The Rest of the Story

I was beginning to sink into an indecisive spiral when he backed the boat up right next to where I was standing, then used one hand to pull it up to the raft’s edge, making it an easy step in to take a seat beside him. Easy was good. Easy, I could take. So I did.

Once we got home, dinner was served.

“All I am saying,” Celeste said as she picked up her burger, “is that I want you to be careful.”

“Mom,” Bailey replied. “You don’t have to give me this same lecture every summer.”

“Apparently, I do. Because you’re already hanging out with yacht club boys.”

“They’re not all alike, you know.”

“They’re alike enough,” Celeste told her. Mimi, at the head of the table, shot her a look over the bowl of potato salad between them. “What? You know what I’m worried about. I mean, we all know what happened when Waver—”

There was the sound of a thump under the table, and Celeste winced. The sudden silence that followed was awkward, not only for the kick Mimi had just given her, but the fact that we all knew it was to protect my feelings.

This was actually the second time my mom had come up since I’d left the raft. The first had been when I was riding back with Roo. Unlike when I’d gone out with Jack, we were side by side. So I was able to get quick glimpses of him, taking in the way his white-blond hair stuck up a bit in the back, the tattoo on one calf that was a series of numbers, and the way that he waved at every boat we passed, flashing a big grin. For all my own glances, he wasn’t looking at me at all, instead squinting ahead, the back of his T-shirt rippling in the strong wind coming off the water. When he finally spoke, it took me by surprise.

“I’m sorry about your mom.”

Even though it had been five years and some days, I worried I’d moved on too much. And then there were times like this, when just a mention of her gave me a pinch in my heart. “Thanks,” I said. “I miss her.”

Now he did look at me: I could see it out of the corner of my eye, even as I watched Mimi’s dock—marked with a sign that said FOR USE BY CALVANDER’S GUESTS ONLY—approach. “She and my dad were friends in high school. Chris Price.”

I nodded, as if I’d heard this name, even though I hadn’t. “He still lives here?”

He looked at me for a second. “No, not anymore. I live with my mom.” He pointed to a line of houses down the shore from Mimi’s, each painted a different bright color—yellow, blue, pink, red, and green—and trimmed with white. “Ours is the green one.”

“Who has the pink?”

“Renters, usually,” he said. “Season just started, though.”

“How many people live here year-round?” I asked.

He was slowing the engine now. “More than you’d think. A lot, like Celeste, have houses they rent out for summer.”

“I thought she lived with Mimi,” I said.

“Only from June to August,” he replied. “The rest of the time they have a place up by Blackwood Station, right on the water.”

“Blackwood Station,” I said. “I feel like I’ve heard of that.”

“You probably have. It’s the only boatyard in town. Plus, the arcade is right there, and the public beach.”

I looked in that direction, getting my bearings, then back up at Mimi’s house, now right in front of us. As I did, I saw Celeste, standing in the grass, one hand shading her eyes as she looked out at us. I couldn’t make out her expression.

“And Celeste is a Blackwood, right?” I asked.

“She was. Her ex-husband, Silas, runs the boatyard and gas station. Been in his family for generations.”

Now I had something else to add to my family tree. “But you’re not a Blackwood or Calvander,” I said, clarifying.

“Nope.” He cut the engine, letting us drift up to the dock. “Silas, Celeste, my dad, my mom, and yours all went to high school together. There’s only one, the same one we all go to now.”

I tried to picture my own parents at my school, Jackson High, walking the same halls I did with Ryan and Bridget. I couldn’t. Nana Payne and my dad lived in Massachusetts when he was in high school, and my mom was, well, here.

“It’s a lot, all this new information,” I said. “I’m honestly having some trouble keeping up.”

“Well, then you need to start asking people their five sentences.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Their what?”

“It’s a lake thing,” he explained. “The basic idea is that since you meet a ton of people at the beginning of every summer, everyone has to condense their bio down to the main ideas. Thus, five sentences.”

“Right,” I said slowly. “What’s yours?”

He cleared his throat. “Born and bred here at North Lake. High school senior this fall. Work multiple jobs. Want to go to journalism school. Allergic to shellfish.”

“Wow,” I said. “Didn’t see that shellfish part coming.”

