The Rest of the Story(32)

“Your feet, your funeral,” she said with a shrug. “Come on. The Pavilion’s over here.”

I followed her down the dock to where it made a T into a small boardwalk, about a block or so long, dotted with shops and restaurants. WELCOME TO LAKE NORTH! said a big painted sign on one end, a graphic of a little wave beside it. At the other, built out over the water, was a covered area crisscrossed with string lights. Beneath it, a band made up of older men in tropical print shirts and khaki shorts was playing beach music.

The ride from Mimi’s dock had taken ten minutes, maybe fifteen. But as we began walking toward the Pavilion, I felt more like we’d gone a million miles. It wasn’t just the boardwalk itself, which was lined with planters sprouting perfectly landscaped flowers, expensive cars parked along it. Or the stores we passed, with names like Sprinkles (an ice cream parlor with a madras theme), Rosewater Boutique (offering fancy, flowing resort wear of the type Nana had packed for her cruise), and Au Jus (a dim steakhouse with leather booths, antique blown-glass lights hanging over them). Compared to what I’d seen of North Lake, everything seemed new and, well, expensive. And that was even before I got to the Tides.

Calvander’s was a motel. This was a resort. Several stories high, it had been built to resemble a Spanish villa, with the walls a terra-cotta color, moss spreading across them. Now, it was lit up, illuminating the crowded open-air bar and restaurant below, as well as its own dock and private beach. No plastic floats or wheeling coolers dotted the sand, much less unattended children. Instead, there were rows of wooden beach chairs, each with a folded white towel on its seat.

“Crazy, right?” Bailey said, nodding at it. “I heard the rooms have whirlpool baths and a menu for pillows. Can you even imagine?”

I shook my head, remembering the rooms I’d cleaned earlier, with their cool cinder-block walls and those tiny, thin soaps. “Can’t be cheap to stay there.”

“Three hundred a night,” she replied. “And that’s just a basic room. Who has that kind of money?”

The answer: these people all around us. Women in flower-print tailored dresses and diamond stud earrings, wearing what my grandmother called a “statement” watch and carrying purses I knew cost more than that single room rate, easily. An army of men in golf shirts in all colors and dress pants paired with loafers. Even the kids looked polished and effortless, as they ran past us to the Pavilion, their shoes thumping across the decking. I looked down at the wedges I was wearing, which now seemed too red in this place where understated made the biggest statement of all.

“And there’s the yacht club,” Bailey said. “Which used to be the fanciest place on this side of the lake, before the Tides came along.”

She pointed at a long white building with columns, with a big deck and steps leading down to a large dock. Inside, it was brightly lit, and I could see people moving around, as well as seated at tables, each covered with a white cloth, on the outside patio. The beach below had two lifeguard stands, and rows of boats were moored at the dock and just beyond it out on the water.

“There they are,” Bailey said now. Up ahead at the Pavilion, two guys—the dark-haired one I recognized from the raft, as well as a redheaded friend who was taller and skinnier, both in shorts and T-shirts—waved from where they were standing against the rail, the water behind them. “You okay?”

“Fine,” I said, even as I felt a little zing in my stomach. The truth was, for all Bridget’s talk and enthusiasm, neither she, nor Ryan, nor I had actually gotten as far as dating someone yet, instead sticking to groups and packs when we went out. This was looking more like a double date, which I hadn’t exactly planned on. Not that I could bail out now. Could I?

“Hey there,” Colin, the guy from the raft, said with a wide smile as we came up to them. He had a red plastic cup in his hand. “Where’s everyone else?”

“They’ll be along eventually,” Bailey answered, so smoothly I kind of believed her, even as I knew this was a lie. “Probably meet us at your place.”

“Great,” he replied. He looked at me. “Hi. I’m Colin.”

I certainly didn’t feel like the same old Emma, not right then. “Saylor,” I said.

“My cousin,” Bailey explained. To me she said, “And this is Blake.”

The redhead had a shell necklace around his neck and a nice smile, as well as freckles that made him seem younger than he was. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“How’s the music?” Bailey asked Colin.

“Terrible,” he replied. “Like it always is.”

“The yacht club runs this whole boardwalk,” she explained to me, “so the Pavilion bands are always selected for their demographic.”

“Which means three types of music,” Colin said. “Beach, beach, and swing.”

“Not always,” Blake pointed out. “Spinnerbait’s playing for the Fourth.”

“Seriously?” Colin asked.

“It’s probably as a favor to someone in the band’s grandmother,” Blake said. “Since I’ve never seen that kind of music here. And I’ve been coming my whole life.”

The song ended, and there was a smattering of applause. Bailey hopped up onto the rail beside Colin and he handed her his cup. She took a sip, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear with the other hand.