Point of Retreat

the power of cold weather.
     
    I hated that she had cut herself when she landed on the gnome, but was so happy I had the excuse to spend those few minutes with her that morning. After I put the bandage on her and she left, I spent the entire day at work in a daze. I couldn’t stop thinking about her. I was so nervous my life and the responsibilities I had would scare her off before I got the chance to know her. I didn’t want to tell her about it right away, but the night of our first date I knew I had to tell her. There was something about her that was so much more than all the other girls I’ve known. She had this resiliency and confidence about her.
     
    I wanted to be sure that Lake knew what my life was about that night. I wanted her to know about my parents, about Caulder, about my passion. I needed her to know the real me, and understand who I was before we took it any further. When she watched her first performance that night, I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. I saw the passion and depth in her eyes as she watched the stage, and I fell in love with her. I’ve loved her every second since.
     
    Which is why I refuse to let her give up.
     
    ***
     
    I’m on my fourth cup of coffee when Kiersten walks in. She doesn’t check to see if Caulder’s here, she just walks straight to the couch and plops down beside me.
     
    “Hey,” she says flatly.
     
    “Hey.”
     
    “What’s going on with you and Layken?” she asks. She looks at me like she deserves an answer.
     
    “Kiersten? Hasn’t your mother ever told you it’s rude to be nosey?”
     
    She shakes her head. “No, she says the only way to get the facts is to ask the questions.”
     
    “Well, you can ask as many questions as you want. That doesn’t mean I have to answer them.”
     
    “Fine,” she says, standing up. “I’ll go ask Layken.”
     
    “Good luck getting her to open the door.”
     
    Kiersten leaves and I jump up and go to the window. She gets halfway down my driveway and turns around and heads back to my front door. When she passes my window, she looks at me with pity and slowly shakes her head. She opens the front door and comes back inside. “Is there anything in particular you want me to ask her? I can report back to you.”
     
    I love this kid. “Yeah, good idea Kiersten.” I think for a second. “I don’t know, just gauge her mood. Is she crying? Is she mad? Act like you don’t know we’re fighting and ask her about me…see what she says.”
     
    Kiersten nods and starts to shut the front door.
     
    “Wait, one more thing. I want to know what she’s wearing, too.”
     
    Kiersten eyes me curiously.
     
    “Just her shirt. I want to know what shirt she has on.”
     
    I wait by the window and watch as Kiersten walks across the street and knocks on her door. Why does she knock on Lake’s door and not mine? The door opens almost immediately. Kiersten walks inside and the door shuts behind her.
     
    I pace the living room and drink another cup of coffee, watching out the window, waiting for Kiersten to emerge from Lake's house. A half hour goes by and the front door finally opens. Kiersten walks outside and turns left and heads to her house rather than walking back across the street.
     
    I give her a while. Maybe she had to go home to eat lunch or something. After an hour passes, I can’t wait any longer. I make a beeline to Kiersten’s house and knock on the door.
     
    “Hey Will, come on in,” Sherry says. She steps aside and I make my way into the living room. Kiersten’s watching T.V. Before I bombard Kiersten, I turn to Sherry.
     
    “Last night…I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to be rude.”
     
    “Oh, stop it. I was just being nosey,” she says. “You want something to drink?”
     
    “No, I’m good. I just need to talk to Kiersten.”
     
    Kiersten looks over at me from the couch and gives me a dirty look. “You’re a jerk, Will.” she says.
     
    I guess Lake’s not over it. I sit down beside her on the couch and put my hands between my knees. “Will you at least tell me what she said?” This is so pathetic. I’m entrusting my relationship to an eleven-year-old.
     
    “Are you sure you want to know? I should probably warn you, I have an excellent memory. Mom says I’ve been able to quote entire conversations verbatim since I was three years old.”
     
    “Positive. I want to know everything she said.”
     
    Kiersten sighs and pulls her legs up on the couch and turns toward