My parents even have a landline, because in the winter you can lose power for a few days at a time, and then the only way to call anyone is if you have a rotary dial phone.

“When’s the next time you’re discussing finishes with her?”

“We have to swing by this afternoon,” Dad says.

“Why don’t I come with? I need to stop in town and grab some office supplies anyway.”

“Sure, that’d be great.”

“Perfect. I’ve already looked over the project specs, so if you can fill me in on the budget and what all she still needs to choose design-wise, I can go in with a plan of attack.”

Two hours and a very practical conversation later, Lainey Bowman makes a decision on what flooring and cabinetry will work best with the existing design and will preserve the rustic quality of the room. She signs off on the materials and the cost, and I manage to do it all electronically, without even one piece of paper to file.

On the way out, I stop to talk to my dad, who’s already back to work on the pool-house project. “Want me to check Harry’s to see if they can order this stuff in, or go directly to your contacts in Chicago?”

My dad taps the side of his hard hat and sighs. “I don’t think Harry’s going to have any of this stuff, except maybe the paint, but you can give it a shot? I’d at least try to give him the business, but he’s usually only got the basic stock, not the real high-end stuff these folks are looking for.”

“Okay, I’ll pop in on the way through town.”

“Great. Thanks, Darlin’. You’re a real godsend.” He gives my shoulder a squeeze and goes back to measuring two-by-fours.

I hop into the “good” pickup truck, the one that’s used more for advertising than it is for hauling building supplies. Unlike the “work” trucks, the interior is clean, there are no coffee cups or wrappers littering the floor, and it smells like fresh pine with a hint of sawdust.

I pull out of the driveway and pass more mansion-style homes with long driveways, all either paved with formed concrete or interlocking stone. The garages are generally bigger than most of the houses on the south side of the lake. And every year another McMansion pops up on the north side, changing the landscape and edging the neighborhood out to the east and the west. The marina and downtown area stop them from swallowing up the townies completely.

It’s not that I don’t appreciate the money they bring in. Tourism is the reason our community stays afloat during the winter months, but I can’t pretend it didn’t burn my ass when those rich summer kids strung along my townie friends. Or how easy it was to fall into the trap of wanting something you could never have. Even I wasn’t immune. I only made the mistake once, and it was only one impulsive kiss, but I’ve never forgotten it—not the feel, the smell, or the bitter taste it left in my mouth when someone reminded me where my place was, which was nowhere near those rich kids.

When I was young, I believed that life was easier when you had money. And after moving to Chicago, I learned all about the grass on the other side being greener, and how wide the divide was between me and those who had more than average. Even in college there were cliques. They wore brand names and drove around in sweet cars I’d have to work a lifetime to afford. No matter where I was, or where I worked, there would always be a hierarchy that I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to get close to the top of. Back then, it was easier for people with everything to have more, and harder for those of us at the bottom to secure a place a few rungs up the ladder without being kicked back down. Being back here is a reminder of that.

I turn onto the main road and head into town. The first stop is Harry’s, on the off chance that he has everything I need, including the office supplies.

Harry greets me with crinkled eyes and a wide smile. “Well, if it isn’t wee Dillion Stitch. I heard you was back in town!”

Of course he has. That news must’ve spread like wildfire. It feels like a bitter pill I have to swallow every time I run into someone new. When I left, I was sure I’d never have to come back for more than a holiday visit. I force a smile, because it isn’t Harry’s fault I feel the way I do. “Sure am. How are things with you? Looks like it’s business as usual around here.”

He hoists up his pants by the suspenders and rocks back on his heels. “Doing better than ever, actually. Hired on some new summer help to keep up with things. Plus, my son got himself engaged to sweet little Miss Claire Bell. You remember her, don’t you?”

“Of course, I saw Claire the other day. Congratulations, that’s such exciting news.”

“Sure is. The missus is hoping they’re not gonna wait too long to start giving her grandbabies to look after. Anyway, Claire’s planning to help out around here, but she’s been busy with online classes and working at Tom’s Diner. Her sister works at the rental shop by the beach, but I’m sure you already know that. You and Allie were thick as thieves back when you were kids.”

“That we were.” I nod my agreement.

“Have you run into her since you’ve been back in town?”

“Not yet, but soon, I’m sure.” I don’t know how excited Allie will be, actually. In the years since I moved to Chicago, I allowed my friendships to languish, too busy with work and my new life to make time for them. At first there were phone calls and text messages, but over the years they got fewer and farther between until they were mostly happy-birthday GIFs or holiday wishes. And whenever I came back to town, I’d spend a few days with my family and Bee and leave again. Mostly it’s been work and sleep and not much else since I’ve been back in Pearl Lake.

I give Harry the list of things I need and am pleasantly surprised when he can fill almost everything on order. As expected, he can’t provide the flooring option, but he puts in a call to a distributor in Chicago and gets us his wholesale discount. I feel good about the fact that we get to support local, and we’re able to get a better deal on the flooring by taking advantage of Harry’s contacts.

“I heard Tommy’s working here now too. Is he around?”

“Sure is. He’s out back. If ya want, you can head back and talk to him directly about some of the supplies, see if we have what you need on hand or whether we’ll have to place an order. Or I can do it if you’re in a rush.”

“I can do it; thanks again, Harry. And I’m glad things are going so well.”

He tips his hat, gives me a wink, and then opens the door, ushering me into the lumberyard behind the store. I breathe in the fresh scent of cut wood. The sharp smell of cedar makes me smile. The scent lingers long after the construction phase is over, warm and sweet and comforting.

I spot Tommy at the back of the lot. He’s impossible to miss. His large, bulky frame has filled out and then some since I last saw him. Where his dad is tall and lean with a small paunch, Tommy is broad and thick, like he was built for swinging an ax. He was always a nice kid who got into a little trouble back in the day, but he never meant any harm.

I tuck my thumbs in my pockets and head for him. I’m less than fifteen feet away when I realize he’s talking to someone else. As I get closer, I realize it’s Bee’s grandson. Van.

Before I can do an about-face and tell Harry I’ll call the order in, Tommy’s gaze shifts my way and his face lights up like a winning slot machine. “Holy shit! Darlin’ Stitch! Claire told me you was back in town.” He makes a face and addresses Van. “Sorry ’bout my language.”