years ago. It’s a quaint little place nestled right on the sandy beach on the beautiful waters of Lake Erie. As soon as we arrive in the lobby, I feel my body relax. I’m ready to try to forget about all my problems and relax — after all, that’s what life on Pelee Island is all about.
This is most likely our last week together as a family and I’m going to try to have fun and make the most of it — as impossible as that might be. I owe it to the kids. I owe it to Gabe.
The girls are antsy, bouncing around the lobby like grasshoppers on a few cups of espresso. While Gabe settles our room details with Margaret, the friendly cheerful proprietor, I take in the space and the rustic earthy bohemian beach house décor. “Settle down, girls,” I whisper to Claire, whose high-pitched shrills are surely not appreciated. I run my hand along the edge of the coffee table, a gorgeous tree trunk, varnished and polished. I’m not sure what kind of tree it’s made from, but if I had the time, I could probably tell how old it is by counting the rings. There are so many natural textures in the space, I almost feel like I’m outdoors. Chloe grabs a seashell from the turquoise glass bowl. “Chloe, that’s a decoration,” I remind her. “We’re not supposed to touch.”
“It’s pretty” she says. “I bet I can find one on the beach.”
I smile. I’m sure those seashells were probably bought at some tacky gift store or Target or the like, but I’m not about to burst her bubble. “I’m sure you can.”
I stand up and walk about the space. My eye is drawn to the pretty prints on the wall, vintage inspired ink and washes of flowers and plants, the blues and yellows mixing beautifully.
I love this place.
Gabe kisses my cheek. “We’re all set. Ready to relax?”
I don’t bother replying or even nodding, because as much as I would love to, I know there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell that I can relax.
The girls sprint into the room as soon as Gabe opens the door with a gold old-fashioned key — no fancy key cards here.
“Let’s check out the bathroom,” Chloe calls out to her little sister. Who knew a toilet, sink and bath could inspire such excitement.
I laugh at the sight. “We really need to get these kids out more,” I joke.
Gabe shoots me a smile as he wheels in our huge luggage and duffel bag. “They’re just excited.”
My gaze lingers on him, on the lean lines of his torso against the stretched fabric of his thin t-shirt. He’s looking gorgeous again. Whenever he wears white, he looks like a dark angel, a wickedly sexy dark angel. I swallow, wondering what the hell has gotten into me.
It’s the hormones.
I try to distract myself, drinking in the space with its whimsical quilt covered beds, rustic shabby-chic furniture, and vintage inspired prints. “This place reminds me of Gwen’s beach house.”
“It’s a little prissy.”
I laugh. “But I love it.”
He sets the large brown suitcase on the bed, and starts on the zipper. “Well, if you love it, then it’s perfect,” he says and shoots me a wink.
And I’m not completely shocked when my heart does a little cartwheel.
We start off our vacation with a hike along the boardwalk coursing through the marshes. I snap a few shots of the beautiful ultramarine of the water set against the ochre marshes. We spot a few birds and I try to capture them with my camera but I’m not the best nature photographer. I snap a few pictures of the girls and Gabe. They’re all so beautiful. A priceless gift God has given me. A gift I’ve neglected, tossed away.
Gabe takes my hand in his, and I turn away from him, not wanting him to know I’m just about to break his heart, tear it to shreds.
“Look,” he says suddenly.
I turn my gaze in his direction. Two beautiful monarch butterflies skitter across the sky not far off in the distance.
“The monarchs migrate from here to Mexico in the fall,” he tells me. “We should come here sometime in the fall.”
I smile thinly and nod, knowing this will never happen. Our chapter is done. A new chapter is about to begin for me — one with this new child, shared custody, and Gabe no longer in my life.
The monarchs make their way closer, trailing circles around us, their black and