I gathered Sadie’s library books and made sure she had on shoes. We swapped out books and made our way back to the cabin to prep our picnic lunch. She thought we were going to the park like usual, but I had a surprise in store for her. We bundled up our food, and I packed a towel along with the picnic blanket. I drove her out to the falls that gave our town its name. It was a gorgeous area, and popular with the teens for parking on weekend nights. On a Thursday morning, though, it was bright and sunny and the spray from the waterfall gave rise to a little rainbow arcing above the falls that tumbled over rocks and roared like it was bigger than it was. Sadie clapped her hands and danced from foot to foot, thrilled with it. She helped me spread out our meal, but she could hardly take her eyes off the waterfall. After we ate, I rolled up my capris and she took off her shoes. We waded into the shallows down from the falls, not getting too close to the deeper, wilder water. The bite of chill in the water made Sadie squeal. I stood her right where I wanted her and snapped a pic and sent it to Max. Then we splashed back to the bank and stretched out in the sun. It was warm and wonderful, and I told her stories about coming here with my friends as a kid.
Max texted back, Don’t drown my kid.
I laughed, Oh crap, I forgot I had Sadie with me. I’ll go back and see if she’s still there. Then I sent a selfie of the two of us laying in the grass together, safe and sound.
Now I’m jealous, he answered, tell her to save me some lemonade.
I read it to Sadie, who posed with the empty pitcher making a silly face. I sent him the pic.
Heartless women, he replied, I’m stuck logging with sweaty men.
You were invited to join us, I texted back and then put my phone away. I wished for a minute he’d come charging up the hill and surprise us, swing Sadie up high in his arms, the sunlight perfect behind them. I sighed out loud, wistful for a moment. I had to remind myself sometimes that this was temporary. I loved Sadie the same way I loved Brenna—with a huge love that was protective and possessive and boundless. The idea of walking away from her and not being a daily part of her life once school started again was too painful to consider. So I pushed it aside and made it my business to make every day the best day possible.
Back at the cabin, we read some of her picture books from the library. I got her to read me a Biscuit book with a little extra help from me, and then when she could do it on her own, I videoed it for her dad. After some berries and yogurt for a snack, I put on Alice in Wonderland and we cuddled up on the couch together.
The next thing I knew, Max was kneeling beside me, his hand on my arm, “Rachel? Rachel? Do you have to get to the diner?”
“Hmm?” I mumbled, half asleep still. “I guess I took a nap. Sorry.”
“No, it’s fine. Do you have to go to the diner?”
“It’s Thursday, right?”
“Yeah, it’s Thursday.”
“No, I’m off tonight. I—ironically, thought I should catch up on my sleep,” I said, pushing myself up to a sitting position. I brushed Sadie’s sweaty hair back from her face where she napped against my arm.
“Then go back to sleep. I wouldn’t have bothered you if I knew you didn’t have to leave right away.”
He stood up, and I pushed my hair behind my ears, “No I should get going. I—didn’t mean to nod off there. Just, when she wakes up tell her I said bye and I’ll see her Monday, okay?”
“No. Not okay. You don’t need to rush off. Please—stay,” Max said.
And the way he said stay went right through me like a shiver then, as if he meant something else, something he wasn’t saying at all. I shook my head.
“No, I should go. You guys have your evening together. I’ll get some sleep, since I’m apparently wiped out.”
“I’m not having you drive down the mountain half-asleep. It’s not safe and there’s no guardrails.”
“I’m fine. I’ve lived here my whole life. I could drive this mountain fully asleep.”
“Rach, please,” he said, sounding half exasperated and half warm. The warmth in his voice seemed to kindle something in my chest and make me smile.
“I’ll get a drink of water, walk around, make sure I’m awake enough for you, then I’ll go,” I said, offering a compromise.
“I mean stay for dinner. We have big plans on Thursday nights—we make our own pizzas. But I warn you, my daughter thinks pineapple goes on pizza. I have no idea how to convince her it doesn’t.”