Nice To Come Home To. Liz Flaherty

whoever had been in the cottage last had left an opened bag of breakfast blend in the pantry. “Your mother has been a port of calm for me ever since I met her.” She eyed her sister’s plate when Royce took two more slices of pizza. “At least until now. Can you really eat that much pizza?”

      “In a heartbeat.”

      A half hour and an entertaining conversation later, Cass was surprised to realize that she, too, could eat four pieces of pizza without so much as blinking an eye. “What do you say?” She got up from the table with a groan and put their plates into the dishwasher. “Want to take a walk along the lake? As I remember it, there’s a nice path. Or we can walk on the road.”

      Royce looked scandalized. “I don’t know if you’ve realized it, Sister Authority Figure, but it’s dark out there.”

      “I know.” Cass put on one of the hooded sweatshirts they’d hung inside the entry closet and tossed the other one to Royce—the evening air was cool. “That’s why I’m taking you along. I might need protection.”

      Royce was right about it being dark, but it seemed to be social hour on the lake’s narrow graveled roads. Not only were people walking and running, the bicycle and golf cart traffic rivaled that of the retirement community where Marynell had lived.

      Cass had thought she might recognize people and had dreaded it. She’d also looked forward to it. She’d love to explain to them why she’d left without saying goodbye. Why letters forwarded by her grandmother had gone unanswered. Why, when people had looked for her, she hadn’t responded. Why, in an electronic world that fascinated her, she remained anonymous.

      But she couldn’t even explain it to herself.

      “Where was the house where you lived with your grandparents that year you were here?” Royce interrupted her admittedly maudlin thoughts.

      “On the other side where the condos are. They sold it to a development company within a few years after I left. The lake has gotten a little more upscale than it was when I was in high school. We’ll drive around there tomorrow and see.” She pointed toward a large Craftsman house. “That’s Christensen’s Cove. Two of my friends lived there. Arlie’s dad, Dave, and Holly’s mom, Gianna, were married. They were some of the best people I’ve ever known.”

      When they reached the south end of the lake, Royce stared at the two estates that took up most of the frontage. “They look really out of place here,” she said finally. “It’s like a what’s-wrong-with-this-picture thing.”

      “It is. The one over there is where the Grangers lived. Chris and Gavin were always away at school, although they were here in the summer. I think their family owns the winery we drove past. What was it called?”

      “Sycamore Hill. We liked its sign, remember?”

      “That’s right. The other house is Llewellyn Hall. Everyone just called it the Hall or the Albatross. Jack Llewellyn was a senior when I lived here. He dated Arlie. His brother Tucker was in my class and he dated everyone, but he was such a nice guy you didn’t even mind it. Libby Worth—” she turned in a thoughtful half circle trying to get her bearings “—she was in my class, too. Her brother, Jesse, was a senior. They lived on the farm out by the winery. As a matter of fact, I think the winery used to be part of that farm.” She turned the rest of the way, heading back toward their cottage.

      Royce stayed in step with her. “Who else do you remember?”

      “Sam. We dated for a while.” The prom had been the last time they’d gone out. “His dad worked at Llewellyn Lures and his grandfather owned the hardware store. It was called Come On In. Sam had a bass voice you could lose yourself in. Gianna used to say he was Sam Elliott in training.”

      “The hardware store’s still there,” said Royce. “I saw it when we drove through tonight. It was just down the street from the bulk food store where we got the pie from the Amish bakery.”

      “We should probably get another one of those, since all that’s left of that is the pan,” said Cass drily. “Between that and the pizza, I’m still feeling fairly miserable, and we’ve been walking for at least a half hour.”

      “I’m walking. You keep starting and stopping. There’s a difference.” Royce gave her a sisterly elbow that felt better than Cass could have begun to explain. “Come on. Who else?”

      “Let me think. Nate Benteen. He was one of the best high school golfers in the country. He was so much fun! He and Holly kept us laughing all the time.”

      “Which one was your BFF, the one you’d have stayed in contact with forever and ever if you had any normal social skills?”

      “That was cold. And we didn’t say ‘BFF’ then,” Cass retorted. She walked a little farther, separating herself a few steps from Royce. Maybe her sister wouldn’t notice that her breathing had somehow gone awry or that the color had left her face—she’d felt the blood drain from her cheeks as soon as Royce asked the question.

      She would say she didn’t remember if her sister pushed her for an answer. Chemo brain hadn’t entirely left her, after all. Getting lost in the middle of a conversation was nothing new. Rather, it was exhaustingly old. So was being pale and washed-out and a mere tracing of who she’d once thought she was.

      “Cass, wait up.”

      She realized her pace had taken her away from Royce as if her intent was to leave her behind. “Hey.” She stopped. “Can’t keep up with the old lady?”

      “Y’know what?” Her sister caught up with her and tilted her head, waiting. Cass couldn’t look away from the blue-green eyes she knew were replicas of her own, a gift from their father.

      “No,” she said lightly. “What?”

      “You don’t have to answer me. I get that you’re the grown-up and I’m the kid. But don’t make things up or fluff things like those ‘alternative facts’ they talk about on television. If you don’t want to talk to me, just say so. I’ve been on my own most of my life, just like you. I can deal with it fine. I’ll see you back at the house.”

      Royce took off at a run Cass couldn’t have kept up with on her best day, so she didn’t try. She went down to the path that followed the curves of the lake and sat on a park bench. She thought of those friends she’d told Royce about. They’d been closer than anyone she’d met in all the years both before and since. Although there’d been much to grieve for in that time, she mourned nothing more than the empty space she’d created in herself when she left the lake without looking back.

      Cass closed her eyes, leaning her head back because suddenly it felt too heavy to hold up. With the scent and sound of the lake filling her senses, she remembered that year and gave herself permission to wallow in it.

      Her father had been in Iraq, her mother in a new state, job and marriage that didn’t allot room for a recalcitrant daughter. Her grandparents had been willing to keep her for the school year, but not one minute longer. She was sixteen when she arrived at the lake, five feet eight inches of long brown hair and attitude. Especially attitude.

      By the time she’d been there a week, improved posture had given her an additional inch and her hair had been streaked by the sun in a way she’d maintained until chemotherapy robbed her of it fifteen or so years later. She’d made more friends than she’d ever had at one time. She’d even been recruited for the high school volleyball team. “We suck,” Arlie had said complacently, “but we have so much fun.”

      And they had. She’d spent as many nights at her friends’ houses as she had in her grandparents’ cramped cottage. She’d never missed attending a football or basketball game and the volleyball team had managed—for the first time in a history the length of which they exaggerated when they talked about it—to garner a winning season. She’d asked Mr. Harrison, the high school principal, if there was a writers’ club in the school, expecting to be either ignored or forgotten. Instead, he’d said there wasn’t such an organization at