I don’t care. My family has seen me looking way worse before.

“Geronimo” by Sheppard plays through the speakers. I belt out the lyrics, letting my left hand ride the wind pockets out the window. If I pretend I’m happy, I can almost convince myself it’s true.

Passing the last copse of trees, the house comes into full view. I slow my SUV, staring at the eight white columns—four on each side of the black double front doors. The house is a giant block U, with the east and west wings extending toward the lake, leaving a large patio area in the backyard between the two wings, complete with an outdoor kitchen, hot tub, tennis and pickleball courts, and a swimming pool.

One could argue the size makes it a mansion rather than a home, but no matter the technical term, those white stone walls contain some of my happiest moments.

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