Summer sizzles, p.22
Summer Sizzles, page 22
My aunt and uncle didn’t look like they were having nearly as much fun. They were facing away from us, toward the lake, when Will and I approached. Their heads were close together as if they were having an intimate conversation, but the tenseness in their backs and shoulders suggested the topic wasn’t a happy intimacy.
“Hey!” I called out in greeting, feeling as if we should announce our presence as early as possible.
They jumped apart, almost guiltily. “Good morning, Elizabeth, Will,” Delilah said. She had a wide mouth and a smile that normally lit up her face, but her expression looked a little pinched right now, with a tightness around her eyes.
It looked more than just being tired—and at her age, dealing with a baby must be exhausting. Were she and Uncle Jeremy having problems? I’d read about couples having another baby to patch up their failing relationship, and how it rarely worked out.
But she and Jeremy chatted with us as if nothing was wrong, and I dismissed my concerns. It wasn’t my business, and there was nothing I could do either way. Really, I was probably overthinking everything right now, between Will occupying my brain and the fact that I was supposed to be spending the summer deciding whether to change majors or not (regarding the latter, so far avoidance had been working well for me).
After I stretched my muscles with a swim, it was almost time for lunch, and this time, Will did grab my hand as we jogged up the path to the lawn. He smelled like healthy male sweat and lake water. I couldn’t keep the goofy grin off my face as I showered and dressed, but at least I managed to tone it down before we all gathered on the patio for roast beef and horseradish on rye with pasta salad and fruit salad, and blondie bars for dessert.
It was going to be a great summer.
The cook and housekeeper were given a day off every week. Sometimes the cook left us a cold meal of veggie pasta salad and grilled chicken or something like that; sometimes my father grilled steaks outside, with potatoes in foil and a tossed salad; and sometimes a few of us were volunteered to pull something together.
This week it was our turn—meaning those of us in high school or college—and it meant we’d had to plan ahead so the cook could ensure we had the necessary ingredients. I usually volunteered to do the dishes instead, but because Will would be in the kitchen, by God, so would I.
In fact, Will had taken over. He’d been the one to plan the menu: lasagna (both meat and vegetarian, and one with béchamel instead of red sauce), Caesar salad, garlic bread, and brownies.
Despite its size, the kitchen always felt homey to me. Gleaming white subway tile with dark grout covered the lower half of the walls, and the floor was still the original hexagonal white tiles with a dark green border. Under the windows set into the long wall was an enormous, deep stainless steel sink and drain board. In the center of the room was a massive island, the butcher block sanded and resealed at the end of each year to minimize the nicks from a summer’s worth of sharp knives, and above that was a huge wrought-iron pot rack, from which also hung dried herbs and fragrant garlic. There was a walk-in fridge/freezer, an eight-burner gas stove plus a griddle, lots of cabinets, and a pantry.
Right now the lower part of the windows were steamy thanks to the two huge metal pots of red sauce and one of béchamel bubbling on the stove. I kept dipping hunks of fresh sourdough bread into the red sauce. It was so good that it took everything I had to not repeatedly burn my mouth because I didn’t have the patience to wait for the sauce to cool. Sweet tomatoes, basil and oregano, and a ton of the aforementioned garlic—I knew, because I’d minced about a million cloves of it.
I’d been on dish duty enough times to know where things were stored, but Will moved around the kitchen as if he owned it. He’d disappear into the pantry and emerge with armfuls of ingredients and bowls, pull the right spoons from drawers, and I half-expected him to start juggling knives like a chef at a Japanese restaurant.
Cathy and Ed had claimed my old dishwashing job and fled, so it was Mac, Will, Cortland, Vanessa, and I. Vanessa sat at the island, mixing brownie batter, and Mac and Cortland were browning the beef and onions. Me, I held a big bowl for Will to ease the noodles into after he’d pulled them from the boiling water with tongs. Behind me on this end of the island were several large pans, waiting to be layered with tasty ingredients.
