Page 3 of One Weekend On Mackinac Island
Owen shrugged. “A couple of hours. My butt grew numb from sitting on that branch. When McCorkle finally called Duke home, my legs were so dead, I could barely climb down. Todd was in just as bad a shape as me. We arrived at your house looking pretty rough. Our clothes were torn, and we were covered in sap, dirt, and leaves. I think our parents were angrier about the ruined clothes than they were about our own scrapes and bruises. And the fact we missed the whole party.”
“I can’t believe I never knew about this.”
“It wasn’t one of our finer moments.”
The giggle was so sudden and unexpected that it seemed to burst forth like a bubble. “I bet.” Once the bubble popped and the giggle was loose, it couldn’t be contained. The image of the two boys trapped by a horse in a tree kept playing through my mind, making me laugh even harder.
A sharp, jarring bump from the boat sent a shiver of fear through me, instantly sobering me up. I blinked, shocked to find I was still on the ferry. Owen’s story had taken me away. My mind was flooded with images, memories so vivid, that I couldn’t even register the rocking of the boat or feel any fear.
The ferry had docked, and a steady stream of people made their way off the ferry and onto the pier. I watched them go, my mind still buzzing from the shock, surprised that I hadn't completely fallen apart.
My gaze snapped to the man beside me, my mind racing. He flashed his usual charming smile, the one that always made my heart skip a beat. I peered at him more closely, hoping to glean more information from his expression. Was there somethingbehind that smile? Did he know my secret? Had he told that story because he knew I was on the verge of freaking out? Were his actions motivated by a desire to care for me?
I shook my head. That was impossible. Kit the Nitwit wishing for things that weren’t there again.
Once the final passengers had left, he rose to his feet and extended a hand towards me, his eyes twinkling with anticipation. “Shall we?”
Chapter 2
Owen
Her eyes were hesitant,but she took my hand, her fingers cool and clammy in mine. I drank her in like a starving man as she rose to her feet. The way her golden hair flowed in loose waves over her shoulders, combined with her light makeup, evoked a sense of nostalgia, reminding me of our carefree teenage years. I saw the young girl I’d secretly crushed on for decades.
At just above my shoulder, she was small enough that I found myself wanting to tuck her under my chin, a protective yearningtaking over for a fleeting moment. As I lingered, not moving to go down the aisle, she fixed her questioning blue eyes on me. I cast aside the whimsical fantasies of my youth, the visions I'd held for so long that all starred the woman standing before me, and escorted her off the ferry.
I kept her hand locked in mine as we made our way down the pier and into the center of town. Despite the chill in the air, people were everywhere, but that didn’t detract from the quaintness of Mackinac Island.
This island seemed to exist outside of time, blending elements of different eras, making it feel like it belonged to multiple centuries at once. A timeless place, a place where centuries overlapped and blended together. The scene was a blend of Victorian charm, with its elegant architecture and horse-drawn carriages, juxtaposed against the bustling modernity of bicycle-filled streets and throngs of tourists. Before me, the landscape unfurled like a tapestry, blending the familiar with the forgotten.
The burgundy carriage that would take us to the Grand Hotel, drawn by a team of magnificent horses, sat waiting at the edge of the sidewalk. The frills were a bit much for me, but it was clear that Kat found it utterly charming. A footman, a figure of formality in his red livery and black top hat, stood at the door of the covered carriage, waiting to assist her inside.
Behind it, a flatbed horse-drawn cart was being loaded with luggage from the multiple ferries that had recently docked. The vehicle would make its way around the island, delivering its load to all types of accommodations, from luxury resorts to small, family-run inns.
The carriage lurched forward, the rhythmic clip-clop of hooves on the street filled the air as we passed bustling shops and lively restaurants down Main Street. As we rattled along, the carriage driver regaled us with a torrent of facts, his voice echoing over the clatter of the wheels. He introduced the horses, Vern andJudge, Belgian horses who were two of the seven hundred the island housed. And apparently the manure that many horses produced was their number two export, no pun intended.
The road wound its way uphill, and I noticed a small stone church nestled to the right, its steeple pointing towards the sky, while a school stood on the left, with a playground bustling with children. Five hundred locals braved the harsh winters and the quieter off-season to call this beautiful island home year round. During the summer months, the island's residents swelled to five thousand, mostly seasonal employees. The bustling summer crowds on Mackinac Island might have given the impression of a tourist-only destination, but there was a sense of a strong community, making it feel more like a vibrant village than a fleeting vacation spot.
Finally, we pulled up to one of the last surviving Grand Dames of the Gilded Age. Built in just ninety-three days, the Grand Hotel had quickly become the preeminent vacation hotspot for midwestern tourists, including elites such as Mark Twain, Thomas Edison, and Presidents Cleveland, Truman, Eisenhower, and both Roosevelt’s.
The place oozed a romantic vibe that was undeniable. Must be why women still talked about that Christopher Reeve movie that was filmed here in the 1980s. The sheer size and opulence of the Grand Hotel made its grandeur impossible to ignore. The long porch, adorned with overflowing planters, stood in contrast to the stately columns proudly displaying American flags. A green roof added a touch of nature to the elegant facade, and even the red carpet leading up the stairs to the main doors screamed luxury. As an old Army soldier, I found it difficult to believe that I would be staying in such an upscale place.
As soon as we stepped into the Grand Hotel’s expansive lobby, a piercing, feminine shriek cut through the air, cutting through the hushed atmosphere and causing all heads to turn in thedirection of the sound. “You’re here!” Kat was engulfed in a hug from the overly enthusiastic bride-to-be as her fiancé stood back, watching Tria’s antics with an indulgent smile.
“Hey man,” I said, giving my best friend a hearty handshake and a broad grin.
“Glad you could make it,” Todd replied, a smile tugging at his lips as the women’s excited chatter filled the air.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” And I meant that wholeheartedly. Since that first meeting in kindergarten, Todd and I had been the best of friends, sharing countless memories in the years since. The majority of memories were good, but some, especially those from our time together in the Army, were marked by the fatigue, stress, and danger we experienced.
After a few moments of conversation, a familiar, grating voice cut through the air, instantly making my jaw clench. “This place is ridiculous. There are flowers everywhere. Fuck. Even the carpet has flowers.” My gaze lowered to my feet. It was true, the black carpet was accented with red flowers, matching the red flower boxes outside.
“They’re geraniums,” Tria announced.
“I don’t give a fuck. Why did you choose Mackinac of all places for this fucking wedding?” He questioned without any thought for tact, as was typical for him.
Kat, exasperated, said, “It's pronounced Mackin-aw,” as if explaining it to a child. “Not Mackin-ak.”
“Well, if it isn’t the scaredy Kat.” Scott Chambers’s words, laced with amusement and derision, made his sister, Stephanie, burst into giggles as he mentioned the ridiculous nickname.
