The Rest of the Story(106)

“What is it?” Tracy asked. My dad, suspicious, was watching me, too.

“Nothing,” I told them, dropping it into my purse. “Let’s go.”

We did, out to our reserved spot on the sand, where three chairs, an ice bucket with beverages, and a full view of the lake awaited us. As we sat and ate, I tried to focus on my dad, happily devouring a burger and fries from the plate on his lap, and Tracy, who was telling a series of honeymoon sailing stories.

Finally, after the ice cream sandwiches were served and the anthem played, the fireworks began. Set off from a Tides boat anchored near the raft, they were gorgeous and loud, with color exploding across the dark sky and reflecting in the water. All around me, people oohed and aahed, waiting for the next big burst. After the extended, no-holds-barred finale, everyone applauded.

But as my dad gathered up our trash, and people began dragging their tired, sugar-filled kids back to the hotel, I walked the other way, down the shoreline until I could see, distantly, Mimi’s dock and beach.

“Emma? You coming?” my dad called out.

“I’ll be there in a sec,” I replied, then pulled out my box and the matches, getting a sparkler ready. I was worried the wind would blow out the flame, or it wouldn’t catch at all. But as I saw the lights appear on that beach, shimmering and sudden, I dipped the tip of my own offering into the flame and watched it spark for all those big lives lived, gone too soon, and all the unanswered questions. I let it burn all the way down.





Twenty-Three


Finally, it was the day of the Club dinner. I was nervous and excited, but all anyone could talk about was the tropical storm that was supposed to hit the coast that evening before heading our way. While what it would do then was anyone’s guess, everyone had an opinion.

There was the Bly County News, which ran pictures of destruction and damage from other storms, including Richard, which had taken out Mimi’s dock two years earlier. The TV anchors had gone from occasionally breaking into programming to taking over the air entirely with footage and discussion of preparations, even though nothing had even happened yet. At the Tides, though, no one seemed concerned.

“There’s absolutely no need to worry,” I overhead the concierge saying to a woman in a brightly colored caftan and a straw hat that morning. “The Tides was built with more storm protection than any other structure on the lake. You could not be in a safer place.”

This was the party line, clearly, as I heard it repeated multiple times before breakfast, including from my dad, who had talked to the hotel’s general manager on his way back from his daily swim.

“Some tracking models have it not even coming this way,” he assured us. “The dinner should go on as scheduled, no problem.”

“Well, that’s good,” Nana replied, turning a page of her Times. “With all the planning for the menu and coordinating schedules, I’d hate for the weather to force us to cancel.”

“You won’t be able to keep Bailey away even if the Club is the only thing left standing,” I told her. “She won’t miss those forks for anything.”

“Good,” she replied, sipping her coffee. “Because I had them put oysters on our menu just for her.”

This I couldn’t wait to share. Did Bailey even like oysters? Did it really matter?

“Speaking of the dinner,” Nana continued as I perused the day’s obits, which consisted of one passing (Marlene Ficus, 55, after a brave fight against ovarian cancer) as well as an In Memoriam (John Davers, gone now five years, and missed greatly since he’s been up in heaven), “I’m confirming the numbers this morning at nine. Did you hear from your friend?”

That would be Roo, who she’d told me to invite after asking who I’d been chatting with on the phone so regularly. Nana had never been one to miss much, but I was really glad this time she’d been paying attention.

“He says he’ll be there,” I said.

“Who’s this?” my dad, chewing, asked.

I paused, hesitant. “Roo Price.”

“Wait, he’s coming to the dinner? After what happened at the party?”

“That was not his fault, remember?” I said.

“I thought this was a dinner for Mimi and her family.”

“To thank them for all they’ve done for Emma this summer, yes,” Nana said. “It sounded like this boy was part of that, so I said to include him. Is that a problem?”

Instead of answering her, my dad looked at me as if I was up to something. Which was so not fair, because I had followed his rules completely, not leaving the Tides except for short nearby outings, usually with him or Tracy. In fact, the only contact I’d had with the other side of the lake, other than my calls with Roo, hadn’t even really been contact at all.

It had been a couple of days earlier when, after a particularly slow shift at Defender, Roo and I finally made our way through the entire photo album. Even though we’d been through so many pictures and stories from the first page to the last, I’d gotten used to there being another one to turn, one more reason for us to keep talking. I wanted it to keep going, like that big album in the sky we’d discussed. The final picture was him at the Station by the pumps, grinning, in a Blackwood T-shirt. The end.

“And now you’re all caught up,” he said as I sat there with the album on the bed in front of me. Outside, I could hear kids in the pool, playing Marco Polo. “You know as much as I do.”