Learning at 40 (Lakeside Cottage Book 2)

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Learning at 40 (Lakeside Cottage Book 2) Page 2

by L. B. Dunbar


  “Nothing,” I say through gritted teeth, catching Mason holding his hand below his zipper and cupping upward. Spinning back to my boys, I see Trevor mimic Mason’s motion, and then he state, “I have cojones.”

  “Oh God,” I mutter while Anna quietly snickers. Facing her, I find her smile is weak while the sound is enough of a reminder that my friend needs to laugh. Maybe not at dick and ball antics, but it’s good to see some kind of grin curl her lips. “Okay. No more talk of cojones and no showing the neighbor your pecker.”

  “I didn’t show her my pecker. I had to pee,” Oliver reminds me.

  “Can I show her my cojones?” Trevor asks, dropping his voice to sound rough and gangster.

  “No, and just for adding this word to your vocabulary, Uncle Mason wants to take you two to the beach.”

  Mason chuckles before coming forward to clap me hard on my shoulder blade. “Okay, little guys, let’s take our big cojones to the beach.” Mason passes me, and my boys break into cheers while racing to the car for their bags.

  “I’m sorry about that,” I say to Anna as my shoulders fall in defeat.

  “Well, if anyone is going to teach them about big cojones, it’s Uncle Mason.” Her comment breaks us both into laughter, and I open my arms once again to bring her in for a hug.

  This time, I think I’m the one who needs it.

  + + +

  The trip to the beach is chaos. Clothing changes. Beach towels. Snacks. Water bottles. Another bathroom check.

  “Please tell me one of those coolers has beer,” I mumble to Mason as we descend toward the sand.

  “Locked and loaded, stressed daddy,” Mason teases. One hundred and fifty wooden stairs take us down the cliff to the shore with a small deck landing in the middle to view the grand lake before us. I’m hoping all the steps will deplete some of my boys’ energy. It’s wishful thinking, at least.

  A set of Adirondack chairs stand in a circle on the beach, and I’m instantly reminded of the last time I sat here among my friends, along with Ben. We were celebrating baby Ben’s birth while watching Ben’s sons play football and my sons run around like the little crazy beasts they are. I shake off the sadness and offer Anna a small smile when she catches me staring at an empty chair.

  “Beer?” I offer, stepping over to the cooler in desperate need of refreshment.

  “No thanks,” she mutters, gazing out at my boys playing on the edge of the water. Her daughter, Mila, entertains them. Being eleven, she’s crossed over the line and considers the twins too young to be playmates. Instead, she shows interest in them like a babysitter might.

  “They grow so fast,” Anna states, still watching the three interact. Her sons are not home yet today. Calvin is seventeen and inherited Ben’s old truck. Bryce turned fifteen and is off with friends for the day. The boys seemed to have adjusted well enough to the sudden move their parents decided to make while they were in high school. What’s difficult to judge is how they are handling the death of their father at such vulnerable ages.

  Mason takes a seat and automatically hands Anna an open beer even though she declined my offer. Blindly, she accepts it and takes a drink of the summer shandy. I tip up a brow at Mason, who just shakes his head at me. Don’t ask.

  “There they are,” he calls out instead, and I twist in my chair to see Logan carrying three bags and something long under his arm. Autumn follows with baby Ben in a carrier strapped to her chest.

  “Lorna. Come here, beautiful,” I address Logan’s daughter, who runs to give me a quick sideways hug before running off for Mila. The two girls are technically cousins now but also best friends despite a one-year age gap. I greet Autumn next, pressing a kiss to her cheek and then one to her son’s head.

  “I think he’s finally asleep,” she whispers. Her voice is strained from the effort of walking down all those stairs with an additional ten pounds attached to her. Gingerly, she lowers herself into a chair.

  “I forgot how much shit babies need,” Logan huffs, not so gracefully dropping all the bags onto the sand and bending for the cooler immediately.

  “It’s not shit,” Autumn argues, pressing a kiss to the head of her sleeping babe.

  “You’re right. It’s crap,” Logan mocks, stepping over to his wife and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Want me to set up that tent thingy?”

