Page 3 of It Started at the Lake

I park in the ten-car garage to the left of the house and grab my luggage out of the trunk. Heading to the side entrance, I unlock the door and step inside. A musty scent tickles my nose. Holding back a sneeze, I meander down the long hallway. My steps are too loud against the white and gray marble floor.

“Hello?” I holler, which is ridiculous. The intercom was put in for a reason. Heading toward the kitchen—the room we’re in the most—voices carry down the hall.

Rounding the corner, I find Mom and Dad chatting about Mom’s book tour this fall and putting groceries in the fridge and cupboards. They’re dressed in linen pants and matching white button-down shirts.

“Are we the first ones here?” I ask, grabbing a grocery bag to help unload. Mom and Aunt Clara shop every week. It’s a lot to feed eleven adults three meals a day. Dad and Uncle Harvey have offered to go every other week, but Aunt Clara won’t let anyone else do it. Secretly, I think the women enjoy the alone time as their shopping trips usually last most of the day.

“Bennett!” Dad exclaims, coming around the island and giving me a bear hug. We’re the same height, but I’m a little broader. Something I inherited from Grandpa. Dad’s hugs are always exuberant and over the top. As a teen, I complained about them. As an adult dealing with unspeakable pain, I treasure the healing power they temporarily provide.

“Hey, Dad. How was the drive?” I say, reluctantly letting go and stepping back from him.

“Fine. How was it for you?”

Lonely. But if I tell them that, the dating pestering will begin anew. “Easy. Traffic was light, and I had my road trip playlist going.”

“My turn,” Mom says, bumping Dad out of the way with her hip. Mom’s height makes her hugs seem more like I’m always the one comforting her. She pats my back. “It’s good to see you in person. You feel thin. Have you been eating?”

“I have meals delivered once a week.” Wow, that sounds lame and again emphasizes how alone I am. But it’s hard making meals for one person and I don’t really care what I eat as long as I get food in me. Meal delivery solves the problem.

“Good. I’m sure Aunt Clara will make sure you’re fed well while you’re here.”

With all the physical activities I want to do, I’ll need the fuel to give me the energy I need. “I’m looking forward to it and am willing to help with whatever you or she need.”

“I’m hoping you’ll be busy dating to help out too much,” Mom hedges.

Dad puts a bag of frozen peas in the freezer. “Mom mentioned you were willing to date again. Are you going to hit the scene tonight for your annual cousin tradition?”

Mom told Dad? I’m not sure why I’m acting surprised. Those two don’t keep secrets from one another. But now that Dad is in on this plan (that I want no part of), brushing them off will be harder. I sigh heavily. “Maybe.”

“I agree with your mother,” Dad says. “You’re too young to be alone the rest of your life, Bennett. You have a lot to offer another partner.”

Last summer at the lake house (the first time I came after Jen’s death), everyone kept asking if I was okay. I’m not sure what’s worse. The constant reassurance I’m breathing or this new hounding to get back out there. “Yeah,” I say, faking my agreement. “You guys look like you’ve got this handled in here. I’m going to unpack and get the pool cleaned. See you later.”

Before they can answer, I dart out of the kitchen and head to my bedroom in the north wing on the second floor of the house. Jen decorated it five years ago and I haven’t changed anything since. The white with thin blue horizontal-striped bedspread and white pillows are as familiar as always. Our white bed frame, dresser, and matching nightstands have a layer of dust on them, but otherwise, they too are in the same condition I left them in last year.

The only change is I removed the clothes Jen had hanging in the closet and all her bathroom products.

I take my time dusting and putting my clothes in their proper places, hiding until the rest of my family arrives, providing me a buffer from Mom and Dad.

I don’t want to hear from one more person how they think it’s possible for me to love someone else.

It’s not.

CHAPTER 3

Camille

“Millie, please say yes,” my best friend Evelyn begs me, clasping her slender fingers together in a plea. Her hazel eyes—that look more green than brown today—are in a classic “puppy dog” stare, her glossy lips pulled down at the corners, the bottom lip jutting out. “We can do all the things you never got to do as a kid. And it’ll be a nice break before school starts again.”

I shift on the sage-colored couch we’re sitting on in our small apartment living room, the one we’ve shared the last four years as we’ve attended the University of Massachusetts Amherst together. “You seriously don’t think your parents will care that I stay at your family cabin all summer for free? And they’ll feed me? Without me having to pay or work or do anything to earn it?”

She flings her arms out, the gold bracelet on her wrist sliding down with her movement. “For the hundredth time… NO!”

I had already told Evelyn I’d be fine here alone while she visited her family in New Hampshire. The paid internship I was supposed to start next week was exactly what I’d wanted before beginning my master’s program in business marketing this fall.

But the company contacted me, stating they were laying off a bunch of people and no longer needed an intern. I had no job. No internship. And no desire to scramble to find another solution at the moment. Going home to see Mom or stay at Dad’s new place wasn’t an option either, since things were still awkward after their divorce.

Evelyn insisted I take the summer off and join her and her family at Lake Lloyd. But I still have to earn money somehow. My bills won’t pay themselves. Evelyn, of course, doesn’t quite understand that, as her family has money. Old money. Evie lives off her trust fund.

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