The Lake Season by Hannah McKinnon

gasped.
    â€œMom, you kept these all these years?”
    Millie examined her own napkin. “They’re pretty ratty now, aren’t they?”
    â€œNo, they’re perfect.” Iris had forgotten what summer at the lake felt like. Back at home, she and Paul usually took the kids downtown to the annual Fourth of July parade, which was overcrowded and smelled of hot pavement, or to a neighbor’s backyard barbecue. Neither could compete with a picnic feast on the beach, homemade lemonade, and fireworks over the water. The kids would’ve loved this. “Dad, do you guys still come every year?” she asked hopefully.
    Bill shook his head. “It’s for the young people,” he said, chuckling. Though Iris was pretty sure from the look on his face that he would’ve liked to.
    As they picnicked, old friends stopped by to visit: women from Millie’s gardening club, neighbors, and a few of the regular summer people Iris recognized from years ago. Iris polished off a buttery cob of corn and reached for another. She felt almost giddy as dusk fell over the beach and the crowd hushed.
    Beside her, Leah leaned contentedly against Stephen. “I wish you didn’t have to fly back to Seattle tomorrow,” she said, reaching up to stroke his hair.
    He kissed her hand.
    Iris pulled her sweater around her shoulders, wishing she, too, had someone to curl up on the blanket with. But her thoughts were interrupted with the first crack and whistle of the show. A collective hush fell over the beach.
    Overhead, red-and-gold pyrotechnics popped and sizzled against the sky, sending a lazy blue cloud of smoke out over the water. Faces glowed in the surrounding light, and children shrieked and pointed. Iris lay back on the blanket, gazing up at the sky. She felt a twinge of loneliness. As a giant pink bloom exploded overhead, she felt a hand encircle her own.
    â€œIt’s just like when we were little.” Leah had scooted beside her, and her breath was warm and close in Iris’s ear. They lay together, shoulder to shoulder, watching.
    When the fireworks ended, people lingered. Some of the children ran down to the water’s edge as the adults stood to stretch their legs, savoring the last moments of the annual celebration.
    Iris scanned the crowd for Trish’s family, knowing they’d be there somewhere. “I’ll be right back,” she said.
    At the shore Iris stuck her toe in. The lake felt warm against the cooler air of evening, and she swirled her foot around. It was harder to see by the water and she realized the crowd was beginning to disperse.
    â€œGlad you made it.”
    Iris turned around, squinting in the darkness.
    â€œUp here.”
    She recognized the voice. Cooper Woods sat atop the wooden lifeguard chair, just yards away in the sand. Surprised, she smiled and raised a hand in greeting. “I didn’t see you up there.”
    He leaned down and extended his hand.
    Iris hoisted herself up and sat beside him. She hadn’t remembered the seat being so snug. “Did you watch the show from up here?”
    He chuckled. “Best seat in the house. But no. It was full of teenagers well before I got here.”
    She nodded, remembering fondly. “I’ll bet.”
    He glanced over their shoulders, at the thinning crowd behind them. “You here with your family?”
    â€œJust like old times.” She, too, looked across the beach toward the grassy hill. “They’re over there somewhere.”
    And as if on cue, Iris spotted Stephen and Leah. They were gathering up the picnic blanket. Meaning they were all probably planning to go. Which she realized she suddenly did not want to do.
    â€œAre you here alone?” she asked.
    Cooper shifted and the wooden seat creaked beneath them. A group of children ran past, and in the glow of their sparklers she saw his white smile. “Not