“An element of surprise and oddity is crucial with this,” he told me. “Hit me with yours.”

“I need five in all?”

“Start with one.”

“Okay,” I said, thinking it over. “Well, I’m from Lakeview. Also about to be a high school senior.”

“Coming out strong,” he said as we hit a wave, water splashing over the bow. “I like it. Go on.”

“My mom grew up here at the lake,” I continued, “but this is my first real visit. I came once as a kid, but I don’t really remember.”

“Nice,” he said. “Facts and intrigue. Now you need something random and memorable.”

I thought for a second. “People don’t get my humor.”

“Meaning?”

“I think I’m funny, but other people often don’t laugh.”

“I know that feeling,” he said.

“You do?” I hadn’t met anyone who could relate before.

“Yep,” he said. “Okay, now for the strong finish. Your shellfish allergy, so to speak. What’s it going to be?”

I had to admit, I was feeling the pressure. Especially as the seconds ticked by and nothing came. What could I say? I was nervous to the point of obsessive? I liked organizing things?

Roo did not rush me. He just waited.

Finally, I had it. “I read the obituaries every day.”

His eyes widened. “Seriously?”

I nodded. “Yep.”

“Okay, that is good,” he said, then held his hand up for a high five. I slapped it. “You, in five sentences. Nicely done.”

Me, in five sentences. All facts, some informative, some colorful. Not really all that different from the obits themselves, now that I thought of it. Only shorter, while you’re living, and still have time to add more.

Roo slowed the engine, then stopped it entirely, and we drifted up to the dock. As he hopped off the boat, pulling the line with him, I heard the thump of footsteps coming down the dock. Looking up, I saw Trinity approaching, now in a flowing black maxi dress, her hair wet. She looked grumpy, but considering this had been a constant each time I’d crossed her path so far, maybe it was just her face.

“Hey,” Roo called. “What’s up?”

“Mimi says you should stay for dinner,” she replied. “Since you brought her in, and everything.”

Her was me. Apparently. While I was not sure what five sentences Trinity would pick, I was pretty sure one would cover the fact that she really didn’t like me.

“You know Trinity, right?” Roo said to me.

“We haven’t been reintroduced formally,” I told him. To her I said, “Hi. I’m Emma.”

“Hi,” she said, her voice flat. She turned her attention back to Roo. “Where’s Bailey? She’s not answering her phone.”

“Rode off with some yacht club guy,” he replied. “Maybe up at the Station?”

“Of course she is.” Trinity rubbed a hand over her belly. “Like I have the energy to go all the way up there.”

“I can go find her,” I offered. “I need to learn my way around anyway.”

“I’ll walk you,” Roo said. “If I’m coming for dinner, I should go home and change.”

“Will you just drive me?” Trinity whined. “I need to go to the store and I can’t reach the clutch anymore.”

“Sure,” he said agreeably. “Emma, you want to ride along?”

“She should go help with dinner,” Trinity said. Now I was She. “Mimi said to tell her to.”

Roo looked at me. “Oh. Right. Well, rain check.”

“Sounds good,” I said, making a point to act like it was no big deal. Still, as Trinity and Roo started down the dock without me, I felt another sting, this one a sort of shame. Despite all my mom had told me about the lake, none of it explained why so far at least half the females I’d met had disliked or outright hated me on sight.

Now, back at the table, I looked out the window to the sandy beach below the house, where Roo, Trinity, and Jack were sitting in lawn chairs, eating their own dinners. We’d all fixed our plates together, assembly-line style, but it was only after I’d sat down that I realized the table was too small for everyone, and this contingent was eating outside. Which left me with Celeste, Mimi, and Bailey, as Gordon was again lost in her Allies book.

“So,” Mimi said to me. “You getting situated? Meet everyone out at the raft?”

I nodded, finishing my bite of potato salad before saying, “A few people, yeah.”

“Taylor got up in her face,” Bailey said, adjusting the tomato on her burger.

“What?” Mimi said. “Why?”

“Because she was with Jack, and Taylor’s got major jealousy issues.” She rolled her eyes. “Even when they’re together, they’re fighting.”

“It’s not easy to disconnect from someone totally in a place as small as this,” Celeste pointed out.

“Says the woman who married and divorced the same man twice,” Bailey said.