  “Not yet,” she sighs. “But I’d kill for one of those.” She nods longingly at the beer in his hand.

  “I’ll drink one for you,” he teases.

  “You aren’t drinking?” I question and feel like an idiot when Autumn simply replies, “Nursing.”

  “Oh yes, let’s discuss breasts,” Mason teases before lifting his beer and taking a long pull.

  “As opposed to cojones?” I joke.

  “Why are cojones in opposition to breasts?” Logan questions, and Mason shakes his head.

  “Don’t ask,” I retort. “But might I suggest when your boy grows older, you keep Uncle Mason away from him when he’s six, seven, or any age where body parts are a fascination.”

  “We’re men. All body parts fascinate us,” Mason jests.

  “Please let us talk about something other than body parts,” I beg, tipping my head back in my seat. “Tell me more about the neighbor.”

  It isn’t the smoothest transition, but I’m curious. Who exactly is River? Is she the golden-haired goddess who hasn’t left my thoughts for weeks since I saw her the night of Ben’s funeral?

  “Speaking of body parts.” Mason salaciously grins and wiggles his eyebrows.

  Fuck. My hackles instantly rise, asking a question where I fear the answer. “Do you have knowledge of her body parts?”

  “Oh my gosh, must we discuss Mason’s sex life? Innocent ears here,” Autumn jokes, covering baby Ben’s ears.

  “He isn’t interested in sex yet, just boobs,” Mason replies.

  Logan chokes on a swallow of beer. “Those would be my wife’s boobs you’re referencing, and they are not up for discussion.”

  “Easy, baby daddy.” Mason holds up both hands. “I just mean River has a nice rack.”

  Anna scrunches her face while Autumn shakes her head in disgust. Mentioning her rack reminds me of her outlined form, standing in the dim light of her darkened yard. She might as well have been naked that night.

  “Did you bang her?” I crudely ask, my voice rough for some reason. My hand clenches tighter around the beer bottle in my hand. I’ll strangle him if he touched her.

  And I have no idea where the possessive thoughts come from.

  “Fuck no. She’s not my type,” Mason gruffly answers, holding his head still as he narrows his eyes at me.

  “You have a type?” Logan jests. Anna stands without a sound and begins walking down the beach. Shit.

  “Should someone follow her?” I question, suddenly feeling bad about discussing sex, even if it is just Mason’s lifestyle. Silently, he watches Anna stalk away.

  “She’s going to do this from time to time,” Autumn answers. “She’ll need to break away from the chaos to process her emotions.”

  “Is it too much that we’re here?” I ask, loosening the grip on my beer bottle while checking on my boys, who are torturing Mila and Lorna in the water.

  “She wants you all here, but it’s also difficult.” Autumn’s statement makes sense. Still, I’m worried about my friend.

  “Should we have stayed someplace else?”

  “Definitely not,” Autumn reiterates. “This is what Ben wanted. She knows this, and it’s good for her.”

  I hear what Autumn’s saying, but I take another glance down the beach at Anna’s retreating back.

  “She’ll be okay,” Autumn offers. It’s a lie. We might never be okay. We’ll all be different, but especially Anna.

  “So. River?” Mason interjects, attempting to discuss anything other than Ben and Anna. “Wonder if she’s getting laid in your old room.” Mason wiggles his brows at me.

  “You really are an ass somet
imes,” Logan huffs, taking a pull of his beer. I appreciate he’s offended on my behalf. I hadn’t thought about it before, but with Mason mentioning it, I’m curious now. Has she been in my childhood bedroom? Has she fucked someone all over the house? The thought both sickens me and excites me for some reason, and I realize I need to get laid. Since my divorce, I haven’t branched out like my colleagues have encouraged. Maybe I’ll find someone random on this trip and allow myself a one-night stand. Then again, the last time I had one of those, I ended up with a wife and twins.

  “Is she married?” I don’t want her to be, which isn’t really fair. My eyes wander up the cliff in the general direction of the house where I once lived. Is she in the yard now? Unless she stood on the stairs belonging to her property, there’s no way to see her.

  “Why? You interested?” Mason arches a brow at me.

  “Just curious,” I mutter before taking a hardy sip of my beer. My eyes are still drawn up the cliff, wondering, wondering, wondering.

