She laughed. “I smell like wood smoke and bug spray.”
“You smell like you,” I whispered.
Katie’s dad cleared his throat loudly. “You need some help finding your own stick, Jake?” he asked.
I backed away from Katie. Her dad had a way of making me feel like such a child. “No, sir,” I mumbled.
Katie’s dad was cooking a dough doggie at the edge of the fire. Pop kept special sticks just for the dough doggies. They were wide and blunt at the tip. You had to wrap a canned biscuit around the stick, and then cook it over the fire until it was toasted through. When it was done, you could slide it off the stick and fill it full of jelly or cream or just about anything sweet.
Katie passed Pop a newly burned marshmallow and he ate it off the stick, and then she gave her stick to someone else. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. She shivered a little.
“Are you cold?” I asked.
Our chairs were so close together that if I pressed my leg an inch to the left, my naked skin would touch hers. Katie turned her head and looked into my eyes as she inched her leg closer to mine. It was subtle and slow, and the look in her eyes was so damn hot that I didn’t even need the campfire to stay warm. “No, I’m fine,” she said quietly.
Well, I was fine un
til right that second. But suddenly, Katie was my whole world. “I think I love you,” I said quietly to her.
She grinned. “Good.”
She didn’t return the sentiment. But I didn’t need for her to.
Pop started to play a slow song, and his friend began to sing. A few couples got up to dance, and I saw Fred hold his hand out to a girl on the other side of the fire.
“Want to dance with me?” I asked Katie.
She nodded and put her hand in mine, and we got up and danced under the moonlight by the warmth of the flames. But I didn’t need the fire. I had Katie.
I had her until the end of summer, at least.
39
Jake
It’s rather fitting that Laura arrives in the pouring rain. Thunder claps loudly and lightning streaks across the mid-day sky. Headlights flash across the screen door at the front of the house, and I get up to go see who it is. I recognize the headlights immediately. Is it terrible that I am happier to see my car than I am to see Laura?
“Better go get her,” Pop mutters at me.
Katie is with her family at Cabin 114, so it was just me and Pop today. Pop has spent his rainy afternoon absorbed in a jigsaw puzzle.
“Do I have to?” I mutter back.
He looks up from his puzzle. “Take an umbrella.”
In all the years we were married, Laura has only been here twice. She didn’t enjoy the lake; she liked the beach a lot more, so when I would come to visit Pop, she would go away with her girlfriends.
She doesn’t get out of the car, since the rain is coming down in sheets. Or perhaps she’s just stalling. I’m not sure which.
I grab an umbrella from the mud room and step out onto the porch. I open it and walk slowly down the steps. Now I know what a man might feel like when he’s walking down that long hallway toward an execution room. It’s awful, terrifying, and my palms are sweating by the time I get to the car. I hold the umbrella open over the car door and she manually rolls the window down. It jerks a little.
Laura smiles at me. “Hi,” she says.
“You want to get out?” I ask.
She nods, and takes a deep breath. Then she rolls the window back up. She holds tightly to the steering wheel for a moment and bows her head. Then the door opens with a creak.
“Thanks for bringing the car,” I say as she stands up. She’s a lot taller than Katie. God, I shouldn’t be comparing them. I can’t help it. They’re polar opposites.