The Summer That Made Us. Robyn Carr
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dealers to see if any side tables, a dining table and chairs and such could be added to make the place special, and Charley approved of that idea. The existing wood furniture, dressers, end tables, etc., looked like they’d be okay after some cleaning and polishing but Melissa thought she could do better with a little effort and not much money.
Just seeing the place after it had been cleared of trash and cleaned made Charley feel good about being there. It was a functional and cozy house—wide-open from living room to kitchen. She’d arrange a sofa, love seat and two large chairs in front of the fireplace, something rarely used during summer visits. A large area rug would have to be bought to cover the wood floors. The wood kitchen table that could seat six—and with extra leaves opened up to seat ten—sat behind where the sofa would be placed. Beyond that was a breakfast bar and work counter fronting the spacious kitchen. There was also an island with a vegetable sink.
Really, the kitchen needed to be gutted and remodeled with new cabinets, sink, countertop and updated work island, but for now the existing cabinets would be fine. More extensive work could be done later, when the house wasn’t in use.
Melissa promised to have the cabinets cleaned, wiped down with lemon oil and in good repair for now and do the same with the bathroom cabinets and countertops.
“Are you sure you can get everything done, Melissa? I promised my sister we’d be here by June.”
“Four weeks isn’t even mid-May,” Melissa said. “I work with some remarkable subcontractors.”
“The porch furniture, Melissa. Make it nice. When the weather is good, which is most of the time, the best place to be is on the porch. The one thing Meg said she wanted was to sit on the porch on one of those sunny summer mornings and look at the fishermen out on the lake.”
“It’ll be resort quality,” she said. Melissa pursed her lips for control and her eyes got a little wet. “You’re such a good sister.”
“She would do this and more for me,” Charley said. “Four chaise lounges, a couple of chairs with ottomans—wicker, maybe, I don’t know. A couple of simple side tables. It’ll all be moved to the boathouse for winter. And pick a good quality screen material—we don’t want the bugs in but we want to see out.”
“Absolutely.”
“I hope you can do this,” Charley said.
“It will be my priority. I don’t have any other big jobs right now and I have help. Let me clarify—okay to text you as often as necessary as long as it’s during business hours?”
“Certainly. And thank you.”
“And I’ll take a look at the boathouse, if you like. You said it once served as a guest room?”
“Go ahead,” Charley said. “I doubt we’ll have need of it. If we have more than five people at one time, I’ll faint. In fact, I think it will be me and Meg, her husband on weekends, maybe a visit from my two guys, my son and his father. Otherwise...I’m not betting on anyone.”
“But you want the house ready in case?”
“I want it like it used to be,” Charley said.
“Are you leaving now?” Melissa asked.
“In an hour or so. I’m just going to look around a little.”
“You must have had such a wonderful childhood here,” Melissa said.
“Mostly,” Charley said.
* * *
The summers were mostly wonderful, even that last one, right up to the end. That summer, when Charley was sixteen, would turn seventeen in late July and was headed for her senior year in high school, she fell in love. She was tall, lithe, pretty, smart and brazen and he was twenty-two. She’d had boyfriends before, hadn’t missed a winter formal, prom or homecoming dance yet, but she’d never been in love before. Not like this. And with all the summer romances and flings she and Hope and even Krista and Meg had had, for Charley this one was special and a little forbidden. Hot and heavy. His name was Mack and he was so handsome her knees buckled when she looked at him. He was a graduate of the University of Minnesota and headed for Harvard Law School. So, she fudged a little bit and said she was eighteen and had just finished her freshman year at Berkeley and was home visiting her family for the summer. She threatened Hope, Krista and Meg with dire consequences if they sold her out.
It was Mack’s first summer working at the lodge. His father was a rich attorney in Minneapolis and wouldn’t even consider letting Mack lay around all summer waiting to go to school back East. He liked to talk about work being a virtue. Mack figured the best way to work and play was a job at the lodge.
The girls used to sneak across the lake to the lodge on hot summer nights when some of the waiters and waitresses had parties after they got off work. Charley would’ve braved the wrath of Louise every night, but the workforce didn’t play every night. The lodge employed a lot of local kids but about a dozen were from out of town and for them there were a couple of small dormitories—cabins with bunk beds and chests. They didn’t dare party on the lodge premises; they’d get canned. They went around the bend to a cove that was just right, just private enough, for a lot of messing around. They’d have a fire, and most of them drank a few beers. Someone usually managed to pilfer some snacks. They’d sit around and tell jokes, stories and probably lies. There was a lot of sneaking off behind the trees or bushes; there was a lot of making out in plain sight.
Charley picked out Mack right off the bat that summer. He told her about himself, his important dad, his plans to be a kick-ass prosecutor and put away all the bad guys. She told him of her plans to be a broadcast newscaster. She let him get to first base, to second base; she went to second base on him and then she found herself in over her head...
“Come on, Charley. I’m too old for these games. We gotta either do it or move on.”
“What games? This isn’t a game! I’m not exactly ready. I’m not on the pill or anything.”
“Why not?” he asked. “Man, you’re the first college girl I’ve ever met not on the pill!”
“I didn’t have a reason to be on the pill!”
“You didn’t have a boyfriend...ever?”
“I’ve had plenty of boyfriends, but never one who threatened to break up with me if I didn’t get birth control!”
“Seriously?” He laughed. Then he grabbed her and kissed her and said, “That’s sweet. But I’m too old for this. We have to get on with it.”
“I told you, I’m not ready...”
“Then let’s get ready,” he said, snuggling her to the ground and going after her mouth with his. “I have protection. I have a condom. Let’s just take our time, how about that?”
“I don’t know...” she said. But the truth was, she was getting turned on and she had begun to have fantasies. She thought about moving out to Boston while he attended Harvard, working while he went to school. She never thought about the fact that she was probably smart enough to get into Harvard herself. She’d killed the SAT; her grades were excellent, always had been. But instead she thought about being his forever girl, then his supportive wife. They’d both be very successful, be a power couple, maybe even have children someday. They’d live in a big rural house, commute to the city, go home to each other every night—a lifelong love affair. They’d have lots of friends, join a club, have parties, go to dances at the club, take trips together.
While she was busy thinking about how ideal their life would be, he was sliding off her shorts and pressing himself against her. He was whispering, Baby, baby, baby. He had his fingers on her, in her, and she was about ready to explode. She tried to ignore the fact that it was a little uncomfortable. He was a little clumsy. Or maybe she was; she was the one without experience, after all. So she snaked her hand down between their bodies to touch him as intimately as he was touching her.
She felt herself