Page 8 of Take This Heart
I can hardly sit still on the drive to Windy Harbor. Four hours from the Twin Cities, the ride gets prettier and prettier the farther north I go. When I catch the first glimmer of Lake Superior through the trees, I feel my shoulders relax, the tension in my chest easing like a slow exhale. I hadn’t realized how tightly wound I’ve been lately, jugglingwork deadlines and the looming exhibit at the Minneapolis Institute of Art.
My move back to Minnesota from California is fairly recent. I bought a little house that I love near Lake Nokomis. Like that maddening man who shall not be named, I’m not lacking in resources. At all. In fact, it’s been a point of unease many times, just how privileged I am. It isn’t that I’m not proud of our family, I’m extremely proud, but it’s been important to me to pave my own way as much as possible and not rely on the wealth I’ve grown up with. Even saying that, I know the Whitman name is a door opener and one I’m grateful for, but I try to step outside of it when it comes to my career. My artist name is G. Waters, honoring my mom’s maiden name.
But there’s plenty to love about my upbringing. One of them being our family home on Summit Avenue, my favorite street in St. Paul. My dad has lived there since before I was born and even after my mom died and my brothers and I eventually left home. He would've been near the house I’m in now if he'd stayed at the Summit house, but lately, he's been spending a ton of time at our lake house in Windy Harbor.
He asked that we all come up this weekend for an impromptu family weekend.
It’s hard to get my brothers and me together at the same time these days, and the fact that Dad made it happen is huge. My twin Tully lives near me in Minneapolis, but the rest of our siblings are spread out. Camden lives in Denver, Dylan in California, and Noah and his little boy Grayson, who’s three, live in Duluth.
I cannot wait to see everyone.
Windy Harbor is one of my favorite places on Earth. I can’t believe it’s been so long since I’ve been there. I know the drive like the back of my hand. I turn toward Betty’s Piesin Two Harbors without thinking about it, practically tasting the toffee cream pie before I even step inside. I eat it in the car with the windows down, listening to the sound of passing cars and enjoying every sticky, sweet bite.
By the time I drive into Windy Harbor, my voice is hoarse from singing my lungs out with the radio. God, I missed this place. Even the uneven road feels like home, bumping underneath my tires. My stomach growls when I see The Hungry Walleye on the corner, its faded wooden sign swinging slightly in the wind. I can smell their beer-battered fish and fries from blocks away.
Across the street is the Kitty-Corner Cafe, tucked into the cutest blue building with white shutters. One of my childhood besties runs the shop, Juliana Fair, also known as Juju. I could go for her coffee and cinnamon rolls right about now too. Dang, that pie didn’t tide me over long enough. Out front, the chalkboard sign reads:Today’s Special: Tomato Basil Soup & Grilled Cheese!
That sure sounds good.
Next to the Kitty-Corner Cafe is What the Book?, the town’s cozy, slightly chaotic bookstore. Its hand-painted colorful window is faded but still charming. That place is dangerous. I could get lost in there for hours.
A few storefronts down, Miss Idella is sweeping in front of The Rusty Trunk. The best antique store ever. Miss Idella and her daughter Emmy refurbish furniture too, and I’m a sucker for all their pieces.
My eyes widen when I see Windy Fit. That’s new. I wonder if Erin had anything to do with that. She’s wanted a gym in town for a long time. Erin and her family run Cox Trading Post, the general store that looms ahead. It’s crammed with every possible thing you could ever need—groceries, fleece jackets, knickknacks with loons and canoesand pine trees on them. I really want to stop in and see her. From the day we met, we were best friends. She was what I looked forward to the very most about coming to Windy Harbor. I miss her. But this weekend is already crammed tight, and I don’t know if I’ll have time.
Finally, The Loon stands proudly at the edge of the small downtown, a neon loon flickering over the door like she’s beckoning me in. Same wooden steps, same red stools lined up inside. Best greasy burger and coldest beer in town for ten bucks. It makes me smile. Windy Harbor doesn’t change much. Thank goodness.
I coast forward, heart squeezing at the sight of Lake Superior stretching out forever.I’m home.
When I pull into the long drive leading to the lake house, the sun is low over the water, casting gold and orange streaks across the rippling surface of Lake Superior. The house stands proud and beautiful at the end of the drive. It takes my breath away every time I see it. French provincial charm blended with countryside cottage, the design of this home was the last labor of love my mom did before she died. I’m glad she was able to see it completed. This house is what inspired me to become an interior designer. I knew I wanted to be an artist before that, but I came by my love of house design and interiors honestly. My mom was an architect and my dad is a real estate mogul. The two of them were a powerful team. They owned many houses and made each one spectacular, but the Summit home and this lake home are the two that they chose to raise their family in.
Growing up, I couldn’t wait to come to Windy Harbor. We went every summer and as many weekends as possible throughout the year, and I lived for those times. There’s something about the water; it’s so vast it’s like the ocean, with the sound of the waves beating against the rocks andsand lulling me into contentment. It calls to me. Even now, living in Minneapolis, I need to be by the water, but though Lake Nokomis and the other lakes around the Twin Cities are beautiful, they’re not the same as Lake Superior.
A few cars are already parked out front. I’m the last one here. Not surprising. I had to stay late at the house I’m working on. Lately, I’ve barely slept, painting into the night, trying to be ready for the installation next month. I should’ve kept working this weekend, but my dad rarely asks anything of us, so I didn’t hesitate to say yes to this.
I’ve missed my dad and brothers so much. Spending time with them is exactly what I need.
I barely have the car in park before I jump out. The front door swings open, and I’m swallowed up by my giant brothers.
“Goldie!” Tully pulls me into a hug first, then looks at me like he didn’t just see me at lunch yesterday. “You made it.”
Minnesotans are known for their hardy stock. It doesn’t always mean tall, but for the Whitmans, it does. Dylan’s the baby of the family—twenty-three, three years younger than Tull and me—but he’s the tallest at 6’5”. He wraps me up from behind and then tickles my side, making me yelp. My older brothers, Camden, twenty-eight, and Noah, thirty-one, swarm in, tousling my hair like we’re kids. They’re both 6’4” and even though they’re older, they look the same age as Tully and me. And last but not least, Tully blames me for taking some of his height in the womb, but he’s not suffering at 6’3”. I think it’s more accurate to say he’s the one who stole my height, but I’m okay with being 5’8”.
Now.
As a kid, not so much.
I’m the shortest, the only blonde, and the only girl. Severely outnumbered.
“It took you forever!” Dylan says. “We thought you got lost.”
“She stopped for pie,” Tully says knowingly.
“Don’t tell all my secrets,” I say, breathless from the crush of bodies.
Noah steps back and Grayson barrels into me. His cheeks are pink, his dark brown eyes bright.
“Auntie Goldie!” he yells.
