Meet Me By The Dock

Chapter 2

I knot my sneakers and braid back my hair. It's Saturday, which means I'm going to bike down to the farmers market and see if they have any fruit. Another tradition of The Lake House is my mom and I will make a bowl of fruit and yogurt so we can sit out back on the patio or put on a rom com and snuggle up on the couch. I tuck my stray blonde hairs behind my ears and head out the door.

My bike is leaning against the front of the house, I drag it down the steps and swing my leg over the seat. I'm about to push off when I look up and see a pick-up truck parked in front of the house next door. A pick-up truck? Call me crazy but I'm sure my elderly neighbors don't own a dark blue pick-up. As I'm about to start pedaling again, their front door slams and a boy with dark brown messy hair waltzes down the steps.

Okay, what?

He's in a turquoise t-shirt and gray swim trunks and walks with the confidence of someone who expects everyone to move out of his way. He looks about my age. He goes to the back of the truck and returns with a cardboard box under one arm. He runs his other hand through his mess of curls.

I didn't realize I was staring so indiscreetly until he glanced my way, I immediately flicked my gaze away and studied my handle bars like they were the most fascinating thing I had ever seen. When I felt it was safe, I snuck another look at him. He was still staring at me. No, smirking at me is a better way to describe it. I was about to shout over at him when he lowered his chin in a nod and walked back inside.

Again, what?

                                                                                              –

I pedaled at a relaxed pace down the street and around the corner to town, the sun shined down kissing my face. I weaved through chattering people on the busy sidewalk, girls carrying tote bags, men trying to fit a kayak out the front door of a shop. The town square, which was more of a circle if you ask me, was where they held the farmers market every Saturday. Since it was summer and this is a popular vacation spot the market was normally bustling.

I locked my bike onto the rack, and made my way through the people. The market never felt like it was choked with people, but more like I was surrounded by comforting acquaintances. I smiled and waved to the stand owners I knew from previous years and checked out a new homemade jewelry stand. There were some flashy earrings and huge necklaces but in the back corner of the table there was a small bin filled with leather strap bracelets.

"How much are these?" I asked the stand owner.

"$5 but they're not sellin' well, so you can have it for $2 if you'd like." She smiled at me and threw down the rags she was using to dry her hands. She talked with a light southern accent.

"Oh wow, thank you," I smiled back, "So, is this a new stand?" I asked her, trying to make conversation as I sifted through my bag for cash.

"Yeah, just set it up about a week ago," she explained, "I was nervous about opening a handmade jewelry shop in a place like this, but the people here are so hospitable." She hands me the bin of bracelets to look through once I handed her my $2.

I settled on one that was braided leather with a knot at the end. I tied it on my wrist and wished her goodbye. I wandered through the crowds aimlessly before I ran into the fresh produce stand. As I was examining the fruit, a voice asks, "Is that my Lilah?"

I look up and am greeted by a familiar face, "Hey Jasmine." I smile. I've known Jasmine since I was just a baby visiting the market with my parents. Everyone calls her Mrs. J but every time I tried she insisted I call her Jasmine. Nobody knows where she came from or how long she's been here, but everyone knows her. She's in her late 60s, her skin is a russet, reddish-brown. She had bangles up her arms and small gold hoops on both ears. She had a messy bun thrown on her head, now drooping to the side. She would always tell me I reminded her of the song Love Grows by Edison Lighthouse.

She ain't got no money

Her clothes are kinda funny

Her hair is kinda wild and free

Oh, but Love grows where my

Rosemary goes

And nobody knows like me...

She'll always hum it when I come by, sometimes she'll even play it, and it always makes me smile.

"What'll you have today?"

I smile, "Oranges."

"Of course." She grins.

It's almost a joke, her asking me what I'm having, it's always oranges. I can't explain it. They've always been my favorite fruit, and I will defend them with my life. I never trust people who like apple juice over orange juice. I hand her the exact change for the oranges, I pick out 8 from the bin and throw them in my tote bag.

The citrus smell coating my hands, I smile and tell her all about my school year, conveniently leaving out my dad.

I can't take anyone else's pity, or anyone else's "I'm so sorry you poor baby..." This year is supposed to be different, I already have enough apologies back home. And recently I've been feeling like a window pane that's already been shattered but refuses to crumble, so it just sits there split into a hundred pieces. Being held together by force of will but would completely fall apart at the slightest breeze.

I say my goodbyes to Jasmine and wrap up my walk around the market, because everything's already being folded up and put away. Must have gotten here late, I guess.

On my ride home I think back to the boy I saw in our neighbors yard. Maybe a grandson? If he was, why hadn't he come to the lake before? Maybe he had and I'd purposefully ignored him. He seems like the type I'd ignore. Cocky, sure of himself, has that fluffy hair that always makes you wonder how many hours they spend looking at themselves in the mirror. I mean, it was good hair. Nice. Probably soft.

Wait what.

No. No. No. No. I was just admiring his hair styling abilities, not his hair.

I pulled into my driveway and leaned my bike on the fence. I looked around for the boy again, maybe he left? Maybe he was just helping them move some stuff into their house. Yeah, that was probably all. I stared at the front window of their house. Maybe out of sheer force of will he would show himself.

Okay Lilah this is getting seriously creepy.

I shook my head and started up the steps.

One of their curtains slid closed.