  “Well, you know what they say about curiosity and cats?”

  Please don’t let him say it killed cats because talking about death isn’t appropriate right now. I briefly close my eyes as Mason’s mischievous voice warns us his wisdom will be anything but politically correct.

  “It can lead you to some pretty kitty, and that’s a direct body part reference.” Mason huffs, proud of his analogy as he points at me around the bottleneck of his beer.

  “You’re so inappropriate.” Autumn chuckles.

  “That’s what kitties like best about me.” Mason wiggles his brows once more.

  As Mason continues to be inappropriately appropriate, I can’t remember the last time I saw a kitty, and my thoughts race back to River. What does she look like underneath that sheer dress? What would her skin feel like under my hands? What color are those eyes that looked up at me in the dark?

  Yeah, I was definitely curious about her—kitty and all.

  2

  [Zack]

  That night, Mason prepares dinner, which shocks the shit out of Logan and me.

  “You can cook? Since when?” Logan questions.

  “Since always,” Mason mutters.

  Dinner passes in chaos as it does when the number of kids almost outnumbers the adults present. Once the dishes are done and my sons put to bed, we gather around the sitting area off the kitchen. The difficult memory of Ben telling us about his illness returns, and then I recall sitting here on the day of his funeral.

  My head turns in the direction of the house next door. Nothing can be seen of the structure through the sliver of the window beside the fireplace. The sun setting across the lake casts a glittery glow over the tall shrubbery, blocking out any view of the other yard from this level. I don’t need to see the house to know what it looks like, though. Until I was a teenager, I lived there, so the layout is burned into my memory. It was nothing remarkable compared to this cottage—which is more like a sprawling mansion on the cliff. Our house was rather modest, just a two-story Cape Cod big enough for a family of four with a yard full of history.

  “So, I have something for everyone,” Autumn announces, startling even her husband. He rubs a hand up her back and cups her neck. She’s finally baby free as mini-Ben is in his car seat sleeping.

  “Before Ben passed away, he gave me an envelope for each of you.”

  “Jesus,” Mason hisses.

  Anna closes her eyes. “How did I not know about this?”

  Now I’m the one surprised. Anna and Ben shared everything with each other.

  “He explained to me the four points needed to be recalibrated every year.” Four Points is the name of our collaboration. We originally had the concept when we were young, full of hope and shit, and probably drunk. As an architect, Logan would design homes while Mason would build them. Ben would decorate the outside with his landscaping genius, and I would keep us out of legal trouble. Last summer, Mason reminded us of that college-aged conversation, and after some apprehension, we signed on together to fulfill our lost dream. We’re a little shaky in our first year, but we have promise. I like the direction we’re going in.

  “So, he left an envelope for north.” Autumn stands and holds up an envelope.

  “Ben was our North,” Mason hisses, glaring at Autumn.

  “What?” Anna asks, staring up at her sister-in-law expectantly.

  “The house is True North, leading everyone home. That’s how Ben saw this place.” Autumn pauses to hold the envelope higher. “This one will go to Archer.”

  Archer?

  “My brother?” Anna snaps. He wasn’t a part of our group. A few years older than us, he had his own circle of friends, which included my brother for a long time until Archer slipped off the radar. Anna’s face crumples in both hurt and disgust. “I don’t even know where he is.”

  “Ben did, and I’ll take care of it,” Autumn states and the surprise on Anna’s face is like someone just smacked her.

  “How?” she asks of her husband’s sister.

  “Ben had an email address for him.”

  Anna closes her eyes, anger heating her cheeks, hinting at the fact she didn’t have access to that address. I hate this for my friend but assume Ben had his reasons for why Anna couldn’t have her brother’s contact information. Autumn sadly smiles before turning to Mason.

  “Technically, you lived north in Ben’s compass, but he’s calling you West.” Autumn hands Mason another envelope. Her smile slowly widens as she adds, “The place where the sun sets.”

  Leaning toward me, she hands me an envelope. “East.” I live outside Detroit, and this makes sense. “The place where the sun rises.” Autumn winks at me.

