Cotton Grass Lodge by DeNise Woodbury Page B

half grown boys. Early morning quiet eddied around the three machines when they stopped and parked in front of the generator shed.
    “Good morning, guys.” Duncan raised his voice to reach the group. “The coffee’s hot.” Duncan had quickly learned the busy day he planned at seven a.m. quite often didn’t happen the way he’d laid it out. By now, each day lengthened at the rate of more than five minutes per day. Planes came and went on his strip until late at night. The longer the days the more enthusiastic and industrious the lake dwellers got. It was full daylight at eleven at night, and he wondered if he needed to hire someone just to handle the radio traffic. He’d already met two new sets of neighbors this week.
    “Morning Duncan.” One of them called as the group disembarked from their four-wheelers. “But if we don’t have the tables ready when the girls get here, we’ll have hell to pay.”
    “Tables?” A premonition of doom blossom in the pit of his stomach. “When what girls get here?”
    All five of them turned to stare at Duncan. “Don’t you know what day it is, man?”
    “I think it’s the first of June.” Duncan’s mind scrambled to remember what else was written in the ledger for June. Cryptic notes filled most pages. ‘Provide drinks’ was at the top of the page this morning. What the hell has she left for me now? “What’s going on?”
    Jacob set about giving directions to his own two sons. The boys hustled off toward the storage shed with the third, younger boy in tow. Nameless barked happily and joined them.
    Jacob and the other man stepped up on the porch.
    “She didn’t tell you about June first?” asked Jacob, his lanky frame clad in worn jeans and a clean long-sleeved shirt rolled to the elbows. He nodded to his companion. “This is my brother, Mathew, that littlest boy,” he nodded toward the children, “is his son Ezekiel.”
    The two men were open and pleasant, like everyone else Duncan had met up here at the lake. Mathew shyly shook hands and leaned against a burled porch post, “We usually finalize the agreements for the season at the June first party. Did she tell you about anything?”
    Duncan shook his head. “Gentlemen, I have no clue what you’re talking about.” His idea of a little lodge in the woods was spiraling out of his control.
    “Okaaay.” Jacob pondered and shared a glance with Mathew. “June first is the date the season officially starts. Tourists and snowbirds show up in earnest. We’ve always worked for the lodge as guides. It just makes sense to have an agreement, and we use the party as the place to get together and iron out the details.”
    “Yes, agreements are good. I just didn’t know about it,” Duncan said, “And—this party?” He looked up at the sound of a small plane. He wasn’t expecting any clients until tomorrow. “What about this party?”
    “Like Mathew said, the people around the lake get together and work out who works for the lodge and how to contact each other. The summer folks who have cabins up here usually come to the June first party. To reconnect and all, you know?” Jacob nodded toward the sky. “That will be the first of them.”
    “The first of them?” Duncan looked up again as the plane dipped toward the lake. In the distance the drone of another became apparent. Now, the few comments people had made over the last week made perfect sense. He’d just been too busy to pay attention and connect the dots.
    Three hours later, Duncan ducked his sweat drenched face into the crook of his elbow and wiped with his shirtsleeve. He’d spent the morning helping put up tables made from sawhorses and four by eight sheets of plywood. He’d gathered all the chairs and benches he could find. One of the cherub-faced women working industriously and effortlessly in his yard handed him a cold drink, and he drained it without tasting. When he finished he looked down at her. “Thank you, Naomi.”
    “You’re