Chapter 4 - After Susan Died, I Stopped Coming to the Lake
Susan died on March 4.
At home.
Emily beside her.
Me holding her left hand.
She was sixty-one.
Three months later, I tried spending one night at the cabin.
I lasted:
forty minutes.
Her gardening gloves were hanging beside the back door.
Blue ceramic bowl on the table.
One paperback open face-down beside the bed because Susan had been incapable of using bookmarks properly for thirty-seven years.
I sat in her chair.
Then left.
For almost a year, I barely came back.
Emily and Mark did.
I gave them the keypad code.
Then a physical key.
Then told them:
“Use it.”
They opened the cabin.
Maintained:
lawn,
dock,
plumbing.
Paid small bills and sent me receipts.
Sometimes.
Other times Mark said:
“Don’t worry about it.”
Ron started coming more often because Mark wanted help.
I knew.
I allowed it.
That first summer after Susan died, Emily asked:
“Do you still want this place?”
I answered:
“Not right now.”
She said:
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
Then I made another mistake.
“If you and Mark want to treat it like yours for a while, go ahead.”
I meant:
use it.
Live in it.
Keep it from feeling abandoned.
Emily apparently heard:
transition.
Mark heard:
transition.
Ron eventually heard:
ownership coming.
Language matters.
May you like
Especially when property is involved.
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