Susan Wiggs - Dockside at Willow Lake

“Good plan. That’ll get you far.”

“I’m just saying.” She sulked a little. “So is your family, like, going to kill you for disappearing?”

Probably. “You don’t need to worry about that.”

“They were all, like, ‘it’s time we talked about your future, son,’ weren’t they?” she persisted. “I bet that’s what they like to do when they take you to the club.” Switching gears, she moved on. “What are your sisters’ names?”

“Ellen and Joyce.”

“And your brother is Philip. He looks a lot older than you.”

“He is. He’s got a wife and kid but they stayed in the city this weekend.”

“You’re an uncle, then,” she said. “Uncle Greg.”

She switched gears yet again with another nosy question. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

He wanted to tell her it was none of her business, but he didn’t. Just the thought of Sophie chafed at an old wound. He and Sophie Lindstrom had met in Econ 101 last September and he’d been a total goner. From her Nordic beauty to her prowess at Scrabble to her startling hunger in bed, she had fascinated and mesmerized him.

“She took a semester abroad,” he told Nina.

“Ha. That means she dumped you.”

She was annoyingly perceptive, he’d give her that. “Where to?” he asked, determined to drop the subject of Sophie.

“Just let me off at the corner of Maple and Vine. And you don’t have to do this, you know. I’ve lived here all my life. I know my way around.”

“If you’re so smart, you wouldn’t be sneaking around with guys who are too old for you.”

“Screw you,” she said.

He decided not to react, since he knew that was exactly what she wanted. Mercifully, she didn’t try to provoke him again, but turned her attention out the window. The road outlined the lakeshore, and it was mostly dark, an unspoiled wilderness. They passed an occasional cottage or cabin with lights winking, but the dwellings were sparse. Most of the lakeshore was a protected wilderness, and no further development would be permitted. The few places along the shore had gone in prior to the 1932 protection agreement.

They drove by the Inn at Willow Lake, somewhat shabby but popular with tourists because of its idyllic location. A quaint roadside sign marked the entrance, and Nina turned her head to stare at it as they passed.

Greg sensed her sinking mood. He wasn’t sure how, but he could feel it dragging at him, pulling all the air out of the car. And he felt responsible for her, in a way, as though he ought to process this with her. “Listen, I probably shouldn’t say anything—”

“Then don’t.”

“—but I’m going to, anyway. There’s no reason for you to be running around with guys who only want one thing from you.”

“Oh, God. I am so not listening to this.”

She was trapped, though. A captive audience. He eased up on the accelerator. “I don’t pretend to know anything about you, but guys like that, well, they’re not real complicated.” In fact, they were all exactly the same, letting a certain male appendage do all their thinking for them. Greg was well aware of this. There was something about women that seemed to suck the brain cells dry, turning a guy into a hopeless life-support system for an erection. And a girl like Nina—well, certain parts of him didn’t care about her age.

Trying to explain all this to her would be futile. There was no way he could tell her these things without sounding completely stupid. Besides, it was hypocritical. Because the only difference between him and the West Point kid was that Greg knew how old she was.

Still, he felt as though he should say something. Because one of these days, she was going to … He didn’t let himself finish the thought.

“So anyway, it’s plain old common sense,” he told her. “You’re better off hanging around people your own age.”

She snapped, “Right. Because boys my age are such delightful company.”

He had no answer for that. Greg had kids that age in his counseling group at Kioga this year, and he certainly couldn’t vouch for their social appeal. “You’re one of them,” he pointed out. “You’re in the same peer group.”

“Yeah, lucky me.” She turned to stare out the window, her party dress pulled over her drawn-up knees. Then he realized her tough-girl demeanor had crumpled. He heard a tragic sniffle, saw her hand sneak up to surreptitiously wipe a tear.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” he said.

“So is that some sort of a bonus, or what?”

There were few things more daunting to Greg than a crying girl. It was with some relief that he pulled over at the corner of Maple and Vine, went around and held the door for her. She sat unmoving, her arms still looped around her knees. A car trolled past. In one of the houses behind him, a porch light switched on.

He felt a surge of panic. This might look bad, Nina Romano getting out of his car. He quickly turned and went to pull her bicycle from the trunk. She got out, but seemed to be in no hurry to go home.

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