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Julia

Julia loved the ritual of waking up the house at the start of vacation.

She went from room to room, pulling back curtains, clearing dust, putting sheets on the beds, and opening windows, inviting the rejuvenating lake air to fill her home.

Even the presence of David’s glass house couldn’t spoil the joy of this tradition.

Everything appeared to be in relatively good shape after the long winter, which was a relief. The roof shingles were intact. There were no signs of leaks. All the plumbing still worked, and Julia didn’t pick up any mildew smells.

To make matters worse, the computers powering the virtual reality cycling, running, and rowing machines broke down at a rate far above projections.

And the headsets caused dizziness for many members.

In the early days, VR gyms had tons of press coverage, and they still had it now, but for all the wrong reasons.

She supposed the glass house was good for one thing: plummeting revenues from her failing franchise no longer seemed like a top concern.

When all her chores were done, Julia took a moment to call her folks from the screened-in porch her father had added long be fore she was born.

All was well, though of course Dad complained about the food at their Florida retirement community, and her mom complained about her dad.

Some things never changed. Still, they were happy to hear from her, and delighted she was enjoying the house, just wistful that they weren’t able to share in the family vacation.

She missed her parents coming to the lake.

The place felt a little empty without them.

“Maybe next year,” Julia said to them, though no doubt she’d make the same pledge the following summer.

Her mother’s lack of mobility after the double hip replacement would turn any vacation into hell week, and her father didn’t have the stamina (or patience) to deal with airports and long car rides.

Besides, his heart might give out if he saw what David had done to his family’s homestead.

Not only had the lake houses been passed down through the generations, the friendships had as well.

Julia’s grandfather bought his plot from David’s grandfather, and the two became thick as thieves.

Next on the scene was Cormac Gallagher, Erika’s father, who was just a young man when he purchased his parcel in the 1960s.

He traveled from New York to Vermont on weekends while his house was being built and became friendly with his neighbors, who were fifteen years his senior.

Cormac waited until later in life to father a child, which worked out in Julia’s favor because she and Erika grew up like sisters, separated by only a couple of years.

Sadly, Cormac always said motherhood didn’t suit his wife, who ran off with another man when Erika was still very young, leaving him on his own to raise his daughter.

But the kids always had each other. Even now, a whiff of sunscreen steered Julia back to those youthful summer afternoons when the strong sun baked the ground dry and the lake beckoned them to play in the cool water.

The question on Julia’s mind now was how the David from way back then had become the glasshouse-building jackass of today. If Erika was like a sister to Julia, David was her protective brother.

One time, when she twisted her ankle on a hike, it was David who carried her home on his back, refusing to put her down even when his legs buckled from the strain.

That was the David she knew and loved—the boy who fancied himself a budding biologist. Julia often accompanied him on his shoreline patrols, using nets to capture freshwater minnows, tadpoles, and other critters they could study in water-filled glass jars.

Erika occasionally joined in, but she preferred watercolors and her drawing pad to those fishing expeditions.

One thing they all agreed on was their love of the raft moored out on the lake.

They would swim to it while their parents paid only partial attention.

They had a favorite game—King of the Raft—that involved tossing their opponents into the water until two players decided they’d had enough, and a winner was declared.

The trio were all strong swimmers, but it was David who usually won the title of King.

Still, he would sacrifice victories here and there to keep the game interesting.

Of course, with the good times came the bad.

David’s father died in his forties after a fall off a ladder while replacing shingles on his lake house roof.

David was just fifteen, and he was the one who found his father unconscious on the ground, a fast-moving brain hemorrhage draining his life away.

The loss was devastating for David, and heartbreaking for all.

David’s mother succumbed so deeply to grief that it was as if she’d abandoned him.

Thankfully, Cormac had stepped in and became a father figure to him, and in turn, David became the son he never had.

Thinking back, maybe that was a turning point, when David started looking for something to shield him from the pain of his loss and trauma.