I blinked: this was news to me. Another thing to add to my family tree.

Mimi chuckled. “She’s got you there, Celeste.”

Celeste, hardly bothered, reached for the bowl of potato chips. “I’ve got to tell you, Saylor, when I saw you coming in with Roo, man, it brought back some memories. Wild to see you two together, after how close you were as kids.”

“Wait, what?” I said. Now I felt even worse about our first meeting at the dock, when he’d looked so surprised. “We were?”

“You don’t remember?” I shook my head. “Well, I guess maybe you wouldn’t. You were babies. But yeah, that time you stayed here, you two were like frick and frack. Always together.”

“Remember the best friend hug?” Mimi said, smiling.

“The what?” Bailey asked.

“Whenever Roo and Saylor had been together and then had to split up, they did their best friend hug. Just clung to each other. Lord, it was the cutest.”

Bailey, bemused, glanced at me, and I was pretty sure I blushed. Evidently, embarrassment had no statute of limitations.

“It got me thinking about Waverly and Chris, which of course got me in the gut,” Celeste said to Mimi. “Those two really were inseparable.”

“He did mention that, actually,” I said. “How my mom and his dad were friends.”

“Those Prices. All such sweet boys,” Mimi said, looking out the window. Roo was saying something to Jack, who was grinning, as Trinity, still sour-faced, looked on. “I just hate all Roo’s been through, with his daddy and everything.”

“He said his dad doesn’t live here anymore,” I said. “Where is he?”

There are all kinds of silences. Natural ones, when conversation just ebbs after a flow. Awkward, just after someone’s said something they shouldn’t. The worst, though, are shocked silences, when no one can speak at all. This was one of those.

“He died, honey,” Mimi said finally. “Before you two were born. Boating accident.”

I didn’t know what to say. All I could do, in fact, was look at Roo again while running through my mind again the moment earlier when I’d asked if his dad was still local. There had been a silence then, too, but only the briefest one, like a song missing a beat. He hadn’t wanted to make me feel bad for being so ignorant. The way I felt right now.

“Oh, my God.” I put my hand to my mouth, horrified. “I had no idea. I’m such an idiot.”

“It’s okay,” Mimi said. When I just sat there, blinking, she added, “Saylor. You didn’t know.”

Down below the house, Jack was now on his feet, his plate empty except for a crumpled napkin. Roo got up as well, then extended a hand to Trinity, pulling her to a standing position. For him, she smiled.

“So. Saylor,” Mimi said. “You going out with the kids tonight?”

I looked at Bailey, who was back on her phone. She didn’t say anything, and the last thing I wanted was to yet again be forced on anyone. “I’m pretty tired, actually.”

“Well, in case you change your mind,” Celeste said, “Bailey, give Emma your number.”

Bailey sighed. “You guys. Seriously. This is getting ridiculous.”

I felt my face blush again. Here I’d thought this cousin was the nice one, but clearly even she was sick of dealing with me. I said quickly, “She doesn’t have—”

“I mean,” Bailey continued, over me, “is it Emma or is it Saylor? Because so far I’m hearing both, interchangeably. It’s super confusing.”

Everyone looked at me. So it wasn’t me that was annoying. Just my names. I said, “At home, I’ve always been Emma. Except if my mom was talking to me.”

“Which is why I keep calling you Saylor,” Mimi said softly. “Sorry. But she loved that name.”

I bit my lip, hearing this. It had been a long day indeed, if this was the thing that would make me cry.

“How about this,” Bailey said to me. “You think about it and let me know. Whatever you say, it sticks. Officially. Deal?”

I nodded. In time, maybe I’d figure this out.

“And give me your phone,” she added. “I’ll put in my number.”

I swallowed, trying to pull it together, as I took my phone out of my pocket, unlocking the screen and sliding it over. BAILEY, I watched her type, then the digits.

“There,” she said, returning it to me. Across the table, Mimi was watching us, but I couldn’t read her expression. Half-sad, half-happy, all hard to explain. Like she was seeing something I wouldn’t have, even from the same vantage point. “We’re leaving here at eight. Let me know if you change your mind.”

“Okay,” I said. “Thanks.”

