same shade—and the same framed print—daisies in a mason jar, set upon a small square table—hung over the bed. Many a night Genna had fallen asleep on a pillow propped at the bottom of the bed so that she could count the number of petals on the flowers.
They love me. They love me not. . .
And last was the small chair covered in flowered chintz that had once graced the bedroom of Patsy’s younger sister back in Tanner. Nothing had changed much over the years, save for the new carpet, the same as that which now covered the floor in the living room and most likely, Genna surmised, Patsy’s room as well.
Here, in this room, more than anyplace in the world, Genna felt at home.
“I thought we’d have dinner around six,” Patsy announced from the living room, as if they ever had dinner at any other time. You could set your watch by Patsy’s sitting down for her evening meal every night at six P.M.
Genna glanced at the small clock on the dresser.
“Think we have time for a sail?”
“Time, perhaps, though there’s not enough of a breeze. But if you’re up to paddling, we can take the canoe out. Or the kayaks.”
“The canoe would be fine. Give me two minutes to change.”
“I’ll meet you down at the lake.”
Two minutes had been two minutes too few, but soon enough, Genna had traded her trim denim skirt and neat cotton shirt for an old pair of khaki shorts and an oversized tee, her leather sandals for bare feet. The fragrance from the lilies she and Patsy had planted years ago along the side of the house greeted her as she stepped onto the deck, and along the way to the lake she passed the ancient hydrangeas that Patsy claimed her parents had planted the year they built the place. It was all so achingly familiar, so wonderfully precious to Genna that she all but hugged herself with the pleasure of seeing it all again.
Patsy turned and waved from the edge of the water where the canoe was tied from one of the pilings on the dock, and Genna joined her.
“You ready?” Patsy asked.
“Definitely.”
“Go on and get in, then, while I untie ’er.”
Genna walked through the warm, shallow water to the canoe and stepped in, pushed off a bit with her paddle into deeper waters. Patsy joined her and together, they paddled along, falling into their old, practiced rhythm, traveling the lake’s perimeter. Occasionally Patsy would stop the action momentarily to point out “the MacDonalds’ new deck” or “the Clausens’ new catamaran. They bought it from the Taylors over on the other side of the lake, so it’s not exactly new. . .”
And so on, until they’d come full circle and returned to their own dock.
“It’s time to start dinner,” Patsy announced as they lifted the canoe from the water.
“I’ll help.”
“Sit down on the dock and just relax, honey. I’ll call you when it’s ready.”
“Tomorrow I’ll sit on the dock and watch the dragonflies and listen for the fish to jump.” Genna draped an arm around Patsy’s shoulders and fell in step. “Tonight I want to help get dinner ready.”
And sit at the counter, there in that tiny kitchen, and get in your way from time to time. I want to listen to the sound of your voice and even the occasional silence. I want to set the table with the dishes I bought for your birthday that year I had my first job, and I want for just a little while to bask in your warmth. That same warmth that saved me so many years ago still soothes me. And Lord knows I could use a little of that warmth now. . .
Genna was relieved when she awoke the next morning and realized that she had not had the nightmare. She always feared that her proximity to the camp would bring it all back in shrieking detail, and there were times, over the years, when she’d lain awake for hours, here in her small room that faced the back of the cottage, afraid to fall asleep. Afraid that the night demons could find her so much more easily here than anywhere else. But last night she’d
They love me. They love me not. . .
And last was the small chair covered in flowered chintz that had once graced the bedroom of Patsy’s younger sister back in Tanner. Nothing had changed much over the years, save for the new carpet, the same as that which now covered the floor in the living room and most likely, Genna surmised, Patsy’s room as well.
Here, in this room, more than anyplace in the world, Genna felt at home.
“I thought we’d have dinner around six,” Patsy announced from the living room, as if they ever had dinner at any other time. You could set your watch by Patsy’s sitting down for her evening meal every night at six P.M.
Genna glanced at the small clock on the dresser.
“Think we have time for a sail?”
“Time, perhaps, though there’s not enough of a breeze. But if you’re up to paddling, we can take the canoe out. Or the kayaks.”
“The canoe would be fine. Give me two minutes to change.”
“I’ll meet you down at the lake.”
Two minutes had been two minutes too few, but soon enough, Genna had traded her trim denim skirt and neat cotton shirt for an old pair of khaki shorts and an oversized tee, her leather sandals for bare feet. The fragrance from the lilies she and Patsy had planted years ago along the side of the house greeted her as she stepped onto the deck, and along the way to the lake she passed the ancient hydrangeas that Patsy claimed her parents had planted the year they built the place. It was all so achingly familiar, so wonderfully precious to Genna that she all but hugged herself with the pleasure of seeing it all again.
Patsy turned and waved from the edge of the water where the canoe was tied from one of the pilings on the dock, and Genna joined her.
“You ready?” Patsy asked.
“Definitely.”
“Go on and get in, then, while I untie ’er.”
Genna walked through the warm, shallow water to the canoe and stepped in, pushed off a bit with her paddle into deeper waters. Patsy joined her and together, they paddled along, falling into their old, practiced rhythm, traveling the lake’s perimeter. Occasionally Patsy would stop the action momentarily to point out “the MacDonalds’ new deck” or “the Clausens’ new catamaran. They bought it from the Taylors over on the other side of the lake, so it’s not exactly new. . .”
And so on, until they’d come full circle and returned to their own dock.
“It’s time to start dinner,” Patsy announced as they lifted the canoe from the water.
“I’ll help.”
“Sit down on the dock and just relax, honey. I’ll call you when it’s ready.”
“Tomorrow I’ll sit on the dock and watch the dragonflies and listen for the fish to jump.” Genna draped an arm around Patsy’s shoulders and fell in step. “Tonight I want to help get dinner ready.”
And sit at the counter, there in that tiny kitchen, and get in your way from time to time. I want to listen to the sound of your voice and even the occasional silence. I want to set the table with the dishes I bought for your birthday that year I had my first job, and I want for just a little while to bask in your warmth. That same warmth that saved me so many years ago still soothes me. And Lord knows I could use a little of that warmth now. . .
Genna was relieved when she awoke the next morning and realized that she had not had the nightmare. She always feared that her proximity to the camp would bring it all back in shrieking detail, and there were times, over the years, when she’d lain awake for hours, here in her small room that faced the back of the cottage, afraid to fall asleep. Afraid that the night demons could find her so much more easily here than anywhere else. But last night she’d
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