Meet Me at the Lake

Will was already up when I opened my eyes. He sat at my table, writing in his book, a dark slash of hair over one eye. Seeing him in my apartment was strange all over. But it felt like he belonged there, scribbling by my window.

The bed groaned as I tucked an arm under my head. Will’s gaze shifted to mine. We eyed each other in silence, the morning sun slipping through the glass, capturing bits of dust in its rays and painting squares of light on the hardwood.

“Hi.” My voice cracked with the day’s first word. The fridge was making a steady whir. The power must have come back on while we slept. “What are you doing over there?”

“Just thinking.”

“I can’t spell my name without coffee.” I crawled off the bed. “I’ll make some. It’s not as good as at the café, but it is strong.” I pulled the box of paper filters from the cupboard.

“Actually, I’ve got to head out,” Will said, standing. “It’s almost ten. I’m going to be late for breakfast with my sister, and then I’ve got to grab my stuff before getting out to the airport.”

“Oh.” I cleared my throat, trying not to wear my disappointment like a diamond tiara. “Of course.”

“It was such a late night—I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Yeah, no. I appreciate that,” I said, my chest tightening. “So?”

“So . . .” He gestured to a piece of paper on the table. He’d torn his drawing of me from his sketchbook. “That’s for you.”

I swallowed. “Thanks.”

“And I had an idea,” he said, twisting his ring. “I’m going to be back next June for my dad’s wedding. I thought we could check in on each other—see how we’re making out with our plans.”

He picked up his notebook, holding it open to the lists. He’d written, JUNE 14, BROOKBANKS RESORT, 3 P.M. on the bottom of each page.

“You’re serious? You want to come visit me at Brookbanks? For real?”

“If only to eat more sourdough.” He gave me a hesitant smile. “I want to see where Fern Brookbanks grew up. You can show me how to hold a paddle. Make sure I don’t embarrass myself out on the water.”

“We both know you will.”

His smile widened. “So is that a yes? You’ll meet me up there in a year?”

“Yeah, I can do that.” My heart had ramped up to double time. “Maybe in a year . . .” I drifted off. I couldn’t finish that sentence. I’m not sure I knew how to.

A door slammed out in the hallway. Will blinked, then ripped my plan out of his book, passing it to me.

I looked down at the page. “It’s a pretty big place,” I said. “We should pick a spot.”

“What do you suggest?”

“How about we meet down at the docks near the beach? I’ll need to know how Will Baxter really looks in a canoe as soon as possible.”

“Sensational, I’m telling you.” He grinned. “The docks it is.”

Will tucked his sketchbook into his bag. I eyed the little red streetcar pin fixed to the flap, then grabbed my phone.

“What’s your number so we can stay in touch?” I said as he tied his boots. “And if you give me your address, I’ll make you a CD. A West Coast theme. Or trees? There probably aren’t enough tracks for that, but nature in general could work . . .”

Will stood back up, a pained look on his face. “I think it might be best if we don’t.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t think we should text each other or become friends on Facebook. You probably shouldn’t send me a mix CD. I just think since . . .” He looked over at the bed and the indents our bodies had left behind, then back at me. “Why didn’t you tell me about Jamie?”

My legs wobbled.

I could have lied and said Jamie simply hadn’t come up. It was less complicated than the truth. Only I didn’t want to lie to Will.

“At first, it didn’t really matter that I had a boyfriend. But later, I kind of wanted to pretend that the rest of the world didn’t exist for a day, and that included Jamie. Not that I would have done anything,” I added quickly. “I would never cheat.”

Will nodded, but I had no idea what he was thinking.

“Do you think I’m horrible?” I asked quietly.

“No. I think you’re pretty fucking awesome, Fern Brookbanks.” He squeezed my hand once and let it go. “But I think it would be a bad idea for you and me to continue whatever this is.”

“Because of Jamie?”

He nodded.

“A year is a really long time,” I said, staring down at his pink laces.

Will ducked to my eye level. “It’s nothing. You won’t even miss me.”

I pressed my lips together, wishing that were true. I reached around Will for the door, holding it open with my hip. I wasn’t going to be able to keep it together much longer. I had thought what I felt for Will was physical attraction, but it was more than that—it was so much worse.

Will slipped his backpack onto his shoulders and stepped into the hallway.

“Will?” I said, waiting for him to face me. “I am going to miss you—more than a smidge.”

Over the next twelve months, I’d remember the smile that took over Will’s face. I’d close my eyes and picture that very moment. The bend of his lips, the surprise in his eyes, the faint lines at their corners. It was electric.

“You and me in one year, Fern Brookbanks,” he said. “Don’t let me down.”

And then Will Baxter turned around and walked out of my life.