house on the lake

When the two of them started spending weekends at the quiet Wisconsin lake, they were young and had little money. Her relatives let them use a tiny cottage in a wooded hollow, a mile or so from the water.
He worked odd hours, so often they wouldn't get there until after midnight on a friday. But if the mosquitoes weren't out, they'd go for a moonlight swim, then rest with their backs against a tree and drank wine and talked about their future.
His parents were not around anymore. Divorced a long time ago, they only gave him money, but he was deprived of the most wonderful thing on earth, love. He spent most of his time doing things alone. Not until his sophomore year when he met her. She probably wasn't the most beautiful girl in the university but she was nevertheless charming enough to make heads turn whenever she walks into the lecture hall. She breathed in a new life to him, as someone who was always there to help and hold his hands when he needed emotional support.
One summer the young man bought an old motorboat. They'd ride along the shoreline, looking at the houses and wondering what it would be like to have a place on the water. He'd just shake his head; these houses were just too expensive and cost more than he could afford. Even if he could, he would land himself in such heavy debt with a meagre income.
Years passed. They had kids. After a while, they didn't go to the little cottage as often. Finally her relatives sold the place.
The Lady Luck was smiling on him. He got lucky in his work, making more money than he ever dreamed they'd have. Remembering those weekends, they went back and bought a cedar house on the water. The place was surrounded by huge old oak trees, coupled with spruce, and the land sloped gently down the shore. It was perfect. No words could express his feelings.
They hadn't known summers could be that good. In the mornings, he'd go fishing before it was light. She'd sleep until the birds woke her. Then he'd make breakfast, toast and jelly and sometimes they ate omelettes on the deck.
They got to know the chipmunks, the squirrels and a woodpecker who took over the biggest tree. They got to know the grocer, the butcher who smoked his own bacon, the farmer who sold them vine-ripened tomatoes.
The best part of their day was dusk. She loved sunsets. They'd always stop to watch the sun go down, changing the colour of the lake from hues of blue to purple, to silver and to black. One evening, he made up a small poem:
The sun rolls down,
Like a golden tear,
Another day,
Another day,
Gone.
She told him it was sad, but that she liked it. What she didn't like was October, even with the beautiful colours and evenings in front of the fire place. She was a summer person. The cold wind wasn't her friend.
In November, they would store the boat, take down the hammock and lock everything tight and drive back to the city. She'd always sigh as the left.
Finally spring would come, and when they knew the ice on the lake was gone, they'd be back. She'd throw open the doors and wondows and let in the fresh air. The she'd go out and greet the chipmunks and the woodpeckers.
Every summer seemed better than the last. The sunsets seemed more spectacular. And more precious. They held hand, with fingers intertwined, his thumb caressing the smooth skin of her hand, her head against his shoulders, while whispering the beauty of nature that played in front of their eyes. She liked it when they both held hands, for they had been doing so since they were teenagers in love.
Then one weekend, he went alone to close the place down for the winter.
He worked quickly trying not to let himself think that this particular chair had been her favourite, that the hammock had been her Christmas gift to him, that the house on the lake was his gift to her.
He didn't work quickly enough though and he was still there at the sunset. It was a great burst of orange, the kind she loved best.
He tried but he couldn't watch it alone. And definitely not through tears. So he turned his back on it, went inside, drew the draperies, locked the doors and drove away.
Later there would be a 'for sale' sign out front. Maybe a couple who loved to quietly watch sunsets together would like it. He hoped so.

jen lye Jan '05