View With Your Heart (Heart Collection #5) - L.B. Dunbar
Take 1
Scene: The Lake
[Gavin]
The surrounding view brings a wave of memory.
Blond hair as bright as the sunshine streaming across the water. Blue eyes the color of the deepest portion of the lake.
The soft lull of the lake water lapping at the shore suggests summer, a time reminiscent of light breezes, hurried kisses, and Britton McKay.
Neither she nor I have been in this area in thirteen years, and it feels surreal to be here at all.
Home.
I didn’t exactly grow up on the shores of Elk Lake, but in the surrounding countryside filled with cherry orchards, chirping crickets, and chattering cicadas. My parents still live on the century-old farm, and I haven’t seen them in over a decade.
As I sit on the third-floor balcony of a condominium rental that wasn’t built when I left twenty years ago, I stare out at the glimmer of sunlight rippling across the lake before me. I’m a long way from the place I now call home—California. I’ve rented this condo for the next two weeks, encompassing my business at the Traverse City Film Festival, an event thirty minutes from my current location, and the upcoming nuptials of my childhood best friend, Jess Carter.
I’m honored to stand up for him. Jess was practically another brother. I’ve been thinking a lot about friendships and family this summer. How I’ve been a shitty brother to my real one and even shittier as a son. I pulled away for my own sanity, but now, I feel like I’m missing out on something. Something I can’t quite put my finger on. The last time I was in the area I holed up for the weekend with a beautiful girl. The weekend turned into something wild and unpredicted, and I smile once more with memories of Britton.
My eyes remain on the dancing waves. They don’t crash here like the angry Pacific against the sandy beaches of the West Coast. They softly glide and skitter back. The movement is graceful and reminds me again of Britton. I was eighteen when we met and on my way to the Baseball Hall of Fame, if my father had anything to say about it. In the end, he had no say in the course of my life. I’d been eager to bust from here. Baseball was my future. However, when your world centers on sports, the axis feels unbalanced when you quit.
And I quit, according to my father.
I lean forward in the balcony chair, continuing to gaze out at the slice of lake before me. The liquid expanse runs for miles to my left. The homes circling this lake have certainly changed in the course of my thirty-eight years. Most are huge and valued at close to a million dollars. Who’d have thought?
I wonder if Leo still has a place here.
It’d be a long shot that Britton’s uncle still owned a home on these shores. Swiping a hand through my thick hair, I realize he’d be almost a hundred by now. Slowly, my smile fades when I consider the alternative for an old man.
I’d been thinking of death too much lately. Or perhaps, I was contemplating life. What have I accomplished in nearly forty years? What will I do next?
I sigh, knowing part of the answer. I’m here for the festival to showcase an independently produced film. It’s a passion project, and I’m proud of it.
Swiping fingers through my thick hair once more, I lean back in the rickety outdoor seat. My long legs slide forward, and I stretch. My eyes catch on a woman walking on the beach with her blond hair blowing in the early evening breeze. Her summer dress billows around her thighs. It’s one of those scenes that looks unreal, almost staged, and I’d love to capture her with my camera.
Instead, I freeze-frame her in my mind.
The waves lick at her bare feet as she carries a pair of sandals in her hand. On occasion, she whips her head to clear her face of the loose hairs floating about her. She appears effervescent as if she doesn’t actually exist on this beach. She’s elegant despite the awkwardness of walking on the uneven sand. She has the grace of a dancer.
The thought makes me sit taller and narrow my eyes at her.
Once upon a time, Britton wanted to be a dancer, and I curse myself for thinking of her again. She was a summer girl when we met, which meant she didn’t live in the area. She was only visiting for three months. The