Meet Me By The Dock

Chapter 31

I take a sip of my soda and stare out at the view. I'm standing on Eleanor Davenport's wooden deck that overlooks the lake.

I wish I brought a sweatshirt, the breeze flows through my dress, sending a chill up my arms.

It was hot when we were walking up the Davenport's driveway but their backyard is hidden in high pine trees.

Our side of the lake is mostly sunny with a few Oak trees here and there. But on this side of the lake the land is covered in pine trees that are taller than houses.

Which when you think about it, is a serious safety concern, but nobody really cares.

It's much more secluded here and it feels like you're at your own private lake. My mom ran off when we arrived to socialize and hang out with some of her friends. I don't mind, I'm glad she's making friends, she seems happier. And seeing her happier makes me happier.

My thoughts are interrupted by a kind female voice, "hi, you're Lilah Grace, right?" I turn and am met with a tan woman about my mothers age— maybe older. She's wearing jeans and a white t-shirt, much more appropriately dressed for the weather.

"Yes, I'm her." She sticks out her hand and I shake it.

"I was just talking to your mother," she gives me a sad smile and shakes her head slowly. My heart sputters to a stop and my blood runs cold, "I'm so sorry for your loss, sweetie you're holding up so well..."

I can't hear anything else she said over the ringing in my ears. I swallow down the sudden nausea that rolls through me.

How could she know? Why does she know? I thought we weren't telling anyone. Why did she tell her? We don't even know her.

I slowly set down my red plastic cup on the banister of the deck, she's now rubbing my arm. My hearing is still muffled but I think I catch things like 'moving on' and 'rainbow bridge'. Once I see her pause and smile at me with pure pity shining in her eyes,, I mutter, "thank you."

I turn away from her without saying anything else. Everything seems to be moving in slow motion. I have to find my mom. I have to ask her what's going on, why she's suddenly telling the random woman about our history —no, about dad— dad isn't history. He's now. He feels like he'll always be now.

Suddenly, a younger woman intercepts me. She has sharp green eyes and thin black hair. She's maybe in her early 20's. She sips her drink, looks like it has alcohol in it, and pulls me in for a long hug. I'm so shocked, I freeze up.

Before I can pull away, she does. She looks me dead in the eyes and furrows her brows sadly. She then says, "I'm so sorry about your dad, if my dad died I wouldn't be partying like you, you're holding up way better than I could."

It takes my brain a few seconds to catch up to what she just said. Partying? She thought I was just running around and partying? She didn't know me. She didn't know the countless hours I spent curled up in a ball next to my bed, digging my fists into my skull trying to make all of my thoughts go away. She didn't know anything about me, my brain told me rationally.

But her words still stung and my vision began to blur. I blinked the tears away and mumbled, "thanks."

I have to get out of here.

I bee lined to the back door, trying to swallow down the lump in my throat and cool my racing heart. I think I'm going to throw up. I weave through the people in the kitchen, careful to duck my head so they can't see my flushed face and failing smile.

Once I make it out the front door I stop on the patio. I take three huge gulps of air and fish my phone from the pockets in my dress. I quickly text my mom: