Coming Up For Air | ✓

3 | a summer of solitude

Propped up on her elbows, chin in her palm, Stella pulls at a loose orange thread in the striped beach towel she lies upon.

Her eyes flicker over the glossy pages of the magazine before her, skimming through the light how-to and casting a glance at the aesthetically pleasing pictures that goes with it. A Super Easy Guide to Clean Beauty. Cosmopolitan. This issue is at least a year old, only one of the many she brought with her from home, where they have remained untouched, collecting dust on her nightstand table.

 Turning the page, she presses her lips together as she happens upon a text-heavy deep diving article on mental health. She folds the corner of it, knowing she'll have to – and will want to – read it sometime, some day, before browsing through another few pages.

Her hair hangs damp over her shoulder even though at least half an hour must have passed since her last swim. Droplets fall to the towel, to the wooden planks of the dock, to the magazine – giving the pages that evident worn look of having been read during summer vacation.

A slight gust of wind trickles by, offering up a comfortable breeze. It rustles the reeds a stone's throw away, the faint sound melting together with the birdsong from above.

This is how she's spent most hours of her first week at the lake house. Down by the dock. Swimming, floating on her back in the water, cloud gazing. Sprawled on a towel upon the warm wooden planks or sat at the dock's edge, legs dangling over it, her feet just inches above the greenish blue surface of the lake. Basking in the mid-June sun, enveloped by the comforting scent of lake water and sunblock. Relishing in being surrounded by nothing but the pure sounds of nature – as well as the occasional happy yells from the children living a few houses down the street.

It's quite the contrast from what she's used to and at times, she finds herself growing restless from the stillness of it all. There's no bustle here. Only lake.

Even now, after having spent an entire year away from school and the life she once led – the life she's put on pause – she still has trouble adjusting to this new pace. Her new pace.

This summer. These weeks. Months. This time of space that lies ahead of her, is the first time she truly doesn't have any obligations what so ever. She's never been still like this before. She's never found herself in a situation where she doesn't have any responsibilities at all.

No schedule to follow. No to-do lists to scribble down. No deadlines to meet. No therapy appointments to show up for.

It's just her. Her, the sun and the water.

And Jake.

And Fizzy.

The dog pads down to the dock on occasion. Sometimes it seems she's simply checking in, tail wagging happily before she leaves up the slight hill for the house again, escaping into the comfortable shade it provides. Sometimes she stays, passed out in heavy sleep under the sun. Most times she brings her ragged green tennis ball along, keeping it well within reach from her soft paws.

Every now and then the Golden Retriever finds a way past the dock to wade out into the water, though Stella knows from Jake from one of their conversations over breakfast that there are far better places around the lake for Fizzy to swim.

As for Jake, he and Stella have spent the past seven days keeping to their own. They move in circles. She gives him his space and he gives her hers.

Unlike her, who hasn't really left the perimeter of the house at all since their venture into town on their first day here, he comes and goes, most often taking Fizzy with him.

He spends time down by the dock as well, but those times she usually retreats to the patio or the comfortable shade of the living room. It's a big enough house to share for two people and a dog, she doesn't see any reason to crowd him.