He didn’t have to look up any recipes; he had them in his head. “These are easy ones,” he said. “The only difference is that I’m not used to cooking for quite this many people. Had to do a bit of math on the amounts of ingredients, but Ms. LeFebvre helped with that.”
“Ms. LeFebvre?”
He glanced at me, and his mouth tightened for a moment, as if in disapproval. “Your cook?”
“Oh! Chef Ef. When Cathy was little, she had trouble pronouncing her name, so Chef Ef suggested the nickname. It’s been so long, I’d forgotten her real name.”
His expression smoothed out. “That’s cute,” he said. “So she’s been with you a long time?”
I wondered about his reaction, but let it go as I thought back. “I was eleven or twelve when she came, I think. One cook left, and then we had one for only one summer, and then Chef Ef since then.”
He pursed his lips as if he was about to say something, but then he shook his head once and focused on stirring the noodles gently with a slotted spoon. Then he said, “You remember them all. That’s nice.”
I shrugged, shaking the bowl a little to get the noodles to settle. “The regulars, yeah. If someone’s here only for a season, that’s one thing. But when someone’s been around for a while…” I snorted. “Sometimes I get to know them better than I know some of my second cousins thrice removed.”
“What’s my middle name?” Mac joked.
“Granny Smith,” I said, because of the whole apple-naming thing in his branch of the family.
“Mr. Competitive,” Will said.
“Annoying As Fuck,” Cortland said. To Vanessa, he added, “He’s my younger brother. They’re all annoying as fuck.”
“Younger sisters, too,” she said. “They’re always stealing your clothes.”
“Solidarity,” I said.
“Your older sister would have something to say here,” Vanessa said, and I rolled my eyes, laughing.
“My younger brother has never stolen my clothes,” Will said.
“That’s because he has good taste,” Mac said.
Will lobbed a faded red oven mitt at Mac’s head.
I didn’t have an issue with what Will was wearing: a plain grey T-shirt that fit him nicely, black cotton shorts, deck shoes, and one of Chef Ef’s white aprons. I’d been trying not to spend too much time contemplating the dusting of hair on his forearms, or the dexterity of his fingers as he sprinkled herbs into the sauce, or the way his black hair rumpled when he ran his hand through it.
“Seriously, either you’re really good at faking this, or you know what you’re doing,” I said as he eased more noodles into my bowl.
“I never fake anything, and I do know what I’m doing.” He flashed a grin that made my knees go weak. “I’ve been learning from my mom since I was big enough to climb up on a stool and stir things. My brothers and sister, too.”
“She sounds like a smart lady,” I said.
“She is,” Will said, and I heard affection in his voice, but he didn’t elaborate.
I started to ask where his mom learned to cook, but Mac said, “Meat’s done. What now?”
“Drain the fat and then dump the beef in one of the red sauces,” Will said. “We’ll let it simmer all together for about ten minutes while the rest of the noodles cook. Can someone slice the zucchini for the veggie lasagna, please? Li—Elizabeth, could you grab the ricotta and shredded mozzarella from the fridge? Oh, the parmesan, too.”
When I brought him the cheeses, he huffed through his nose. “Damn, someone put the ricotta on the shelf closest to the freezer.”
“Good lord, how do you know that?” I asked.
He ran a spoon through it. “See how it’s got some icy chunks in it and it’s watery at the top? It’s too cold on that shelf—things start to freeze.”
I had no idea. He must’ve been spending more time in here with Chef Ef than I realized. Although when he had time, I couldn’t imagine. Didn’t he sleep?
Then Mac couldn’t find the colander to drain the beef, and we started an assembly line to make the lasagnas, so it wasn’t until everyone else, tired and sweaty, had fled the kitchen that Will said, “Elizabeth Sloane, you make an excellent sous-chef. You’re welcome to assist in my kitchen anytime.”
I put my hands together and sketched a bow. “Will Madigan, I look forward to learning more at the feet of the master.”
