“Really?” Mary’s brows pushed together and she looked over her glasses as if she was trying to determine if Sara was lying.
“I’d love to rent it if the offer’s still open,” Sara said, “But I’d understand if it’s too soon. I know it was special to your husband.”
Mary laughed, shaking her head. “Honestly, I’m dying to get rid of it. The property taxes go up every year and I don’t have any use for it.” She looked around the room, taking it in. “I never spent any time here so I’m not sentimental about it. I’ve even thought about selling it, but not too many people looking for a lake house want to take on a place like this.”
“If you’re open to that,” Sara said, “I’d love to get it appraised and consider that possibility.”
Mary laughed and swatted at a fly that buzzed between them. “You may be nuts, kid,” she said, sealing the deal with a handshake, “But I like your style.”
Sara spent the rest of the day getting some essentials in town and a takeout pizza for dinner. She’d offered to stay at the bed and breakfast at the edge of town until she’d signed the lease and paid her rent, but Mary had just handed her the key and told her to drop the rent by the drugstore over the weekend. She didn’t bother to unload her vehicle when she arrived home, just brought in the groceries and set them on the table before she walked out on the back deck. The sun was just setting over the lake, a fiery orange that sank slowly into the cool indigo water, the clouds just above it holding the last of the light. Warm pink and copper washed the entire sky, sifting itself into layers and meeting the dark water at the horizon. Sara flipped the top off her bottle of beer and leaned back in the worn Adirondack chair.
“Here’s to not knowing what the hell I’m doing,” she said, lifting the bottle and watching a ski boat cut through the water in the distance, heading straight for the setting sun.
Chapter Two
“Have you lost your fucking mind?”
Sara didn’t even get the phone to her ear before her sister’s screeching reached full volume, and she held the phone at arm’s length while she searched for the zipper to the sleeping bag she’d thrown onto the bed in the loft the previous night.
“Do you have any idea how worried Mother and I have been about you?” Jennifer was clearly in full on panic mode.
“Apparently not,” Sara said, stifling a yawn.
“You can’t just up and move across the country without telling someone!” Jennifer said. “What’s the matter with you?”
Cue the over dramatic sigh and Jennifer slowly rubbing her temples with her eyes closed. Sara didn’t need to be in the same room to know exactly what her sister was like in this state.
“You do realize I’m a fully grown adult, right?” She tried not to let the irritation creep into her voice, but remembering that her coffee and French press was still outside in her truck made that difficult.
“Really, Sara,” Jennifer said, her voice dropping to a whisper, “I’m starting to worry about your state of mind.”
Jennifer had appointed herself the boss of Sara sometime in childhood, and it seemed to get worse with every passing year, despite being the younger sibling of the two at twenty-nine. The fact that Sara had over three years on her never seemed to phase her.
“Mother says if she ever sees you again she’s having you committed. Why would you leave Savannah for the fucking northwest? You know they all wear flannel year round there, right?”
Jennifer had been married to her high school boyfriend for seven years, now an orthopedist, and spent a lot of time at the country club pool. She was too thin, and she always pulled her blonde but still highlighted hair back into a tight bun or French twist. Sara didn’t know why that bothered her, but it did.
“What’s really wrong, Jennifer?” Sara said, pressing the heel of her hand to her forehead. “You can’t really be this upset over me moving to Idaho. You love this town. It’s where we went to camp, remember? Payette Lake?”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Her voice was suddenly quiet, and the first pang of guilt twisted in Sara’s chest.
“Honestly, Jen,” she said, “I thought about it but I knew you would just try to talk me out of it.”
Jennifer started to answer, then paused. “You’re probably right,” she said. “I was just planning on coming to visit you in the next couple of weeks, that’s all.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, I just…” She covered the phone and spoke to someone before coming back to the conversation. “Look, let’s talk about this later, okay? And don’t move to Nepal or something before we get a chance.”
Sara smiled, her irritation replaced by genuine affection for the sister that had driven her crazy the second she learned to talk, yet somehow had remained her best friend.
“I promise to stay put for the time being.”
“Good enough,” Jennifer said, “And until I get the real story I’ll just tell Mom you joined a commune and are committed to a life of making goat cheese and never shaving your legs.”
Sara shook her head and let that image sink in. “Where do you get this stuff?”
It was the first time Sara had felt happy in a while, but by the time she’d replied, Jennifer was already gone.
She spent the morning cleaning the main room of the cabin and rubbing restoration wax into the brown leather couch that was in surprisingly good shape. All of the furniture was salvageable with some elbow grease, and most of it had its own charm, but she’d discovered that the bathroom was her favorite part of the cabin. Beams of sunlight that streamed through the picture window warmed wide plank oak floors, and an antique cast iron tub with claw feet sat just to the left of the window frame. It was white, with copper faucets, softened by a few worn places and chips in the enamel. A large mirror set into an old portrait frame occupied the opposite wall, and the same copper faucets sat above a white pedestal sink. There was no shower, but the idea of having to relax in a bath whether she liked it or not had started to grow on her. In Savannah, she was always either coming from or going to work in a rush; lounging around in a bathtub had been the last thing on her mind.
