by Noir, Roxie
It’s nearly night, the whole cabin and deck and valley and mountain range different shades of blue, stars popping out of the sky above.
Daniel pushes himself up, pulls me down, gives me a long kiss on the lips.
“You enjoy the view?” he asks, a smile on his lips, and I laugh.
“Of course,” I say. “The view was great. Very satisfying.”
He rolls over, his head against my chest. I put a hand on his shoulder, and he takes it in his.
“Plus, I don’t have to see Officer Sherman now,” he teases. “That man really knows how to kill a mood.”
I just sigh dramatically.
“Hell, we don’t have to put on clothes all weekend if we don’t want to,” Daniel goes on. “I don’t even know why I brought them.”
“Because it’s better than putting sunscreen on your dick,” I say, and Daniel laughs.
“I’ve never had cause to sunscreen my dick before,” he muses. “It’s never even occurred to me.
“You’re welcome,” I tell him. “And don’t act like you didn’t enjoy everything that happened before Officer Sherman showed up, either.”
“Of course I enjoyed it,” he says. “I went to great lengths to make a version of it happen again, didn’t I?”
I laugh, fingers winding through his hair, my other hand in his. The ring sparkles, even in the night, and I think: we’re engaged.
“I have a question,” I say, my voice slow, lazy.
“Shoot.”
“Did you mean to propose?” I ask, still stroking his hair.
He twists, looks up at me.
“Of course I meant to,” he says, his eyes the color of the night sky, filled with stars.
I swirl his hair around one finger, the night breeze soft against my bare skin.
“That doesn’t mean I was planning on it, though,” he admits, and I laugh.
“You really booked this super-romantic cabin just so we could fuck outside,” I say as he sits up, offers me a hand, pulls me upright.
“I thought you’d like it,” he says, that rakish smile on his face.
“I did.”
He puts one hand on my face. I’m still flushed with heat and his fingers are cool, dry, slightly rough against my skin.
“The plan was to wait a couple months at least,” he says, thumb on my cheekbone. “The plan was to give you a little time, maybe start looking at houses together, have a couple discussions about marriage, figure out all the logistics, then ask you to marry me.”
“Nice plan,” I say.
“It was really well thought-out,” he says. “And then I ruined it by suddenly not wanting to wait.”
He takes a deep breath, leans his forehead against mine, and I close my eyes.
“I’d have waited,” I say.
“I know,” he says. “I’m the one who couldn’t.”
We kiss gently, tenderly.
“I love you,” he says. “And I have for a long time and I will for a longer time yet.”
“I love you back,” I say. “Long time, longer time.”
He kisses me again, and then we get up. We eat spaghetti and meatballs and we soak in the hot tub and we sleep in the same bed, Daniel’s arm thrown across my back.
When we wake up, we wake to the sun streaming through the bedroom window. We snuggle for a long time, saying nothing, just Daniel and me together, alone, the two of us.
And it’s perfect.
Epilogue
Daniel
One Month Later
“Do you think he’ll like it?” Rusty asks from the back seat. “At first I had unicorn stickers on it but I’m not sure Uncle Seth likes unicorns, so I put the shark stickers on it instead.”
I glance in the rearview mirror. She’s holding up a novelty cowboy hat, the words HAPPY BIRTHDAY emblazoned in gold on the front.
“I think he’ll definitely like it,” my mom says, reaching over and touching the hat. “Look at all those different sharks.”
“I also had a princess hat,” Rusty says, still contemplating.
“Seth’s not much for princesses,” my mom says, and in the passenger seat, I can see Charlie press her knuckles against her mouth and look out the window, probably before she says something inappropriate about my little brother.
“He’ll like the cowboy hat much better,” I say, loud enough that Rusty can hear me.
“More appropriate,” Charlie mutters, casting me a quick, conspiratorial glance.
“Ridden everything in town,” I agree sotto voce.
