Fig smirks. “Well, thankfully I'm not staying in this town. As soon as I graduate high school, I'm leaving Home forever. I'm not going to be like Lemon. She's stuck here. Me? I'm free as a bird.”
At that, my whole night falls flat.
It was supposed to be my birthday dinner with my family. But suddenly, it feels like a life sentence.
2
ANCHOR
It's beenone hell of a year.
Buying this furnished lake house was a spur of the moment decision. I knew I wanted out of the city, saw this listing—and bought it sight unseen.
Seattle is fine and all, but it's a bunch of tech startups and assholes who like to sit behind a computer. Me? I've never been that kind of guy.
I was born and raised on the water. And I do best when I'm out in wide-open spaces.
When I got the payout for my kayak company, I decided to look for a place to settle down for a while.
Of course, I wasn't interested in going too far.
As much as the world tempts other people, I've never been one who was lured by the thrill of an exotic location. Fuck, I've had my fair share of the limelight. I've seen Fiji and Jamaica. I don't need to go back to Bali and I sure as fuck don't need to sit on the white sandy beaches of Maui to know that I'm alive.
All I need is some fresh air. Some sun on my face. Hell, rain will do. I prefer to work with my hands, to think with my own mind. Though that kind of thinking is what got people pissed at me five years ago on that show. I’m a lone wolf, through and through, and I never should have done that gig in the first place.
Here though, I think as I pour myself a cup of coffee and carry that enamel mug of Joe out to the front porch, I'll be okay for a while, at least until I can clear my head and make a plan. Until I can think up what I want to do next.
Never thought this would be where I’d end up at twenty-six. Alone on a lake with more money than I need.
It's not that I was expecting a wife and kids. Hell no. But the fact that I have no family to speak of,have no parents to call on a good day or bad—that's what kills me. That's what fucking slays me.
I don't need to get into all that shit, though. Not now.
It's Monday morning, I have a good cup of coffee, And the sun is actually out. It's April second, and I'm no fool, but it seems like it's gonna be a good fucking week.
The real estate agent who sold me this property out here on Stout Lake told me it was quiet, and while I drove through the town of Burly, I got a hint of that.It's a little redneck, a little bit country, maybe a little bit too much for my liking. But I told her I didn't mind.
Now, I’m set to chill the hell out until I come up with my next creative enterprise.
The water on the lake is still. At this time of day there are no motorized boats out, which means it's a perfect time for me to take out the stand-up paddleboard. I gotta take advantage of this gorgeous day. There is an eagle on a limb of a tree on the other side of the lake, fish jumping in the fresh water before me, pine trees surrounding me.
I finish my coffee and head back inside the house. The A-frame cabin is lovely. That's not a word I use all too often. But it is. Whoever renovated it had real high-end taste—we're talking granite, stainless steel, wide-plank pine wood floors, and whitewashed walls. New sliding glass doors leading to the large front deck, and tons of natural lighting.
I'm not complaining, but it's way fancier than I need. Hell, give me a cot and a tent, or just a sleeping bag in a strip of grass and I’d be fine out here.
But this place? It's got three bedrooms and a master loft, skylights that stream the stars. Never imagined owning something so beautiful, but even with the high price tag, nothing about it is showy. It’s all muted colors, natural tones, soft. And after a lifetime of fighting my own demons, it’s nice to rest.
I change into some board shorts, streak some sunscreen across my nose and run a hand through my dark hair. With a blue button-down shirt on, I head outside, grabbing the paddleboard and an oar on my way down to the dock that I apparently share with my neighbor.
I look over at that house, which is equally beautiful—though at least twice as large.
In fact, the style and the architecture is so incredibly complementary to my house that when I first saw the listing, I thought they were being listed together. But the agent told me that the remodel project had been done by the owners of the neighboring property.
I guess they own some construction company who does renovations. The agent says they are some outfit over in Home, Washington, about 90 minutes away past the Burly Mountains.
Regardless, the house is empty now.
So I've got the dock to myself and I take advantage of it.