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around the shoreline
and my heart ached at the sight. Streaks of crimson tinged the
sugar maples and the birches glimmered with hints of gold. Cedars
and pines stood a dependable dark green, holding everything
together in a solid embrace.
    I would rather die than leave.
    I dove into the cool clear waters of my
beloved lake and swam out into the remaining sunlight, now snipped
back into a single shining ribbon. In the water below me I could
see the flat striped shapes of sunfish sheltering in the last
slanting rays of light. Such silly little fish. Always so busy
flitting about, following the sun at any cost. I’d seen them caught
off the dock by a child of six, tossed back in and minutes later
caught again.
    Was I being just as foolish, to even think of
Nick’s offer? I knew it was full of hazards and complications. But
I’d already taken a tiny nibble. And though I couldn’t swallow it,
having tasted its sweetness, I couldn’t spit it out either. I was
hooked.
    I continued swimming with a lazy breast
stroke while Garou paced about up on the rock, yelping for me to
come back. When I rounded the rocky point I could see the lodge
again. Built of logs wrapped with verandahs and high dormer
windows, it presided over the scoop of bay with a weathered
rightness. My well-cared for lawns sloped down to the waterfront.
My wood-chip paths led from the beach, dock, and boathouse up to
the cabins nestled in the forest on either side, and to the wide
front steps and double doors of the main building.
    On the first floor, multi-paned windows faced
the lake, underlined with overflowing window boxes. I’d taken great
pleasure in planting those, combining marigolds, cherry-pink
petunias, trailing blue lobelia. Behind the lodge, at the edge of
the gravel parking lot, I also had a small vegetable garden I
tended for Odette. As I rested in the water, moving my limbs just
enough to keep afloat, I felt proud and satisfied with my work. I’d
never grown anything before coming here. I’d never cleaned a motor
before either, or repaired a pump or shingled a roof, but I’d
learned to do all that too.
    I wondered then who would buy Auberge Ciel if
I couldn’t. It was a very desirable property for an outfitter, but
the spot itself was so lovely it could just as easily be ruined by
a developer eager to convert the rustic charm into a swanky
resort/conference center. That would be as bad as letting the
hunting continue.
    Really, I thought as I swam back, I didn’t
have a choice. It was up to me to save Auberge Ciel. I simply had
to find the money to buy it.
    It was getting cold now that the sun had set,
and I hurried to my room upstairs in the main building. A small,
simple room, with sloping knotty pine walls, brown plaid curtains
and bedspread, I’d deliberately kept it uncluttered, neither
needing nor wanting possessions.
    Now however, as I pulled on jeans and my
warmest sweater, I began to worry about my limited wardrobe. In
high school I’d been well-dressed, thanks to the Wembles’
generosity. I’d reveled in being fashionable. Vain and shallow as
it was, I wondered what Nick would think of me now? For I’d made up
my mind that we would at least meet again.
    But what would I wear? I’d gotten over
worrying about my appearance years ago – Jay had never cared about
stuff like that. Nakedness would be his first choice, and if that
wasn’t possible, then jeans and T-shirts were all I needed. And
around the lodge I lived in the same old clothes all the time. The
work I did required it. But really, the sweater I’d just put on,
while perfectly, deliciously comfortable, looked terrible.
Stretched shapeless, the thick, navy-blue wool was pilled and
lint-covered.
    Still, I couldn’t throw that sweater out.
Vera Wemble had knit it for me, sending it for Christmas my first
year at the lodge. The accompanying note had read, “Keep warm way
up there in Quebec. God bless.” And Vera, profusely thanked for the
sweater, began to send more and