Sure, the drive was mostly the same. The camps were still just as they always were. The lake was full of boats.
But all of Andrew's dreams were buried down so deep that he could no longer say what it was that nineteen-year-old boy he'd once been had really wanted.
All he knew was that he hadn't gotten it.
A car honked behind him and he put his foot on the gas pedal, the gravel lot behind Poplar Cove finally coming into view. Pulling in, he saw a car and a truck. During the short chat he'd had with his parents, they'd told him they were renting the cabin out to a young woman. He assumed the truck belonged to Connor who, evidently, was working on the cabin for Sam's wedding.
Getting out of the car, he took the stairs to the screened porch and knocked on the door. When he looked in he could see a pretty young woman standing in front of an easel. She seemed to be dancing along to something, but he couldn't hear any music.
“Excuse me,” he said, but she didn't look over, didn't seem to have heard him. “Excuse me,” he said again, louder this time, and this time, she turned just as Connor walked out onto the porch.
“Dad,” he said, not exactly looking pleased to see him.
But Andrew couldn't help smiling. To go from where his son had been, lying there under a thin white sheet hooked up to machines to this strong, young man… it was a miracle.
“Connor, you're looking great,” he said, still standing on the other side of the screen door.
The woman moved past Connor and opened the door. “Hi, I'm Ginger. Why don't you come in?”
He stepped inside and shook her outstretched hand. He thought about walking over to his son and hugging him, but they hadn't hugged since Connor was a little boy. Andrew quickly dismissed the idea as a bad one.
“How was your flight?” Ginger asked him as the silence drew on several beats too long.
“Good.” He cleared his throat. “Great.”
She shot a glance at Connor, and even from this distance, Andrew could feel a strong connection between the two of them.
“You must be exhausted.”
“No, I'm fine. Managed a couple of hours on the plane.”
Ginger's wristwatch beeped and she looked down at it in obvious consternation. “I'm sorry, but I've got to head into work.” Another quick look at his son. “If you'd like something to eat, Connor knows where all the food is. I'm sure he could heat something up for you.”
She turned to head into the house, brushing against Connor as she walked past. Andrew saw his son's reaction, the way his fingers stretched out to brush against hers.
Andrew remembered what it felt like to be with a girl that could take him down with nothing more than a glance, with the soft touch of her fingers on his skin. It had been the greatest feeling in the world.
“Want a Coke?” Connor asked.
“I've had enough caffeine already to last me the week.”
Connor raised both eyebrows. “Okay. I'm going to get one.”
Had he already put his foot in it, over nothing more than a soda? He should have taken whatever his son offered.
While Connor walked to the kitchen, Andrew looked around the old log cabin. It looked almost identical to the way it had when he was a kid. Some new furniture, a lighter shade of green on the porch, but otherwise like time was standing still.Ginger came down the stairs, went into the kitchen, said something to Connor that he couldn't make out. Not wanting to be a peeping Tom, he moved back, but not before he caught a glimpse of her going up on her toes to kiss his son.
“I hope to see you later,” she said to Andrew as she walked out the screen door.
Connor sat down with his Coke and Andrew dearly wished he had something to do with his hands, even if it was just opening the pop tab.
He'd been like this the day Connor had been born, his hands trembling as he went to pick him up. Newborns scared him. They were so small, so helpless, and every moment they depended on you. And although Connor was a couple of inches taller than him now, Andrew felt just as awkward, just as unsure of himself.
“How's the work on the cabin going?”
“The wiring was a mess. The logs are rotting. The roof is shot.”
Andrew nodded, tried to think of what to say next. “Are you staying in town or-”
“Here. I'm staying here.”
“That's great. Ginger seems like a beautiful girl.”
Shit, another hard stare from his son. He was a lawyer, he should know how to lead a conversation in the direction he wanted it to go.
“Have you run into any of your old friends?”
“Let's cut the bull. Why are you here?”
Andrew bristled at his son's tone, forgot his intention to be the nice guy. “Poplar Cove isn't yours, it's your grandparents'. Which makes it mine too. I have every right to be here.”
“Wrong.” Connor stood, looked down on him. “This is Ginger's house now. You're only here because she let you in.
And that's just because she doesn't know a damn thing about you.”
Andrew stood up too, faced off with his son. He wasn't as broad from years of grueling physicality, but they had the same basic build. Apart from the twenty years between them, they were fairly evenly matched.
“How about we cut right to it, then?”
Andrew had thought he needed to tread gently. Fuck that. If Connor was going to come at him full speed ahead, he was going to see that his old man was tough enough to block him.
“Your brother called me. He told me what happened. That the Forest Service had turned down your final appeal.
That's why I'm here. To take care of my own.”
“I'm fine.”
For the first time in a very long time, Andrew saw himself in his rugged son. He'd done that same thing once, worked like hell to convince everyone — but mostly himself — that the abrupt shift his life had taken was what he'd wanted.
“All my life I've worked on facts and facts alone,” he told his son. “Here are the facts. You have always wanted to be a firefighter and nothing else. And now your future has been f**ked over by a bunch of suits.”
From a legal perspective, Andrew understood why the Forest Service couldn't risk having an injured man in the field who might freeze in a crucial moment.
“That's a brutal blow, Connor. One you're going to have to deal with sooner or later.”