Our family of three were in Vermont once more. My father wasn't talking much, and my mother kept wringing her hands. They were uncomfortable by the attention on them, and generally anxious to be back. Under my sleeve, I felt my long scars. They felt tight; slightly itchy. Wearing all black, a procession of mourning relatives and Ezekiel's friends walked from the old church to the even older graveyard. Some of the stones were crumbled, and others were unreadable. The freshly plotted stone which read "Ezekiel E. Wolfe" was a large concrete rectangle which appeared much much newer than everything else around it.

I couldn't look into the casket. Slowly he was eased down in the marked grave, beside Grandma Nora's weathered stone. In the crowd, I saw Ivy and Amber, who sniffled into black handkerchiefs. He'd been integral in raising the girls-- who were now in their early and mid twenties-- after their parents died tragically when they were very small.

Why would Grandpa Ezekiel want me to have his home and belongings over the girls who practically became his daughters? And, would I ever know that answer? The way they looked at me made it quite obvious that they didn't know why either. No one else looked very familiar in the crowd. It was summer in Vermont, but the scene was much different than the summers nearly a decade and a half ago. The mood was heavy, and a soft mist fell from the gray sky onto our shoulders.

Dad spoke

"Thank you all for coming here today. This was certainly not the call I was expecting, but nonetheless, it was the call I picked up. The Caller ID showed as "Grandpa Ezekiel", and instead of letting it ring like I have the past 14 years, I swallowed my pride and picked up the phone. I thought-- I really thought I would be reconnecting with my father. But that wasn't the case... it was um, Dakota over there."

He pointed in the direction of a tall, strong looking man

"He found my father, who had died while on a walk beside his beloved lake. In short, no matter how angry you are with your loved one, don't let 14 years go by without talking to them, because you never know if a call will be your last."

I could see pain and regret written all over Dad's face. I had never seen him cry, but he looked close to tears as he left the podium.

...

The funeral reception was held in Grandpa Ezekiel's backyard which faced away from the lake. The house was locked and the 1 and only key was being sent by mail to our home in San Diego as part of my inheritance . Looking at it as an adult, it didn't look quite as I had remembered it. The paint was chipping and some the shutters had broken off, but it was nonetheless beautiful. I left the reception to take a walk and get some fresh air. I went to the art studio, which was right next to the house. It was locked, but I peeked into it, seeing beautiful paintings of nature. Wolves, horses, the lake, maple trees... I loved his paintings. As a child I had always wanted to be able to paint like that. I wonder if he would be proud of my art too. I wish I'd gotten to see him one last time...

I wandered further, rediscovering familiar trails and eventually was led back to the dock directly in front of Grandpa's property, which I used to jump off of as a child. Looking out into the lake from the dock, it was like nothing had changed. The blue-green water softly rippled and geese glided peacefully across in the distance. I was filled with so much joy, remembering the days spent out here. There are moments in life so perfect that once they're gone, you just have to be grateful that they ever happened in the first place. For me, that was swimming in the lake with my cousins. The sky was a brilliantly bright, and golden rays of light glistened on the water. It was my grandfather's favorite time of day. As a child he'd hold me and my cousins close and watch the sun set from the dock.

I can't explain what made me do it... but in a span of 15 seconds, I found myself stripping down to my undergarments and leaping feet first into the familiar waters.

The water was cold and murky. The dying rays of sunlight weren't enough to see to the bottom, and my vision was just a shapeless, peaceful blur of black and dark greens as I blinked underwater. The coldness faded away as my limbs moved around me. My scar began to burn. A light, tingling sensation. I flailed it in the water more vigorously to cool down its heat.

Thrashing. My underwater peace was disturbed by a strong arm, which wrapped around my torso. The other arm made upward strokes, bringing us closer to the surface. My face broke free of the water, and I turned to meet the gaze of chocolate brown eyes, shrouded by wet brown hair. He was panting, but calm, and swiftly pushed me up toward the dock. I started to speak, as my hands gripped the worn wood

"I... I was just going for a swim. I wasn't drowning."

I felt embarrassed that I had been so impulsive. The man gave me a last gentle push, heaving me onto the dock. He maneuvered his body in one swift motion, and sat beside me, his wet black suit clinging to his body. His breath was heavy and he said

"I really thought you were drowning out here... what were you thinking?"

He searched my face, looking confused and perplexed. I grimaced,

"I... I wasn't really thinking."

The corner of his mouth turned upwards slightly. Was he smirking? He said, now turning his head

"We'd better get you back inside. Your dad's calling for you."

I listened to the crickets chirping and the ripples of the water, but the night was otherwise silent. I had heard nothing. I cocked my head. I scratched at my scar once more

"Are you sure? I don't hear anything."

He assured me

"My hearing is pretty top-notch, so--"

The sound of my dad's strident bellow rang out in the far distance

"SUMMER! SUMMER?"

I hopped up upon hearing my name called, quickly pulling my black dress over my head of wet hair. Dad's voice was getting louder, and I shouted back

"Coming!"

I led my nails over the long scars on my left arm. Then turned to the man who'd tried to help me,

"What's your name?"

He answered

"Dakota. Dakota Hunt."

I shook his hand

"I'm--"

My father's voice rang out

"SUMMER?!"

We chuckled lightly. I said

"What he said. Summer Wolfe."

He asked, as I was turning to leave

"Will I be seeing you around, Summer?"

I shook my head

"Probably not. My parents and I go back to California tonight."

I ran toward dad's voice.

He stood behind the house, facing away from the lake, which was now illuminated by a nearly full moon. He was irate,

"Where the hell were you?! And why is your hair wet?"

I meekly offered,

"I was in the lake."

Now he observed the moon

"You were not! Were you really?"

I nodded

"Yeah, I'm sorry I wasn't at the reception... it's just that going to Grandpa's art studio, and then being in the water really rekindled the bond I had with this place once."

My mother's shrill voice rang out

"Henry! You found her! Oh thank goodness. Our plane leaves in two hours. We need to head to the airport--"

I slipped into the backseat of the rental car, and as we drove down the windy road, away from the house, I had a wild realization... my dad couldn't keep me away from the lake house any longer. I was an adult, and the deed was in my name.