Page 82 of Whatever Will Be

A sudden breeze off the lake lifts Gretchen’s long hair and, as always, I’m smacked with amazement that she’s mine. Mine.

Just like this family is mine.

This morning we paid a visit to the Woodlawn Cemetery so the girls could leave flowers for Jules. While we were there, I stopped by the final resting place of Carolina Marino Cassini. I know she’d forgive me for staying away for so long. She would also be pleased to know where I’m at now.

Not a day goes by without questions about whether or not I plan to rebuild the brewery. Maybe someday I’ll do that. But I’ve got another major project on the horizon and it will be a priority for a while.

Gretch and the girls appear entertained by the fact that I’m weaving through joggers, bicyclists and kissing couples as I juggle three lemonades but I manage to join them without a mishap.

“I didn’t tell you to get me one,” Gretch says as I hand her one of the lemonades.

“I anticipated your needs.”

She takes a suggestive sip from the straw while giving me the eye. I make an effort not to stare while filthy images careen through my head. She is impossibly sexy without even trying.

The girls, meanwhile, have noticed something exciting on the lake.

“The paddleboats are here!” Caitlin shouts, pointing to three giant paddleboats shaped like swans.

“Can we do that?” Mara asks.

“Another day,” Gretchen promises. “I have to start dinner soon and Uncle Danny’s game will be on.”

Danny Aaronson is in the middle of an enviable season. If he keeps it up he’ll have a lot of playing time and a lucrative contract to look forward to. Watching my best friend’s lifelong goal come true has been an honor. He’ll be back here in the fall once baseball season is over. He can stay in my old house if he doesn’t want to sleep in the backyard shed. I still use the house for work and I have no plans to sell it but I’ve moved in with Gretch and the girls.

The girls wave to the occupants of the paddleboats. They wave back.

From here I can make out the shadows of my brother’s mammoth house on the lakefront. It’s empty now. Whitney has chosen to move to the city and I doubt she’ll return. She did ask Gretchen if she might receive updates on the girls every so often and perhaps see them again if she’s ever back in town. Gretch, forever generous, promised to send photos and told Whitney she’s welcome to visit.

The twins continue to ooh and aah over the paddleboats and Gretch takes a break from sipping her lemonade.

“Where are we at with the negotiations?”

I stand behind her, my hands swallowing her waist. “Almost there.”

Her slender neck is begging to be kissed. All I can do is obey.

Gretchen smiles at the kiss and moves her head to look toward the east, at the cheerfully green mound called Rosebriar Hill.

We’re buying it.

Not the entire hill of course, but the private property where The Rosebriar Resort once thrived. Gretch was stunned to learn she was the sole beneficiary of Abigail Fisher’s estate. Abigail had no blood relatives, no one to challenge the terms, yet Gretchen felt guilty accepting her generosity. Just when she was mulling over how to make a plan that Abigail would approve of, word got out that the current owner of Rosebriar had decided to unload the place. Not cheaply, not cheaply at all. But with our combined assets we were able to extend an offer that was promptly accepted. All that remains is work for the lawyers hammering out the details and then we’ll sign on the dotted line as partners.

The old concept of upstate resorts has become rather obsolete so we’re working on a new business plan. Gretch loves the idea of a musical summer camp for kids. Additionally, there will be plenty of opportunities to rent out the venue for events. The Lake Stuart Gazette already ran a story and a surge of interest followed.

“I’m done.” Caitlin hands me her empty cup.

“Me too. I’m done too.” Mara’s empty cup joins her sister’s.

Never thought I wouldn’t mind being mistaken for a trash can.

After taking a quick walk to the nearest garbage bin, we leave the boardwalk holding hands, the four of us, the twins in the middle.

They still miss their mother terribly and they’ll miss her forever. But we will keep Jules’s memory alive. There’s no danger of Julianne Aaronson being forgotten. And every day her daughters will know they are cherished by us.

When we get home, Danny’s game is just starting. He hits a single in the first inning. His stats flash up on the screen below a close up of him standing on first base. The announcer sings his praises and declares at this pace, Danny Aaronson might very well wind up as the league MVP.

Danny thinks speculation like that is always bad luck and would tell the guy to shut the fuck up if he heard. As for me, I’m going to secretly agree with the announcer.

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