My mom gives me a look in the rear-view mirror, but I don’t think Rusty heard us.
She’s still chattering away as I pull into Eli’s driveway and park behind Seth’s mustang. Rusty’s the first one out, impatiently rattling the door handle against the child lock until I let her out, then racing up the stairs to Eli’s deck, already shouting for Seth. I watch her long enough to confirm that there are, indeed, responsible adults up there, and then I open the back and grab the cooler.
“Don’t jostle it too much, please,” my mom says. “It’s loaded very particularly, you know.”
“I would never intentionally harm a pie, mom,” I say. “You know that.”
I heave the cooler out of the back. Charlie comes around, gives me a quick once-over look, then grabs a few more things.
I flex a little harder and lift the cooler a little higher. She notices, but my mom’s there so she pretends she doesn’t and closes the lift gate after me.
“You can touch if you want,” I tell her the moment my mom’s out of earshot.
“The cooler?” she asks, blinking up at me in faux-innocence.
“C’mon, squeeze one,” I say, lifting the cooler a smidge higher. “No one’s looking.”
“Daniel, get your pies upstairs,” she says.
“I know you want to.”
“If they get jostled, it’s not gonna be on me.”
“Just a quick squeeze, I already caught you looking,” I say, grinning down at her.
Charlie sighs, glances over at the deck where Rusty is currently presenting Seth with a cowboy hat and Seth is acting very impressed.
“Fine,” she says, and slides her hand around my bicep.
I flex.
Charlie laughs but she also blushes, her cheeks going faintly pink under the freckles, and I wink at her.
“Told you,” I say.
“Ridiculous,” she says, and then we head up the stairs just in time to see Seth ever so carefully perch the hat on his head.
“That’s a real good look, pardner,” Silas says. He’s standing next to Seth. On Seth’s other side, his younger sister June rolls her eyes and drinks her beer.
Seth touches the brim of the slightly-too-small hat and ducks his head.
“Thank you kindly,” he says, his accent matching Seth’s.
Rusty’s grinning from ear to ear, and I duck inside to where my mom’s instructing me to relinquish the pies in the kitchen.
“Thank you,” she says, opening the cooler again. “Oh good, the new pie system worked. I was afraid the blueberry would get crushed on the bottom, but—” she holds up a pie, inspecting it, “—it’s right as rain.”
Outside, it already smells amazing. Eli and Violet have a very small but very adorable house on Deepwood Lake, and over the past year they’ve built a huge deck onto one side. It’s making its debut today at Seth’s birthday barbecue.
Because it’s Eli, there’s a whole cooking section on the deck. Two charcoal grills. A gas grill. Something that’s got a window in the front of it and somewhat resembles a bank vault. A turkey deep fryer, though that at least appears to be off right now.
Charlie walks up to me, a beer in each hand. I pick one, we clink our bottles together, and drink, wandering back over to the knot of my brothers and their friends.
“The monster’s name is Dave?” June’s asking Rusty.
“It’s short for David,” Rusty explains.
June has to bite her lip t
o keep from laughing.
“He’s only Dave to friends and family,” Levi says. “With everyone else he prefers Mr. Monster.”
I shoot Charlie a quick glance. Levi? Acting like a normal human in June’s presence?
May wonders never cease.
“Lake monsters are very formal, it’s true,” Seth says.
“Do you call him Dave or David?” June asks, and Rusty sighs, like she’s being very patient.
“I’ve never met him, I don’t call him anything,” she explains. “But his name is Deepwood Dave.”
“What’s he look like?” June asks. “Have you ever seen him? Does he surface often, and what does he do when he does? How does—”
“Let her answer,” Silas says. “You’re not at a press conference, you can ask one question at a time.”
“Sorry,” June says.
“Dave is blue and green and wavy for camouflage,” she says. “I’ve never seen him, but I’ve heard a lot about him, and he breathes water so he doesn’t need to surface very often. Plus, he’s crepuscular so he usually sleeps during the day.”
