Page 9 of It Started at the Lake

“This is my mom’s wing of the house. I’m across the hall.” She points behind her. “My parents are three doors down and Cam is next to me. Anyway, there are towels in the bathroom. If you need anything, let me know. Also, sorry about downstairs. I promise we don’t fight like that all the time. We just want Bennett to be happy.”

I give her a side hug. “I know you do. You have a big heart.”

“Come get me when you’re done and we’ll head down to dinner together.”

My appetite disappeared in the hot tub, but I nod anyway. “Deal.”

I go into what will be my room for the next three months and stop in my tracks, my jaw dropping. A queen-size canopy bed with red, white, and blue decor sits in the middle of the room. A bench is underneath a large window overlooking the back courtyard. The room is plush, professionally decorated, and homey all at once. Ditching my luggage, I go into the bathroom and my eyes widen.

The white vanity with gold and wood accents captures my attention first, followed by the walk-in shower that easily fits ten people. I count three shower heads. Three! I’m all for conserving water and showering as quickly as possible, but this? I’m tempted to spend at least an hour testing out each shower head.

Maybe it will clear the image of Bennett’s scowl from my retinas.

CHAPTER 6

Bennett

Why did Evie bring Millie? I don’t need someone to stay behind and sit with me. I’m a grown man capable of taking care of myself. I’m seven years older than her—fifty in grief years.

I refuse to go down to dinner tonight in case I run into her again. How will we avoid one another the entire summer? Maybe I can ask Evie what their plans are for the next few days and find something to do that will keep me as far from them as possible. Anything to keep me away from the person who thinks she’s doing me a favor by offering to stay home with me like I’m a pitiful excuse for a human.

I run my hands through my damp hair. This is stupid. My summer is about moving on, not hiding. Not avoiding people in my safe place. How can I heal if I’m dodging her for three months?

Ascending the stairs to my room, I pause at the top. On the wall, decades' worth of pictures hang. Every summer we gather at the beach for photos. One of the extended family—that portrait hangs above the mantel in the living room—and one with just us six. Five, I correct myself. Jen is no longer here to take part in the forced family photo.

Stopping in front of the last picture my wife is in, I take in her long, black hair she curled for over an hour in preparation for this picture. A mischievous glint is in her eyes. Jen was outgoing and vibrant. Her charm drew in everyone who knew her.

I miss her warm body snuggled next to mine as we fell asleep in bed at night. I miss kissing the freckle on the side of her neck and the scar on her upper thigh. I miss her products taking up the entire bathroom counter and how silky her hair was in my palms.

Seeing Jen’s hand on my arm, her solitaire diamond on full display as we pose in the photo, is like someone smashing their fist through my chest and ripping my heart out all over again.

I’m sorry I killed you. I’m sorry, Jen. So incredibly sorry.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I labor for breath. My pulse pounds in my ears like someone shoved me under water and is hammering my skull.

Stop! Breathe in for three, out for five. Repeat.

The past six months, I’ve fought tooth and nail to get back to a somewhat normal life. The climb has been like scaling up a twisty-slide slicked in oil. I didn’t think seeing her picture would trigger me, but tears well in my eyes. It’s easy to give in to despair. But I have to focus on the here and now.

Forcing my feet to move, I stride down the rest of the hall, one hand up to my face, blocking my peripheral vision. Last year, I spent all my time sitting on the dock watching everyone else have fun while I stayed frozen in my heartache.

I refuse to repeat that ghost-like existence.

In my room, I change into my running clothes, then head down the driveway. The moon is full and the sky cloudless, providing just enough light to pound the pavement along the familiar path.

I let my mind go blank. Any thought that enters, I shoot down like a clay pigeon. Focusing on my breathing, I drown out Jen, my emotions, the annoyance at my family, Millie. They are nothing. My mind is as blank as a freshly wiped chalkboard.

Forty minutes later, I circle back toward the house, feeling less crabby and on edge. Evie’s the one I’ve confided in the most about Jen because we live in the same city. It’s nice knowing I have someone to turn to, but tonight that backfired.

Evie, just like Mom, wants me to try dating again. I’m not ready for that big of a step yet. In some ways, I still feel married. Logically, I understand I’m single. Emotionally? Not as much.

I’ve told Evie that. Why do Mom and Evie think in order for me to move on, it must include a female?

Car lights shine through the darkness ahead of me. I jump into the trees lining the driveway and hide behind the trunk of an oak in case Evie sees me. She wouldn’t care that I’m stinky and sweaty. If she finds me, she’ll drag me out.

Holding my breath, I wait until the car passes and clears from my sight before jogging to the house. I’m relieved they’re gone. At some point this summer, I will go out. But not to find a replacement for Jen.

CHAPTER 7

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