  “And South.” She gives the final envelope to Logan. “Ben had this complicated explanation about the sun culminating in the south, explaining how it reaches a climax—”

  “Climax?” Mason snorts.

  “It reaches a high point or pinnacle,” Autumn corrects, scowling at Mason before looking back at Logan. “He believed you’d reached it.” She blushes before softly adding, “With me.”

  Logan gives her a long, accepting look before taking the envelope offered to him. His voice is a whisper as he says, “Definitely, sweetheart.”

  Autumn continues, “Ben suggested you open them on your own time but during these two weeks. In fact, he hoped that whatever you find on the page inside will begin during these two weeks. You have a year to fulfill his suggestion, which gives you until next summer when you meet back here. You can share your letters with each other, but he thought it best to make it a personal challenge.”

  Mason huffs and rolls his eyes. “A personal challenge.”

  “There isn’t one for me,” Anna remarks, staring at the envelope remaining in Autumn’s hand while the rest of us avoid looking at the parchment Autumn holds. “Archer isn’t here,” Anna reiterates, her tone curt, her eyes searching her sister-in-law for some explanation.

  “I think Ben hoped he might be.”

  A heavy silence fills the room.

  Abruptly, Anna stands, visibly upset that there isn’t a letter for her. “I’m going to bed.”

  Perhaps it’s better that there isn’t one for her. Anna has a long road ahead of her. She doesn’t need Ben sending her haunting messages from the grave.

  “Well, what the fuck,” Mason announces, hastily opening his and pulling out a notecard roughly the size of the envelope itself. He reads what’s written, then flips it over and flips it back. With the quick flick, I notice only a line of words and not an in-depth letter. Mason quickly stands, muttering under his breath. “Bastard.”

  A barroom just off the kitchen doubles as an exit from the back of the house. Mason grabs a bottle from the counter and forces the back door open. It slams when it retracts. He makes his way across the patio and toward the steps leading to the beach.

  “Now I’m worried.” Logan chuckles. His eyes meet mine as we sit perpendicular to one another on the couches arranged at a ninety-degr
ee angle.

  “Rock, paper, scissors,” Logan teases.

  “I don’t know that I’m ready,” I admit, staring at my own white envelope.

  “It can’t be that bad, right?” Logan says, although concern fills his voice.

  “You don’t have to share, as I said. As Ben said. Whatever he wrote is for you alone and to provoke thought.” Autumn hesitates, uncertain herself. “Or maybe cause action. Maybe both.”

  I nod in acceptance, then turn to gaze out the window and notice Mason has gone down the stairs. “I think I’ll go check on him.”

  I won’t need to grab a bottle from the bar. I’ll simply share with Mason as I did last year when I told him about my cheating wife and my plans to divorce Jeanine. Mason was surprisingly supportive. He got me drunk.

  Descending the stairs, I quickly spot Mason sitting in a chair on the beach. It’s a wonder these things haven’t ever been stolen. However, they are solid, and you’d need to be strong to hike them away. That’s one thing I love about this area. People are rather trusting compared to where I live. The suburbs of Detroit aren’t nearly as bad as downtown, but you acquire a level of caution working in a large metropolis that you don’t need in a sleepy beach town.

  “You okay?” I ask, falling into a chair next to Mason as a sliver of the descending sunlight reflects across the lake. I’m not relaxed enough to enjoy it quite yet, but it is beautiful, peaceful even. Unfortunately, this letter business from Ben has put people on edge.

  “I will be,” Mason mutters, tilting his head back on the chair and closing his eyes. He tips up the bottle of tequila, reminding me of all kinds of trouble from last summer.

  “Going for the hard stuff on the first night? That bad, huh?”

  “What’s yours say?” Mason huffs. Lifting his head, he nods at me while ignoring my question.

  “I didn’t open it yet.”

  “Coward.” He’s teasing me, but he isn’t wrong. I don’t know what Ben could possibly say to me that he didn’t say while he was still alive. We discussed business and fatherhood. My divorce and his marriage. We even talked about my boys and how lost I felt with them. Ben wasn’t the type to hold back. If he had something to say, he said it, especially at the end when he willingly told everyone how much he loved them. And I was never strong enough to say the words in return.

 

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