I stand a little taller at crepuscular, because that’s my kid.
“He’s what?” Silas says.
“It means that Dave is mostly active around twilight,” Levi says. “Like deer.”
“Ah,” says Silas, nodding solemnly.
“I brought my viewing equipment,” Rusty says, very seriously. “And I also brought my bathing suit, in case my dad decides I can go in the canoe?”
That last part’s directed at me as she looks over, lemonade in one hand, eyes big and pleading.
“We’ll see,” I say, and as soon as she looks away, Charlie nudges me in my ribs. I don’t love the idea of Rusty — small, delicate, fragile Rusty — going on the lake in a boat, but I also know I might be overprotective. Besides, she got her cast off last week and has been begging to go swimming.
“Is Dave a dangerous sort of monster?” June asks casually.
“Well, he’s got big teeth but they’re only for defense,” Rusty explains.
June frowns.
“From what?”
“Other monsters,” Rusty says, like it’s obvious.
“How many monsters are in Deep—”
“Eli!” Levi calls suddenly, and everyone turns.
“What?” Eli calls back from where he and Violet are leaning against the railing, laughing with my mom about something.
“Is that your dog?” Levi asks, nodding at the driveway.
“We don’t have a dog,” Violet calls, coming toward us.
Everyone on the deck turns, and sure enough, there’s a dog casually trotting up the driveway, between the cars.
“Does it belong to one of your neighbors?” Levi asks, brow furrowed.
“I don’t think so,” Eli says.
At the end of the driveway, the dog sits, looking up at us. It’s black and white, medium-sized, slightly shaggy. It’s got no tags, there are grass and sticks stuck in its fur, and as I take a step closer, I realize its paws are filthy.
“She’s hungry,” Levi says, and hands me his beer. Before I can react, he’s already down the stairs, carefully approaching the dog, crouching with one hand held out.
The dog sniffs his hand carefully. Suspiciously. Levi doesn’t move a muscle, letting it get all the information it wants while the rest of us watch from the deck.
“I hope it’s not rabid,” Violet mutters.
“If it was rabid, we’d know by now,” Eli says.
Then the dog licks him, its fluffy tail thumping on the grass, and Levi scratches gently behind one ear. When that goes well, he scratches behind the other. In a few seconds he’s got her head in both hands, scratching away, a look of total doggie bliss on her face.
“So basically, he’s Snow White,” June says, still standing on the porch. “Animals just seek him out to love him?”
“He’s only Snow White if the dog does his dishes,” Charlie says.
“That part always grossed me out,” June admits, still watching Levi and the dog.
Now he’s on his knees and the dog is going nuts, wagging her tail so excitedly that the back half of her body is moving from side to side.
“When the animals licked the plates and acted like they were clean?” I ask. “Yeah, that was gross.”
“It just made me want my own forest pets, so they’d do my chores for me,” Charlie admits.
“Yeah, same,” Silas says. “Who cares how the dishes get clean?”
“You’re gross,” June says, still watching Levi. “Animal spit isn’t clean.”
“It’s clean enough.”
On the ground, Levi’s still scratching the dog with one hand, the other holding one of her front paws while he frowns. Then he puts it down, stands, gives her another vigorous scratch, and comes back up the stairs to the deck.
“Eli,” he says. “Have you all got a first aid kit anywhere? She’s got a deep laceration on one paw and I’m afraid it might get infected.”
“Under the bathroom sink,” Eli says.
Levi nods and goes inside. Down below, the dog stands, alert.
Then, tentatively, she comes up the stairs to the deck. She sits on the top stair, and we all look at her uncertainly until June sighs, puts her beer down, and walks over.
“Hey, girl,” she says, kneeling a few feet away and holding out one hand, just like Levi did. “You were supposed to stay down there, you know.”
The dog licks her hand, and I can pretty much see June melt.