Later that day, Sara took her truck into town and loaded it up with cleaning products, lawn tools, and kitchen supplies. She’d managed to fit her chef’s knives into her truck when she left Savannah, a custom Wusthof collection wrapped in black leather, but she’d given away everything else except basic cutlery. Now, looking back, Sara wondered what she’d been thinking. Even if she wasn’t cooking for a living, she genuinely enjoyed it, and maybe now she’d have some time to experiment with some different ingredients. The Savannah food scene was all about seafood, which she enjoyed, but she’d been missing classic southern food, and getting to explore that again was an exciting thought.
After she had most of what she needed, she looked around for somewhere to have lunch, but the options were limited; nonexistent, actually. McCall had a decent population for a mountain town, plus a boost in numbers once the camp season started, and it seemed likely a diner or luncheonette would do well here. But apparently not; there wasn’t even a single fast food restaurant for a quick bite.
Odd, Sara thought. Where do people eat?
She didn’t have a chance to look further before something at the community docks caught her attention as she drove by. A ski boat glimmered in the late afternoon sun, and a for-sale sign was taped to the front windshield. Sara parked and walked down the hill that separated the town from the water. The boat looked to be in good shape; it was white with a glittery blue stripe down the side that said Ski Nautique.
“You in the market for a new boat?” An older man wearing a faded Hawaiian shirt and ball cap walked up the dock from a boat slip halfway down the dock.
“No, sir,” Sara said, with a glance at the white leather interior. “I have no idea how to drive a boat, so I figure the residents of McCall might be safer if I stick to driving.”
The man chuckled and pulled a pack of cigarettes from hi
s shirt pocket. “Well,” he said, lighting the tip with a brass zippo lighter, “You may be surprised to hear this, but most people don’t know how to drive a boat until they decide to learn.”
Sara smiled, declining the cigarette he offered her from the pack. “How long have you been driving one of these things?”
He looked out over the water and seemed to consider that for a moment, then turned back to Sara.
“Truth is, I bought my first boat when they banned smoking in restaurants, so not all that long ago in the big scheme of things.” He grinned, flicking ash over the edge of the dock. “My wife had already outlawed cigarettes at the house, so I’d been smoking at McCall’s diner until they had to ban them there too. Eventually I figured the only place I’d get some peace is the middle of the lake.”
Sara watched the fading sunlight glint off the sparkly trim down the side of the boat. How hard could driving a boat be? It’s not like there was anything to crash into in the middle of a lake.
“Here,” he said, handing her a sheet of paper from a storage box under the seats. “This has all the stats on it, so take your time and look it up online. I think you’ll find it’s listed well below current value.”
He closed the storage box and held out his hand. “I’m Bart Riley, and you can usually find me at the docks. If you’re interested, just let me know. I’ll be happy to take you out for a spin.”
“Sara Brighton,” she said, as she shook his hand. “And I just may take you up on that.”
Bart headed back down the dock with a tip of his cap, and Sara took a last look at the boat, gleaming in the setting sun. Her restaurant had been located on coveted downtown Savannah property, and between selling that land and the insurance settlement, she could afford it easily, even if she decided to buy real estate later.
This would literally give my sister a heart attack, she thought, giving it a last look before she walked back up the docks to her truck. And I need all the entertainment I can get.
By noon the next day, Sara held the title and keys to her new boat, and Mr. Riley had taken her for a spin around the lake and explained the basics of how to drive and pull the boat safely up to the docks. He also showed her where to gas up at the marina, which turned out to be exactly like filling up a car, so she was confident she could do that, if nothing else.
They pulled back up to the community docks in the early afternoon, and Bart offered Sara the wheel. She took his place in the driver’s seat and patted the floor with her foot.
“Wait…where are the brakes?” Sara said, shading her eyes with her hand and peering down past the control panel. Mr. Riley didn’t try to hide his amusement.
“Are you sure you don’t want to take a stab at driving while you have me with you?”
Sara had opted just to watch as he gave her the basics earlier. There was one wheel, and a single throttle that, when pushed forward, propelled the boat in that direction, and when eased back, moved the boat smoothly into reverse. It wasn’t exactly complicated. If she could find the brakes.
“There are no brakes on a boat, which is what makes parking it somewhat tricky,” he said. He switched places with her, turned the engine off, and put his hand on the throttle to demonstrate.
“You just have to ease it in real gentle and create some current in the opposite direction by shifting into reverse to slow down or stop.” Sara nodded, and he reached for his cigarettes as he stepped back onto the dock. He lit one, shielding it from the breeze with his hand, and took a long draw before nodding in the direction of her cabin.
“You have a boat slip at the Parker cabin or are you pulling in dockside?”
Sara had no idea. The closest she’d gotten to the dock was to sit on the back deck with a beer last night and watch the sun sink into the water behind it.
“Dockside.”
“Good,” he said, “That’s easier to start with until you get the feel of things.” He started to hand the keys back to her, then hesitated. “Want me to pull her out of the slip and get you going in the right direction?”
Sara nodded. That seemed like a good idea; better to get into the middle of the lake before she tried anything too complicated. Like reversing out of a dock slip six inches from someone else’s pristine boat.
