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Authors: Amanda McIntyre
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crashed with fury against the rocky shore.
“It’s always amazes me how it appears as though someone has lost an ocean.” Kacey zipped up her hoodie and crossed her arms over her chest as she stared out over the turbulent water. Now and again, the moon would peek through the clouds, casting long ribbons of white light upon the dark waters. The beach was deserted. Lights from other cabins dotted the bay shoreline like fireflies in the dark.
Zack stood a few feet from her, not trusting his mixed emotions and cautioning himself that whatever happened between them was a momentary thing caused by too much wine and that old Karma Sutra magic. “It’s pretty awesome. I’ve not been to this particular lake before.”
“You’ve been to the lakes?”
He shrugged. “My grandfather used to take me and my brother fishing on the UP of Michigan. It was a wild trip. We had a blast.” He smiled to himself, thinking how his mother had hated the whole idea. Smelly clothes. Crap food. God-knows-what critters might crawl in their tent while they were camping…and a few did, though his mom never knew.
“Sounds like fun,” she said. “What does your brother do?”
He turned to find her seated on an old tree stump set around what would be a bonfire, one of many such intimate, rustic groupings dotting the rocky shore. His brother. Funny how he’d learned to tuck his memory deep inside. He picked up a few small pebbles and cast them across the water. Matt had always been better than him at skipping stones.
“Zack?”
He pulled himself back to the present. “Uh, yeah, well…Matt was always the daredevil kid, you know?” He looked at her and she smiled.
“Yeah, I’m beginning to see it runs in the family.”
He swallowed and toed the rocks, loosening a few more. He didn’t really want to go down this road. “Matt died when I was twelve. He was only nine.”
“Oh, God, how horrible.”
“It’s stupid, really. You know how you tell a kid not to do something and what do they do?” He glanced at her. “ The little idiot went out one morning alone on the lake after a big storm. The waters were still choppy. Gramps had told him a million times never to go out alone. He somehow capsized the kayak and, in the process, got his foot caught and couldn’t get free. We found him later that morning. We all thought he’d slept late.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Zack.”
He shrugged. “It still pisses me off.” He felt her hand on his arm and looked down at it.
“I can’t imagine what that must feel like. I’m so sorry. What your family must have gone through.”
He covered her hand, patting it as he’d done a million times for others grieving over the loss of a loved one. “Mom and dad divorced eventually. She blamed his dad. I blamed Matt. I ended up with Mom. Dad became the town drunk.” He spread out his hands. “There’s my story.” He bent down and handed her a stone. “You know how to skip stones?”
She smiled and took it from him. “I’ve had lots of practice.”
“Yeah? How’d you wind up coming here? Did you summer here with your folks?”
She chuckled and pivoted away from him, slicing the stone over the water’s surface. It leapt three or four times over the ripples. “I stumbled on it a few years ago when I was attending a writer’s workshop in Duluth. We took a little research trip up the lakeshore road and during a stop at Betsy’s Pies--”
“Let me guess, bumbleberry?”
“Yep,” she answered and picked up a handful of rocks. One by one, she leveled them across the water. “I fell in love with the area. Its colors, the isolation, the water—it all speaks to me. Then I found this place and I’ve made it my annual retreat ever since.”
Zack hadn’t bothered with skipping any more stones; he was too busy watching and wanting Kacey Winters. It was time to turn in before he did something stupid. “Have you had enough fresh air? I don’t know about you, but I’m going
“It’s always amazes me how it appears as though someone has lost an ocean.” Kacey zipped up her hoodie and crossed her arms over her chest as she stared out over the turbulent water. Now and again, the moon would peek through the clouds, casting long ribbons of white light upon the dark waters. The beach was deserted. Lights from other cabins dotted the bay shoreline like fireflies in the dark.
Zack stood a few feet from her, not trusting his mixed emotions and cautioning himself that whatever happened between them was a momentary thing caused by too much wine and that old Karma Sutra magic. “It’s pretty awesome. I’ve not been to this particular lake before.”
“You’ve been to the lakes?”
He shrugged. “My grandfather used to take me and my brother fishing on the UP of Michigan. It was a wild trip. We had a blast.” He smiled to himself, thinking how his mother had hated the whole idea. Smelly clothes. Crap food. God-knows-what critters might crawl in their tent while they were camping…and a few did, though his mom never knew.
“Sounds like fun,” she said. “What does your brother do?”
He turned to find her seated on an old tree stump set around what would be a bonfire, one of many such intimate, rustic groupings dotting the rocky shore. His brother. Funny how he’d learned to tuck his memory deep inside. He picked up a few small pebbles and cast them across the water. Matt had always been better than him at skipping stones.
“Zack?”
He pulled himself back to the present. “Uh, yeah, well…Matt was always the daredevil kid, you know?” He looked at her and she smiled.
“Yeah, I’m beginning to see it runs in the family.”
He swallowed and toed the rocks, loosening a few more. He didn’t really want to go down this road. “Matt died when I was twelve. He was only nine.”
“Oh, God, how horrible.”
“It’s stupid, really. You know how you tell a kid not to do something and what do they do?” He glanced at her. “ The little idiot went out one morning alone on the lake after a big storm. The waters were still choppy. Gramps had told him a million times never to go out alone. He somehow capsized the kayak and, in the process, got his foot caught and couldn’t get free. We found him later that morning. We all thought he’d slept late.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Zack.”
He shrugged. “It still pisses me off.” He felt her hand on his arm and looked down at it.
“I can’t imagine what that must feel like. I’m so sorry. What your family must have gone through.”
He covered her hand, patting it as he’d done a million times for others grieving over the loss of a loved one. “Mom and dad divorced eventually. She blamed his dad. I blamed Matt. I ended up with Mom. Dad became the town drunk.” He spread out his hands. “There’s my story.” He bent down and handed her a stone. “You know how to skip stones?”
She smiled and took it from him. “I’ve had lots of practice.”
“Yeah? How’d you wind up coming here? Did you summer here with your folks?”
She chuckled and pivoted away from him, slicing the stone over the water’s surface. It leapt three or four times over the ripples. “I stumbled on it a few years ago when I was attending a writer’s workshop in Duluth. We took a little research trip up the lakeshore road and during a stop at Betsy’s Pies--”
“Let me guess, bumbleberry?”
“Yep,” she answered and picked up a handful of rocks. One by one, she leveled them across the water. “I fell in love with the area. Its colors, the isolation, the water—it all speaks to me. Then I found this place and I’ve made it my annual retreat ever since.”
Zack hadn’t bothered with skipping any more stones; he was too busy watching and wanting Kacey Winters. It was time to turn in before he did something stupid. “Have you had enough fresh air? I don’t know about you, but I’m going
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