“Fine,” she says, offering ear scratches. “Fine, you can stay.”
The door opens, and Levi comes back out, first aid kit in hand, then stops. He slides the door shut behind himself, surveying the scene in front of him.
“She missed you,” June explains, now giving full two-handed dog scritches. “Do you need any help bandaging her up?”
* * *
An arm slides around my waist, and without looking, I drape mine around Charlie’s shoulder.
“She’s wearing a life vest, there’s an extra in the boat, she knows how to swim, and Caleb’s with her,” she says. “Rusty’s fine.”
I watch my daughter’s small form grow smaller as Caleb rows them further out onto the lake. He sees me watching and waves. Rusty waves, too, then puts her binoculars back to her face, methodically surveying the surface of the water.
The sun has already sunk behind the trees, casting the lake in shadow. Dave is crepuscular, after all.
“Does she think Dave is real?” I ask Charlie.
“I’m not sure,” Charlie says. “I think she wants Dave to be real, since it would be cool to see a lake monster.”
“They took flashlights, right?” I ask.
“I think so,” Charlie says. “Also, I’m pretty sure that Caleb could make a lantern out of an oar and a cellphone if he needed to.”
“An oar and a cellphone?”
“Shh, don’t question it,” she says, leaning into me.
I kiss the top of her head. We’re standing on the shore of the lake, below Eli and Violet’s house, on a narrow strip of mud that’s not really a boat launch, but that sometimes functions as such regardless.
“You know you’re doing a good job, right?” she says.
“Because she knows the word crepuscular?”
“I’m serious,” Charlie says, poking me in the side. “Rusty’s a great kid. She’s gonna kick a lot of ass.”
“She already is,” I say. “Specifically, mine. You sure you’re ready for this?”
“Bring it on,” she says. “I’m looking forward to officially being her stepmom.”
“Me too,” I say.
We still haven’t really started wedding planning, but last weekend we went on a grand tour of open houses in the Sprucevale area. We discussed master bedrooms, bathtubs, whether we want an open-plan kitchen. We debated carpet versus hardwood flooring. We argued over whether garages are extra space for hobbies and projects (Charlie) or a place
to put cars (me).
It’s all going to be a lot: buying a house, moving in together, her suddenly becoming a parent to a seven-year-old instead of just a cool aunt.
But it’s going to be good, because Charlie’s going to be there.
“Should we go back up?” she asks, still leaning against me. “They’re probably looking for us.”
“Let them look,” I say. “I like being alone with you.”
Charlie tilts her face up, so I lean down and kiss her. We move so she’s facing me, in my arms, and we kiss again, her arms around my neck, my hands on her back, and it’s good.
It’s better than good, these quiet moments where nothing matters but her and me. It’s nearly perfect.
We separate. I kiss her forehead, and she leans into my chest, face toward the lake. I know that soon, Caleb and Rusty will row back, that they’re going to light the candles on Seth’s birthday cake, that all the people gathered up above will sing to him in the warm Virginia night.
But that’s not now. Now is Charlie and me, standing here, getting our moments where we can steal them.
There will be more moments like this. There will be a house that’s half hers and half mine, where I rearrange the spices and she finds her phone in the cabinet with the mugs sometimes. There will be Rusty, growing up and getting older and someday leaving us. There might be more kids, a dog, some cats, maybe an iguana.
But always, there will be this, the two of us together, souls intertwined. An entanglement so deep it could never be undone.
“I think they’re heading back,” I say. We still haven’t moved. “Think she found Dave?”
“Probably not,” says Charlie. “I think she’d be more excited.”
She’s right. They didn’t. Caleb drags the boat onto the shore.
Rusty comes up to us, still embracing, and wraps her arms around our legs. I rub her back, lightly, and think: family is something you make out of love.
“I didn’t find Dave this time,” Rusty says, breaking the silence. “It’s okay. Let’s go get cake.”