Chapter 9 - The Cove at Raystown
July arrived in the Alleghenies like an embrace of deep pine and blue water.
Raystown Lake was a thirty-mile ribbon of crystal-clear mountain water snaking through the forested ridges of Huntingdon County, far removed from the commercial neon, the crowded asphalt strip malls, and the seventy-dollar parking passes of Myrtle Beach.
The timber cabin sat fifty feet above a secluded, rocky cove, surrounded by towering hemlocks that whispered in the mountain breeze. A wide screened-in porch ran the entire length of the second floor, furnished with weathered cedar rocking chairs and a hammock that swayed gently above the needles.
It was Thursday afternoon.
The air smelled of sweet pine sap, sun-warmed shale, and the faint, fragrant smoke of seasoned hickory from our outdoor fire pit.
Down on the wooden dock, Nate was kneeling on a foam pad, holding a miniature red fishing pole rigged with a rubber practice plug, demonstrating the casting motion to Megan, who sat securely between his shins wearing an oversized neon-yellow life vest that made her look like a cheerful bumblebee.
She was sixteen months old now, walking with a fierce, wobbly determination that carried her into every mud puddle within fifty yards.
"Now watch the wrist, Meggie," Nate's deep voice floated up the slope through the trees, rich with laughter. "You don't throw it like a baseball. You let the rod do the work. Press the button... and release!"
The plastic plug splashed into the green water three feet from the dock.
Megan erupted into a wild, delighted squeal, her chubby arms flapping against the buoyant foam of her vest, her tiny teeth flashing in the mountain sun as she slapped Nate's knee with both palms.
"Fish!" she shouted, her newest and favorite word. "Fish, Daddy! Big fish!"
Nate threw his head back and laughed—a loud, booming, unburdened sound that echoed across the empty cove and scattered a flock of cedar waxwings from the birch trees.
I sat on the edge of the dock, my bare feet trailing in the cool mountain water, holding a sketchbook and a cup of cold lemonade.
My phone was inside the cabin, sitting on the pine kitchen table, powered off and locked in my travel bag.
It had been off for six days.
I didn't know what was happening in Harrisburg. I didn't know if Tara had passed her probationary period at the dental clinic. I didn't know if Evelyn had found someone else at the Camp Hill country club to listen to her grievances about ungrateful daughters.
For the first time in my adult life, the silence wasn't a punishment.
It was an estate.
A vast, sovereign territory where nobody was allowed to enter without showing basic human decency at the gate.
Nate reeled the plastic plug back in, clicked the bail shut, and scooped Megan up onto his shoulder, walking up the wooden ramp toward where I sat on the warm boards. He dropped down beside me, letting his feet dangle into the water, his arm wrapping around my waist, pulling me into his side.
"You think she'll remember the lake?" Nate asked softly, kissing the side of my neck, his stubble rough against my skin.
Megan was busy investigating my sketchbook, her sticky fingers leaving a faint smudge of peach juice across the margin of a drawing of the cabin.
"She won't remember the trees," I said, leaning my head against his broad shoulder, watching the sunlight fracture into a million gold diamonds across the ripples of the cove. "She won't remember the dock, or the life vest, or the rubber fish."
"Then what is she going to remember, Kim?"
I reached out, taking my daughter’s small, sun-warmed hand in mine, tracing the tiny knuckles that had never had to fight for space at our table.
"She’s going to remember that she was never an afterthought," I said. "She’s going to remember what it feels like to be the only person in the room."
Megan looked up from the paper, her wide, hazel eyes catching the blue of the mountain sky, and pressed her cold, peach-scented cheek against my forearm with a long, contented sigh.
May you like
"Mama," she murmured.
"I’m right here, baby," I whispered back, pulling her into my lap, wrapping my arms around the yellow vest, holding my whole world against my heart while the sun sank behind the ridges. "I’m not going anywhere."
