“You became one,” I said gently.
She flinched.
“I’m not saying that to be cruel.”
“I know.”
“Pop noticed who came when there wasn’t a holiday. He noticed who called in February. He noticed who washed the windows and checked the pipes and sat with him when there was nothing pretty to post.”
Her face tightened, but she did not argue.
“I thought he loved you more,” she said.
“No,” I said. “He trusted me differently.”
The distinction hung between us.
She wiped her cheek. “That might be worse.”
“Maybe.”
Brett honked once, not impatiently, just reminding her the engine was still running.
Eden stepped back.
“I don’t know how to fix this.”
“The bill?”
She gave a bitter little laugh. “That too.”
I looked at the flattened grass, the packed trucks, the cabin that still stood behind me with Pop’s porch light glowing over the steps.
“You can start by asking next time,” I said.
She nodded, but she did not apologize.
Not then.
It took nearly a month.
For four weeks, we did not speak. The lake moved into summer without her. I worked my shifts, paid the property tax installment, sanded the porch rail, and replaced a warped dock board that had been bothering me since May. Colleen brought blueberry muffins and pretended she was not checking on me. Rob at the hardware store asked only once whether the “wedding tent situation” had calmed down, then wisely never mentioned it again.
On the Fourth of July, I sat on the dock alone while fireworks cracked over the far side of the lake. The cabin windows glowed behind me. Pop’s old radio played softly through the screen door. I felt the ache of memory then. Eden and I as kids with sparklers. Pop yelling not to run near the water. Grandma bringing out watermelon slices on a chipped blue plate.
Saying no had protected me.
It had not made me untouched.
That is the part people forget. Boundaries can be right and still hurt.
Eden called the next morning.
I let it ring twice before answering.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey.”
Her voice sounded smaller than usual.
“I’ve been thinking,” she said.
I waited.
“I shouldn’t have told Maren you approved it.”
“No.”