Bart pulled them out of the slip in one smooth motion, spinning the nose out to face the open water. He shook Sara’s hand and jumped from the back seat of the boat back onto the dock.
“It was nice to meet you, Miss Sara,” he said, tipping his fishing hat in her direction. “You let me know if you have any problems with her.”
Sara waved goodbye and leaned into the throttle, accelerating smoothly into the open water in the direction of the sun.
Sara drove the perimeter of the lake for hours, feeling somewhat like a fifties movie starlet with a new convertible and a long white scarf blowing in the breeze behind her. She wasn’t, of course, but the J. Crew navy shorts and white polo shirt she wore was more her style anyway. This time, she stood behind the wheel as she drove so she could get a better look at the lake shore. The water was a still, deep blue, and a perfect frame for the million dollar lake homes just beyond it. She hadn’t realized it until she was able to see it from the lake, but there was a marked difference between the north side of the lake, the side her cabin was on, and the shoreline in every other direction.
She’d done some research on the area when she’d finally slipped into her sleeping bag the night before. When she was a kid at Camp Yorktown Bay on the east edge, the lake had seemed vast, endless, a world of its own. It turns out that wasn’t far from the truth. According to Google, Payette Lake was a 5,330-acre expanse of clean, glacial water at an elevation of about 5,000 feet in the forests of Idaho. When Sara looked at the map, she realized Ponderosa State Park, which was listed as a thousand acres of natural wilderness and mountain terrain, bordered the north side of the lake. It had to be privately owned up to the edges of the park, but there was at least a 150-acre stretch of buildable lakefront property there that was undisturbed. Now, as Sara glided by in the boat, she saw one house, a beautiful three-story log cabin with a single dock that looked out over the lake, which probably belonged to whomever owned that stretch of land. It was rustic, different from the rest of the north shore lake houses, each with hydraulic boatlifts on the dock to hoist the ski boats up and out of the water. This cabin was expansive but simple, built of honey colored logs above sandy beaches and a private cove where the clear water lapped gently against the sand. She made a mental note to get an appraiser out to her cabin to see what kind of value it had; if Mary had been serious about wanting to sell, she was open to buying it, especially after she’d seen how close it was to the state park acreage.
Sara was starting to get hungry, and knew from the angle of the sun it was time to start heading back. It had to be after four o’clock, and she still needed to park her boat at the cabin dock and walk the mile back into town to get her truck. She turned the boat back towards town and waved to the wake boarders that passed her on the left, heading in the opposite direction. The loud country music that followed them as their boat sped away reminded Sara she may have a radio as well, and she bent down to check out the control panel for a dial. Her boat suddenly tipped to the right, and then violently back, throwing Sara headfirst into the controls, then shoulder first onto the floor as she landed under the wheel.
Her head flashed with pain and she slowly turned to lay on her back under the steering wheel, trying to determine if she’d broken any bones. There was blood coming from what had to be a gash in her forehead, and she found she could move her shoulder without the telltale sharp pain that would have indicated a more serious injury, so she tried to stand and find something to stop the bleeding. The boat continued to rock from side to side but with lessening force, although the motion had started to make her feel sick. She felt the wound gingerly with her fingertips. She must have cut her forehead on the control panel when the boat tipped her into it, but fortunately, that seemed
to be the worst of it. Her shoulder was sore, and when she looked under the sleeve there was a nasty purple bruise starting to form, but there didn’t seem to be any injuries beyond that. She stood, holding the side of the boat to keep her balance, half expecting to see another vessel sinking quickly beside hers, with an enormous hole in the side she’d put there with the nose of her boat.
But there was nothing. Just a vast expanse of sunlit, shimmering water and the ski boat she’d just seen disappearing in the distance. Blood dripped down her forehead and onto her shirt as Sara looked around for a first aid kit, making herself dizzier in the process. The flow seemed to be lessening as she checked out the wound in the rearview mirror; the actual cut was surprisingly small compared to the amount of blood it was putting out. Either there was no first aid kit or Sara couldn’t find it, but either way, she decided at that point that it made more sense to just head back to the cabin and bandage it there.
She turned the key and pushed the throttle forward slowly, but as soon as the boat started, it sputtered and died. Waves lapped quietly at the sides of the boat as Sara turned the key over again, to no avail. She remembered suddenly when she reached for her cellphone that she’d left it in her truck to avoid getting it wet. She looked around her at the empty lake. How could she have wrecked her boat and injured herself with absolutely nothing else around her?
That takes a special talent, Brighton, she thought, as she sank back into the captain’s chair.
The sun was sparkling onto the ripples of the water, which seemed to be deserted except for her boat, drifting aimlessly in the middle of the lake. Blood was still dripping down her temple; clearly she needed to get a better look at the cut, whether she felt like it or not. Sara raked her blonde hair back into a bun with the elastic she kept on her wrist, and tilted the rearview mirror closer to her. She looked at her cut carefully. She knew enough from a decade of working with knives that the cut wasn’t going to close enough to stop the bleeding unless she applied some pressure, so she stripped her T-shirt off and held it against her head.
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