Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
With a sigh over what could have been, I shift my eyes off Aubrey’s pouting profile and take the next curve on the winding road leading to my family’s cabin on the lake. After a bit, I get to the next curve, the one with the big fir tree at its apex that got slightly singed in a fire when I was ten or so. My stomach flutters with butterflies at my destination’s proximity. Only this time, unlike when I was a kid, those butterflies bring with them nostalgia and uncertainty, rather than unadulterated excitement.
When I used to come here as a kid, the sight of that big fir tree meant imminent independence. A carefree escape from homework, chores, and all the screaming back home. Now, as an adult, however, I understand why Mom sometimes abruptly packed up the car without warning to come here in the middle of the night. Why Grandpa would give Mom such a big bear hug when we arrived on his doorstep. Why Mom always shed those big, soggy tears into her father’s chest. So much so, they’d soak Grandpa’s flannel shirt. And most of all, I now understand the happy smile Mom wore for Miranda and me was a mother’s gift to her children. A ruse that allowed us to cluelessly enjoy our little vacation and conveniently forget about the latest bruises on our mother’s arms and neck.
Thankfully, Dad knew he wasn’t welcome at Grandpa’s cabin. Grandpa once told my father, “I’ve got a locker full of rifles, Greg, and I know exactly how to make anything look like a hunting accident.” We all knew he wasn’t kidding.
After another turn in the winding road, I spot the two black cottonwoods that mark the small dirt road leading to our family’s cabin, and a moment later, there it is. The small house on the lake I used to visit frequently as a kid, although it looks quite a bit bigger nowadays. Also, much nicer than I remember it, thanks to some massive, modern windows installed on its front facade. Did Grandpa renovate the crap out of this place before putting it up on that short-term rental site?
I slowly drive my car across some noisy gravel on the side of the house and park the car, and Aubrey immediately unbuckles her seatbelt. Without a word or even a glance toward me, she grabs her overnight bag and exits the car. When I don’t follow because I’m studying the new, modernized look of the house, Aubrey stands near the front of the car and awaits me, her arms crossed and her body language bursting with impatience and disdain.
By my late teens, I’d become too obsessed with my band and chasing girls to come along whenever Mom came here. And once I successfully started flaking on coming here, my sister, Miranda, four years my junior, took it as her cue to start following suit, since she never liked coming here, anyway. Too many bugs, Miranda always said. Nothing to do.
All of a sudden, Miranda started sleeping at her best friend Violet’s place, whenever Mom came here. And a few years after that, Grandpa got himself a girlfriend from Kansas—a pretty widow with a cool house and some kids she didn’t want to uproot. And that was that. Mom started visiting her dad in Kansas without Miranda and me, since we’d become “too busy” for family outings like that; and I lost access to this magical place in Montana, without ever knowing my final visit here had been my last.
Aubrey’s arm waving at me in my peripheral vision catches my attention, and I slowly turn my head to stare at her in a daze.
“Are you coming?” she mouths on the other side of my windshield, her eyebrows raised with annoyance.
With a long exhale, I unbuckle my seatbelt, grab my backpack from the backseat, and amble toward Aubrey at the front of the car. As I approach, a crease splits her otherwise smooth forehead.
“Are you okay?” she asks. “You look pissed off.”
“That’s just my face, sweetheart. I’ve got resting ‘pissed off’ face.”
The slightest twitch of a smile plays at Aubrey’s pouty lips, but she manages to suppress it before returning her attention to the house. “You kept calling this place a cabin, so I pictured a little log cabin in the woods. But this is a proper lake house, Caleb. A vacation home.”
I shrug. “It started out as a little cabin in the woods, so that’s what we’ve always called it. My grandpa must have expanded and renovated the place over the years, without me knowing it.” I point. “Those big windows there are new to me. And that whole side of the house is an addition. A third bedroom, maybe?”
“Cool.” She’s practically tapping her toe. “Can we go inside now? I need to pee.”