Identity Crisis by Eliza Daly

However, thirty years had thinned and whitened his hair and softened him around the middle and in the face. “Nice to meet you.” He poured a cup of coffee. “Better get back down to the dock. Bernie’s a morning guy. Don’t ever see him past eight. You have a nice day.” He turned and strolled out.
    “Bernie’s a legend around here,” Kate said. “Last big fish Roger caught was Wally eight years ago, who’s hanging over the fireplace in the den.”
    The buzzer sounded in the kitchen and Olivia jumped, more than a tad on edge.
    “Be back in a minute.” Kate whisked out of the room, through the swinging door.
    Olivia gazed at the place settings around the long table, imagining all the Thanksgiving turkeys, the Christmas hams, the everyday meals, and conversations her family had shared right here. She recalled the first time she’d met Gracie. One Christmas, Gracie had been dining alone at a restaurant, and Olivia had begged her dad to invite her to join them. They’d continued meeting her for dinner on Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas until she’d no-showed two years later on Thanksgiving and they’d discovered she’d passed away a month earlier. Olivia always hoped someone had attended her funeral.
    The bell on the front door jingled and moments later Ethan entered the dining room wearing jeans and a white T-shirt. His unshaven face brought back memories of the rough feel of stubble against her soft finger. The feel of his soft lips against hers. Once she’d touched his scar she couldn’t stop there. If he hadn’t stopped, how far would she have gone?
    “How’s the coffee?” he asked, raking a hand through his wet hair, several strands falling against his brow.
    “Tastes good.” She raised her mug and took another sip.
    He grabbed a mug from a place setting and leaned past her for the coffee carafe in the middle of the table. The scent of almonds filled her head. Must be his shampoo. She took another whiff before he stepped back.
    Kate walked through the door holding a baking dish, steam and the aroma of peppers and bacon rising from it. Memories of Sunday breakfast with her dad flashed through Olivia’s mind.
    “Smells good,” Ethan said. Not a glint of recognition shown on his face, although he likely realized this was her grandma. “What is it?”
    “The kitchen sink.”
    “Mmm … Stainless steel or porcelain?” he asked.
    They all laughed. Ethan placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and massaged his thumb over her skin. He had a way of putting her at ease, making her believe everything would be all right, even when she had her doubts. She knew his affection was part of their act, but she was starting to wish it was genuine.
    • • •
    Roger Donovan sat on the end of the dock watching Vic Richardson speed walking along the shoreline toward him. All that exercise was gonna give the man another heart attack. Roger got plenty of exercise maintaining the cottages and the mini-golf course. Would be a damn shame if he lost them both, along with the canoe rentals. It wasn’t looking good.
    “Gorgeous morning,” Vic said, heading down the dock toward him.
    “Yep, sure is.”
    “Great summer for your business, but the farmers ain’t too happy.”
    This year had been dry as a bone. Hadn’t rained a drop in over two months. Unlike last summer, when it’d rained almost every weekend, keeping the tourists away. The weather had damn near put them out of business.
    “Much better than last,” he said.
    “I hear the lakes are down almost a foot and a half. A twenty-year low.”
    A burning sensation flared up in Roger’s chest and the taste of acid filled his mouth. He glanced across Pine Lake and the connecting Shadow Lake to the bend leading to Sunset Lake off in the distance. Twenty years since he’d had to worry about the lake levels getting too low. A few weeks ago he’d taken the boat through that remote area of Sunset Lake to check it out. If levels got much lower, they’d be