It was only partially true. I still didn’t enjoy cooking. But maybe I could get some private lessons from him.
The next weeks went by like all summer weeks should: slow and lazy, with the biggest decisions being whether to get out the badminton racquets or just boot the volleyball back and forth, or whether to re-read Harry Potter or try the new Nora Roberts.
Mac and Will, being friends, spent most of their time together, but as often as not it was the three of us, since Cortland obviously wanted to spend time with his wife. I saw a lot of Will, but didn’t get to spend a lot of time alone with him, which was frustrating. I definitely had a crush on him, and when he looked at me, it was as if I was the only person in the room, or on the lawn, or wherever, so I was pretty sure he felt the same.
I liked his sense of humor, especially when we played Cards Against Humanity, possibly the rudest game in existence. I liked how he was always courteous to my family—by the end of the first week he’d broken down and was calling people “aunt” and “uncle,” but his tone was just as respectful. I liked how he’d play patiently with the younger kids, and throw the ball for someone’s golden retriever when even more family descended on us one weekend.
I just didn’t like how few chances we had to be alone together, especially after the fresh wave of family descended. The lodge had enough space that it didn’t feel crowded, but it wasn’t quite big enough to necessarily have a room to yourself if you weren’t in the bathroom, and although there were a fair number of bathrooms, hogging them because you needed private time was frowned upon.
To make matters worse, because of the fresh influx of bodies, the single menfolk were banished to the bunkhouse.
But we found our ways.
We shared our first kiss out on the lake. We’d taken kayaks out, just Will and I, after dinner. It had been an impossibly clear blue day, but a cool one, and everyone else was around the campfire or in the lodge, drinks in hand, games out. The sun was setting behind the trees, and the water was still as a mirror, only our paddles and kayaks disturbing the surface.
It was the first time I’d experienced silence all weekend, and it was blissful. I’d felt the beginnings of a migraine coming on, so I’d taken my meds and explained things to the crowd and then fled to the lake. My stomach flipped as if I’d rolled down the slope of the lawn when Will said he’d join me. I think he was a little overwhelmed by the sheer volume of Sloanes, and I didn’t blame him. We were a force to be reckoned with, and even I got peopled out by the end of the busiest weekends on the island.
I wanted to believe, though, that Will had joined me because he wanted to spend time alone with me.
We paddled in companionable silence, even dipping our oars gently as if not wanting to shatter the stillness. We were out far enough that I could just make out the house on the next island over, another private residence. I think the owner was a congresswoman.
I paused, letting my kayak drift as I tracked the course of a blue heron overhead. When I looked back down, Will had slid his kayak next to mine. He was watching me. My heart skipped, came back beating faster. He leaned, and I leaned, and we met in the middle.
His lips were soft and cool, but they warmed quickly. He tasted of mint from the ice cream we’d had for dessert. It was perfect, unhurried and exploring as we learned how we fit together. Everything in my world narrowed to the bubble that contained just us, the moment that slowed time to just this kiss. I felt as though I’d been waiting for it all my life.
However, you can’t fully concentrate on kissing when you’re balancing a kayak, so it didn’t last long. But it was oh, so sweet.
I smiled. He smiled back. We turned our kayaks and headed back to the dock, while a loon called mournfully behind us.
Even with the additional people that weekend, we managed to find a few more moments of private time. Due to some renovation before my time, one of the screened sleeping porches was only accessible through a closet. All that was out there was a bulky, white wicker sofa with flowered cushions. The sofa itself was too big to be maneuvered through the closet door, although the cushions obviously got stored during the winter; otherwise they would have gotten mildewed.
I’d nearly forgotten the room existed until I lay awake one night, scheming places to sneak off to with Will.
Will had me by the hand, and we both giggled as we pushed through the extra raincoats in the closet and stumbled through to the porch, our own secret Narnia.
He tasted like the Adirondack Brewery IPA we had cases of on the island—or maybe that was me, because I’d been drinking it, too. The grounds had been recently mowed, and the smell of fresh grass, a little damp from an earlier light rain, permeated the porch. I’d never thought of it as a sexy smell until now…and I had a feeling I always would from now on.
