Page 67 of No Greater Love
I dutifully admired her cannonball, which soaked three other kids and earned her a stern look from a lifeguard. When she climbed out to demonstrate her technique on dry land first, I found myself thinking about how naturally I'd slipped into this role-- not trying to be her mother, but just being someone who cared about her, who celebrated her small victories and helped her learn new things.
It felt right in a way that surprised me. I'd never been particularly maternal, but with Paige, it was easy. She was smart and funny and kind, and she made me want to be the kind of adult who deserved her trust.
"You're good with her too, you know," Nate said quietly, following my gaze.
"She makes it easy."
"No," he said seriously. "You make itlookeasy. But I see how much thought you put into it. How careful you are with her feelings. It means everything to me."
I felt my throat tighten unexpectedly. "She's a pretty great kid."
"Yeah, she is." He paused. "We both got lucky."
Later, as the sun began to dip, we found ourselves near the campground’s activity center where a surprisingly intense cornhole tournament was underway. Paige, naturally, wanted to watch.
"Come on," Nate said after a particularly impressive throw by a woman who looked like she could bench press him. "Think you can handle a little friendly competition?" He gestured to an empty set of boards.
I smirked. "Ohhhh, you have no idea what you’re getting into."
He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Yeah?"
What followed was, to put it mildly, a slaughter. My Uncle Earl, a man who considered cornhole an Olympic-level sport, had drilled its intricacies into us from childhood. Nate, it turned out, was a rank amateur. Bag after bag, mine sailed through the air with a satisfying thud, landing squarely in the hole or very near it. His… did not.
His jaw literally dropped after my third straight "cornhole" - the term for getting the bag directly in the hole. Paige was screaming with laughter, cheering me on like I was a professional athlete.
"Where," Nate finally managed, looking utterly bewildered as I sank another perfect shot, "did you learn to dothat?"
I winked, dusting off my hands. "Family reunions. My Uncle Earl takes his cornholeveryseriously. You pick up a few things."
He just shook his head, a reluctant grin spreading across his face.
Afterwards, we walked along the beach as the sun set, supposedly looking for turtle nests but really just enjoying the cooler air and the sound of the waves. Paige ran ahead of us, collecting shells and examining every piece of seaweed for signs of marine life.
"No turtles yet," she reported back, "but I found three really good shells and what might be part of a crab."
"Definitely part of a crab," Nate agreed solemnly, examining her treasure.
The stars were just starting to appear when we made it back to the cabin. Paige was finally showing signs of fatigue, though she was fighting it with everything she had.
"Can we have a campfire tomorrow night?" she asked, curled up on the small couch between us. "With s'mores? Real ones?"
"Absolutely," I said. "I'll teach you the proper s'more construction technique."
"There's a technique?" Nate asked.
"Oh, there's definitely a technique. Golden brown marshmallow, perfectly melted chocolate, graham crackers that don't crack when you bite them. It's an art form."
Paige giggled. "Tasha knows everything."
"I don't know everything," I protested. "I just know s'mores."
"And boogie boarding," Paige added. "Eventually."
"Very eventually," I said, making her laugh again.
She fell asleep on the couch twenty minutes later, despite her insistence that she wasn't tired. Nate carried her to her bunk bed, and I found myself watching from the doorway as he tucked her in, the gentle way he brushed her hair back from her face, the soft "good night, kiddo" he whispered before turning on her nightlight.
"She's out cold," he said, joining me on the small front porch.
