It’s been four years and I still feel that way. “It gets better.” It’s not a lie, but the truth is a much longer story, and one I don’t think she wants to hear. At least not from me.
Above us, the beams creak with Quinn’s movement. “Oh my god this bathroom,” Quinn says, her voice carrying easily thanks to the open concept. “And a skylight!”
“You have a skylight in your bathroom?” Meg asks as I give the wounds a rinse.
“Greta wanted to look at the stars while she’s in the bath.”
Meg gives me a look. “You did it yourself?”
“We did it together, yeah.” I pat Meg’s knuckles dry with fresh gauze then tear open a package of steri-strips. After cutting them in half, I add two across her knuckle, then add a bead of ointment and finish the dressing. “If it starts bleeding again, you might need stitches.”
“Great,” Meg says on a groan.
I roll the ice into the towel and twist it shut. “This should help with swelling, and pain.”
She presses the ice pack onto her knuckles, wincing. “Thank you.”
Quinn clatters down the stairs and swings around the bottom post. “How’s it feeling?”
“Better.” Meg glances up at me, relief edging her gaze. “Thanks.”
“Welcome.”
They head for the patio door, so I accompany them to my deck. Outside, the cool air carries the mineral scent of the lake and a hint of pine sap. Above us, the black dome of sky is packed with crystalline stars. A perfect night for sleeping out.
“Goodnight,” Quinn says, glancing at me over her shoulder.
“Night,” I say as they descend the steps and turn for Meg’s place.
By the time I set up my cot on the deck and climb into my sleeping bag, the lights are off next door. I gaze up at the stars and try to put the events of the night from my mind, but questions pop up faster than I can shove them back.
What did Meg’s ex say to her? Or did his forced kiss put her over the edge? It sounds like they still have to work together. Does he harass her then too?
At least I got her to laugh tonight.
It’s the first time she’s smiled at me, and I kinda liked it. Because as much fun as it’s been pushing her buttons these last few months, seeing her not be so sad, even for an instant, felt like winning a gold medal.
Dawn is just a hint of lemony light when I wake to the distant call of a loon out on the lake. There’s no breeze yet but the morning dew and pine infiltrates the brisk air.
That and the scent of something starting to rot. It takes me only two seconds to find the lifeless gray shrew Meg’s mini tiger left for me this morning. I guess I should be relieved he didn’t piss on my sleeping bag. Or barf.
I pack up my cot and pad inside to make coffee, the wood floors creaking under my weight. While coffee brews, I change into trunks and one of my new tees from Greta. This one’s got a giant hot dog curving out of a bun, “What Up” printed above it. She finds them on some online thrift store she’s obsessed with.
After savoring my coffee while the sunrise turns the sky a soft pink, I deposit Kody’s gift in my trash can. He’s washing his paws at the edge of my deck when I return, but one glance from me and he vanishes.
I set up my tripod and snap a series of wide angle shots, thenswitch to my telephoto and zoom in on one of the loons gliding at the satiny edge of the wind line. Satisfied, I carry my paddle and board down to the lakeshore and wade into the sandy shallows, the gritty sand sharp under my bare feet and the cool water sending gooseflesh up my shins.
After hopping on, I stroke along the shoreline, spooking a family of mergansers. The work in my arms and obliques as I paddle warms me from the inside and drowns out the noisy thoughts still tapping at my skull from last night. I give myself to the work and the changing palette of colors against the rugged spires and snowy bowls of the Bitterroots.
Out in the middle of the lake, I strip off my t-shirt and jump in, the cold a delicious shock on my skin, then perch on my knees and use both arms to paddle back to shore. Because I’m lower to the water now and so focused on my rhythm, I don’t see the person flailing until I’m nearly on top of them.
A flash of skin and wet blonde hair and she’s disappeared under the surface.
Oh shit. I’m in the water before I know it, going after the hazy, pale figure. I wrap my arms around her and kick for the surface. We break through, both of us spluttering.
“Let go!” the person screams, thrashing against me.
I realize two things at once—it’s Meg. And she’s naked. And I just had my arms around… “What are you doing out here?”