Will kissed as though he had all the time in the world, languid and deliberate, taking his time, exploring. And I met him, kiss for kiss, tongue for tongue, putting all the longing I had into the way our mouths touched and moved. He cupped my face in his warm, strong hands and I pressed against him, working my hands around to his back, splaying my fingers against the muscles that flexed there.
In some ways, we did have all the time in the world; the summer still stretched before us, weeks without responsibility or care. That afternoon, we probably could have necked for hours—I know I could have—but the dinner bell rang the ten-minute warning, and our absence at supper would be noted and frowned upon. We reluctantly drew apart, although we leaned in for another quick kiss, then another, and even as we stood up, we kept doing it, and giggling.
My giggle caught in my throat when I heard voices in the outer room, a parlor of bookcases crammed with books old and new, and overstuffed chairs and reading lamps. I glanced at Will, which was a mistake, because he was stifling his laughter, too, but I could see it in his blue eyes, and it almost set me off again.
We hadn’t been doing anything wrong, and I wasn’t ashamed, but it was the tone of the voices that gave me pause. Low and urgent, stressed. It was a conversation we shouldn’t be listening to, I knew that in my bones.
But we were trapped—the only way out was through the closet into the parlor. The closet door was closed, but it was louvered, so it didn’t really block sound.
A moment later I recognized the voices: Uncle Jeremy and Aunt Delilah.
“I agree that it’s not a good idea for her to come here,” Jeremy said. “Not until she stops fighting us. Maybe we shouldn’t have come—maybe we should go home—”
“The separation may be a good thing, though,” Delilah said, although she didn’t sound convinced of her own words. “The more space, the more time…she’ll have to come around and realize we’re right eventually.”
They had to be talking about Paula. I wondered if she’d screwed up the internship, or college entirely.
“I’m just worried that she’ll—” Jeremy began.
“Don’t even say it,” Delilah said firmly. “Look, we’ll give her a call the next time we’re off-island, see how she’s doing. She knows, deep down, that we love her, no matter what.”
“I hope so.” It was Jeremy’s turn to sound dubious.
“I have to get Fortune so we can get to dinner,” Delilah said. “It’ll be fine. She’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.”
I heard a quick kiss, and then two pairs of footsteps on the wooden floor, fading away.
That was weird. What was Uncle Jeremy worried Paula would do? Should I ask them about it, privately? Maybe I could reach out…?
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear any of that,” Will said, still pitching his voice low. “Not that I have a clue what they were talking about.”
“Good plan,” I said. “With a family as big as ours, it’s best to keep out of people’s business unless they ask for help. It gets messy otherwise.” I wasn’t ready to share my concerns with him. He didn’t know Paula, and as well as he was fitting in, he was still new here, not one of the family.
Although the summer was still young….
We pushed through the raincoats and into the parlor, made sure the coast was clear, then headed down the hallway. I ducked in the bathroom before going to the dining room, allowing Will to get to supper before me. My cheeks were flushed and my eyes were bright, and I wondered if anyone would be able to tell my lips were a little swollen.
I ran a finger over them. Everybody had secrets. This was our little secret, Will’s and mine. For as long as it needed to be.
Finding time—and space—continued to be the challenge. Strangely enough, it was the littles who sparked the idea for me. They wanted to camp outside one night, and Will and I ended up chaperoning them, all of us in a big tent on the lawn. We made s’mores over the fire, wrangled them all into sleeping bags, and after they’d all finally fallen asleep, Will and I held hands and kissed and whispered about everything and nothing.
We certainly weren’t going to do more than that with the littles sprawled all around us. And I liked talking to him almost as much as I liked kissing him, although that was starting to get a little frustrating.
The next day, I pulled him aside while a bunch of us were walking outside to whack a volleyball around, and said, “Meet me at midnight at the start of the running trail.”
