The Lake Cabin – Part 1: Screened Porch

"The key's under the frog," said James.

"Which frog?"

"The ceramic one."

"There are four ceramic frogs."

"Then we've got a fifty-fifty chance on the first lift." He lifted the nearest, and found a rusty key. "Three-quarter chance, actually. I'm a maths teacher."

Priya laughed and followed him up the wooden steps of the cabin. It stood at the edge of a still lake in the Ontario woods, a little red-roofed hut with a screened porch, a stone fireplace and a view of dark pines doubled in the water. A canoe lay upturned on the dock. The air smelled of cedar, sun-warmed pine needles and lake.

They had been married eighteen years. Priya, forty-one, was a cardiologist and had worked three straight weekends. James, forty-four, taught maths at a high school and coached two soccer teams. The cabin belonged to a friend, and they had accepted the key with the guilty gratitude of people who couldn't remember the last time they'd done nothing.

"I'm not going to check my phone," said Priya.

"No signal anyway."

"I'm not going to think about checking it."

"Good. I'm going to light the fire."

By afternoon they had paddled across the lake, eaten sandwiches on a flat rock and swum in the cold water, shrieking like children. The sky darkened in the west. Thunder rumbled. They raced the rain back to the cabin, laughing, soaked to the skin, and tumbled onto the screened porch as the first great drops thundered on the roof.

"Look at that," said James.

"It's glorious."

"Priya." He looked at her, dripping and glowing. "I've missed you."

"I've been right here."

"I know. But I've missed this you. The one who laughs."

"I'd like to show her to you," said Priya, softly. "If you'd like."

Continue the story: Part 2 – Thunder.

Continue the story: Part 2 – Thunder.