Page 96 of Because of Liam

We came together,

And took a chance on each other.

Where will the path take us?

Is it too soon to say I love you?

Where will the path take us?

Is it too soon to say I love you?

Can it ever be too soon to say I love you?

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

I glanceat River and her eyes are fixed on the radio. Can she hear the same thing I do? Can she read the meaning behind the words and if so, does she feel the same way I do? Is it too soon to say I love her?

And what if she doesn’t feel the same way about me? What if she’s just hanging on because of what she went through?

An old memory flickers to life when I see a sign on the side of the road.

Old Mill Lake.

I take the turn as if it had been my intention all along and not a result of my random driving. It’s been years since I was last down this road, aptly named after the old mill on the edge of the lake. The stone structure is aged by time and weather. It’s part of a nature preserve and the Historical Society keeps it in shape.

When we were kids, this was a favorite hangout for lazy summer afternoons. A bunch of teens would pile up in cars and drive up to the lake for a swim. There’s a stone ledge we can climb and jump into the lake from. It’s deep enough to be safe.

Today, it’s just us driving down the two-lane road winding through the trees. At this time in the morning on a mid-September weekday, most people are either at work or school.

Neither one of us has school or work today. Mondays are a free day for us, handpicked so we could extend the weekend and avoid the most hated day of the week.

I bring the truck closer to the lake, turn it around, and park facing away from the shore.

River raises an eyebrow at me but doesn’t say anything. She hops out of the truck and I turn to the back and grab the blankets and overstuffed pillows I know Logan always keeps behind the driver’s seat.

I jump on the back of the truck and spread the thick blanket over the truck bed along with the second, lighter blanket and the two overstuffed pillows.

River’s eyebrow hikes up a little higher.

“Looks like you have a plan in mind.”

“No, no plan. I didn’t even think of this place until I saw the sign on the side of the road.”

I hop off the truck and take her hand.

“Let’s go for a walk.”

Her hand feels right in mine. Our fingers lace and fit like pieces of a puzzle.

It’s a bright day, not warm or cold. The kind of day that feels good while you’re in the sun but gets a little chilly in the shade. We walk along the side of the lake in the direction of the mill. Pebbles and sand crunch under our feet. A soft wind blows and carries the sounds of nature in the breeze. The chirping of birds and insects, the water lapping on the shore, our breaths and all the thoughts in our heads, unspoken but too loud all the same.

“I used to come here when I was a kid and jump off that ledge.” I point at the stone ramp coming off the side of the mill.

“It looks like fun. And a little scary. You can never tell what’s under the dark water.”

Her words make me think of Grandpa again.

“Grandpa used to say people are like water. Some are clear and you can see right into their souls. Kids are like clear waters. Most people are a little muddled. If you wait long enough so what’s churning them stops, and the sediment falls to the bottom, they too became clear. And if they allow that sediment to stay down, it will eventually become the foundation of everything they build upon. And some—some are like dark, deep waters. Try as you might you may never see into them.”

She stops and looks up at me, deep in thought.

“Which one are you?” she asks.

I think about it. If anyone had asked me this question a few months ago, I would’ve certainly answered the dark waters. But today I’m not so sure. Today I think I’ve stopped churning long enough for the sediment to go down. Today I can see all that I’ve gone through as the foundation on which I can build my life. With River by my side if she’ll have me.

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