After dinner, I went to my room, where I opened my notebook again to the family tree I’d started. SILAS, I wrote, next to Celeste, then drew a line through it. Twice. (There had to be a story there.) I added Amber under Joe, with a question mark, and Anna Gordon below her. So many gaps still to fill, but I was getting there.

Downstairs, I could hear Bailey and Trinity as they got ready in the kitchen and then the screen porch that functioned as their bedroom. There were other noises, too. Mimi’s TV, most certainly showing another fixer-upper show. Jack on his own phone on the other side of the wall, speaking quietly, maybe to Taylor. But as darkness fell and I found myself nodding off earlier than I had in ages, it was those who were not there that filled my mind. Roo first, and the secret, not so much a secret, that he’d kept from me. My mom, in this same room. And the frick to her frack, Chris, gone as well. The past was always present, in its way, and you can’t help but remember. Even if you can’t remember at all.

SIX

I woke to the smell of toast.

It was actually the second time I’d been up. The first had been at four a.m., when my dad, obviously so worried about how I was faring that he forgot about the seven-hour time difference, called me from Greece.

“Dad?” I answered, after fumbling for the phone in the dark for a moment. “Is everything okay?”

“What’s not okay?” he replied.

“What?” I said.

“Did you say you’re not okay?”

“No,” I said. “I asked if you were okay, since you’re calling me so early.”

A pause. Then, “Oh, no. What time is it there? I’m all turned around.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I assured him, even as I noticed the little clock on the dresser said 4:15 a.m. Which made this the second morning in a row I’d been awakened by a phone call at this hour, something I could only hope wasn’t a trend. “How was the flight?”

“Good,” he said. “Long. But we’re here now, in a taxi on our way to the hotel.”

“Hi, Emma!” Tracy called out.

“Tell her hi,” I said to my dad.

He relayed the message. “The important thing is, how are you? Is it all right there?”

I looked at the clock again, weighing how to answer this. Of course I didn’t want him to worry. I was fine, just a bit discombobulated. Also I had a lot of questions, most of which he probably couldn’t answer. “It’s good,” I said. “I had dinner with Celeste and her kids.”

“Great.” Hearing the relief in his voice as he said this one word made it clear how worried he’d been, and I was glad I’d chosen carefully. “How is Celeste?”

“She’s good,” I told him. “Raising a cousin’s kid, this ten-year-old named Gordon. Her mom is in Florida. I think her name is Amber?”

“Amber? No. She’s, like, ten years old herself.” A pause. “Or, she was the last time I saw her. Which I guess was about twenty years ago, now that I think of it. Keeping up with your mom’s family always made my head hurt. Glad to know some things don’t change.”

“Guess not,” I said. “Look, I’m fine. Go enjoy your trip.”

“Honey that moon,” he said, chuckling. “Call me when it’s a decent hour there, okay? We’re supposed to have service on the boat.”

“Okay,” I told him. “I love you.”

“Love you too, Emma. Bye.”

I put my phone back on the bedside table, rolling over to face the window. I could just see the surface of the water, the moon overhead. I looked at it, thinking of my dad and Tracy, speeding across a city I’d never seen and couldn’t even picture, until I fell asleep.

And now it was eight a.m., and there was toast, or at least the smell of it. Also, possibly coffee. Hopeful, I got up, pulling on some shorts and a clean T-shirt, then brushed my teeth and went downstairs.

“Morning,” a voice said as soon as my foot hit the bottom step. Startled, I jumped: Oxford, Mimi’s husband, was sitting at the table, a newspaper open in front of him. Otherwise the kitchen was empty, although when I glanced at the toaster, I saw the indicator light shone bright red, signaling it was on.

“Good morning,” I replied. I walked over to the counter, where, sure enough, I found a coffeemaker with half a pot left. Score. “Okay if I take some of this?”

“Help yourself.” He turned a page of the paper. “Milk and cream are in the fridge, sugar’s over here.”

I found a mug, filled it, then came over to the table, finding a spoon and adding some sugar before taking a seat. As I did, the toaster binged cheerfully, six slices popping up. Oxford didn’t seem to notice.

“You want some of the paper?” he asked me.

“Sure.”

“What section?”

I took a sip from my mug. Perfect. “Do you have the obituaries?”

He didn’t bat an eye, rifling through to pull out the local news. “One of my favorites. Always good to start the day making sure I’m not in there.”