He spun a self-protective chrysalis, cocooning himself within.

It wasn’t a coincidence that he never let Julia or Erika win King of the Raft after the funeral.

Anger cloaked some of his natural sweetness.

Bravado became a substitute for humility.

Distance and self-absorption put space between him and the potential for another loss.

But there were always flashes of the old David to keep Julia from pulling away.

Like that time two years after college, when she broke down somewhere off I-87 near Albany, returning from a family reunion in Poughkeepsie, of all places.

It was David, her only contact in New York, who drove two hours north to get her and brought her back to Manhattan to stay with him.

They spent the weekend exploring Greenwich Village, indulging in Indian food and too much alcohol, and when the car repairs were done, he drove her north again, insisting she not take the bus.

It was the old David, her surrogate brother, carrying her on his back once more.

As adults, Julia, Erika, and David always made it a point to coordinate their schedules so they could meet at the lake and enjoy their vacation together. These reunions reinforced a bond that began almost from the time of their births—one she believed was unbreakable. Until today.

How could this be? They shared birthdays, graduations, new jobs, new lovers, ex-lovers, marriages, deaths, kids, and a divorce (David’s from Debbie).

While his marriage didn’t last, David did get Brody and Becca out of the deal—twins who were now four, or maybe five?

The years were a blur, but the Lake Gang remained a constant in her life.

Julia and Christian.

Erika and Rick.

And David and his lady of the moment.

In true David fashion, he didn’t mourn his marriage for long, probably in part because he didn’t have much of a history with his ex.

He and Debbie had tied the knot within six months of meeting, and the twins were born a year later.

Divorce papers were served by the time the kids took their first steps.

He had joint custody, which came with the usual headaches, but he always had the funds for a part-time nanny.

Julia and Erika both agreed they didn’t miss Debbie.

She was nice enough, but in a distant and appropriate way.

She said all the right things, but lacked the warmth to make it feel genuine.

She was pretentious, coming from money and carrying herself with a superior air Julia found off-putting.

David insisted he married for love, not money, and he signed an ironclad prenup as proof, which left him with no claim to Debbie’s family wealth.

Rich as she was, Debbie loved David’s family cottage, with all its quaint charm. No doubt she would have been appalled to see what he had done with the place. She’d likely shake her head and say something along the lines of, “ This house belongs in the Hamptons. ”

Too bad Debbie wasn’t still in the picture—she could have paid to move it there.

Taylor appeared while Julia glumly stared out her bay window into David’s kitchen.

“Is the house still there?”

Taylor’s quip coaxed a slight smile out of Julia.

“Unreal, isn’t it?” she lamented.

“Yeah, it is, but Dad’s right. It’s built. What can you do?”

“I dunno. Erika is the attorney. I’ll ask her.”

“Speaking of, are she and Rick here yet?” Taylor wanted to know.

“No, not yet.”

“And you’re sure Lucas isn’t with them, right?” There was a nervous twinge to Taylor’s voice that caught Julia off guard.

Lucas was Erika’s eighteen-year-old son and, like Taylor, was beginning his senior year in the fall. Julia had high hopes the next generation would carry on the vacation-together tradition, but that was now in question.

“Erika told me that he’s got some gigs booked with his band, so I don’t expect him to be here. What’s up with you two, anyway? You always got along so well.”

Her daughter ignored the question. It wasn’t long ago that Taylor went away for a weekend with Erika and Lucas to tour a couple of colleges that both kids were interested in. At first everything seemed fine, but now she was acting like she didn’t want him around.

While this new friction was cause for concern, getting her tight-lipped daughter to open up might take a miracle. Chances were, only her journal knew the truth.

Julia thought Taylor’s poetry hobby was a healthy outlet for expressing her inner world, and Taylor was actually quite a good writer, but she couldn’t make a living at it.

Julia attempted to sway her in the direction of business or finance instead.

Life had enough pitfalls without digging your own trench.