“I’ll let you know,” I said, smiling at him.

“Do that.”

We sat there, reading in companionable silence, which was a strange thing to do with someone you’d only barely met. But reading the paper I did know, since Nana and I did it together every morning. After all the newness of the day before, it was nice to have something familiar. Of course, the moment I felt relaxed, Trinity showed up.

At first she was just shuffling footsteps, coming down the hallway. Then she appeared, looking half-asleep in sweatpants and an oversized tank top, her pregnant belly stretching it out. She did not look at or address either Oxford or myself, instead just walking to the toaster, where she retrieved the six pieces of toast, piling them on a paper towel, before going to the fridge for a tub of butter.

“If you take that, bring it back,” Oxford said, still reading. She did not reply, instead just going back the way she’d come, leaving us alone again.

The obituary section in the Bly County News—North Lake was too small for its own paper, clearly—was much smaller than the one in the Lakeview Observer. Which I supposed made sense: fewer people, fewer deaths to report. Today there were only two, starting with Marjorie McGuire, 82, who had gone to meet her Lord and Savior the previous week. In her picture, she had a beauty shop hairdo and was smiling.

The fact that I was interested in the obits made my dad uneasy. He worried it reflected my anxiety, fear of death, not dealing with my mom’s passing, or the triple bonus, all three. But it wasn’t about that. When Nana and I had first started our breakfast-and-paper tradition, I’d cared about comics and not much else. The obits were always there, though, on the opposite page, and at some point I’d started reading them as well. Then my mom died. She’d had no obit, for reasons I could never understand, so I got even more interested in how people chose to be, or were, remembered.

Most obituaries, I’d found, shared the same basics. The opening paragraphs rarely gave specifics, other than the person had passed “after a long illness” or “unexpectedly.” Occasionally someone died “at home,” which sounded like it might be a way of saying it was on purpose without using those exact words. The religious ones often contained scripture, if not a mention of where the deceased planned to go and who they hoped to see there. Next up was usually a summary of the life itself, with education, marriages, and children and a listing of career high points. The final paragraphs usually touched on a hobby dear to the person who had passed—travel was big, and volunteering for good causes—before providing funeral info and suggesting where to donate in lieu of flowers.

I always made a point to read each word of every obit. This would be the last way this person was remembered: Was I really too busy to take an extra three seconds to read about their commitment to the March of Dimes? Also, I felt reassured when all the day’s listings were people like Mrs. Maguire, who had lived a good, full life. An obit for a younger person, like my dad’s age, always made me sad. A teen or a child was heartbreaking. It just didn’t fit, like a rule had been broken, and I’d find myself trying to piece together the part of the story that wasn’t told.

When I’d first started reading the obits, they never mentioned overdoses or drugs as causes of death. In recent years, though, as more opioid crisis stories hit the front page, they made this section as well. Occasionally it was spelled out, with the deceased having “struggled with an addiction,” or similar. More often, though, you had to read between the lines, finding the references to battling demons, pride in a previous period of sobriety, or a family request to donate to Narcotics Anonymous.

Would it have made a difference, having a clipping from a paper with my mom’s name and dates, a recap of the things and people she loved, and those who were missing her? It would have been at least more closure than that night outside the building as the elevator doors closed. Maybe that was what I was looking for, all those mornings with Nana and now.

“Morning,” I heard a voice say. I looked up to see Bailey come into the kitchen in shorts and a red T-shirt that said BLACKWOOD on it, her hair pulled back in a ponytail.

“Morning,” Oxford said. “You working today?”

“At nine,” she replied. She went over to the counter, where she opened a loaf of bread, taking out six slices and dropping them into the toaster before turning it on. “Why?”

“Mimi’s knee is acting up,” he replied, folding down the top part of the sports section.

“Oh, no.” Bailey came over, sliding into the chair beside mine. “How bad is it?”

“Doc says he wants her off her feet for at least a week, but we all know that’s not happening. You want any of the paper?”

“Horoscopes, please.”

He handed her a section as I went back to my own reading about Wallace Camp, 78, who had passed surrounded by loved ones after a long illness. His photo was from his military days.

There was a thunk from upstairs, then the sound of a door opening. Jack yelled, “Can someone put in some toast for me?”