A Season For Us

chapter 9

Eleanor pov

I climbed into my truck and turned the key, the low rumble of the engine grounding me more than anything else had all week.

I didn’t have a plan. I just knew I needed to get away.

The gas station on the edge of town was quiet—just two other cars and a clerk who barely looked up. I filled the tank, grabbed a few snacks, a Rockstar from the cooler, and hit the road again. I didn’t check my phone. Didn’t even turn on the GPS.

My music blared through the speakers, drowning out the silence that had been clawing at me all week. Every lyric a distraction. Every beat a shield.

I hadn’t thought about the lake cabin in years—not since before they died. It wasn’t a destination, not consciously. But at some point, without meaning to, I took the familiar turns. The back roads. The long stretch of highway lined with pine. Muscle memory took over. Maybe grief did too.

I didn’t even realize where I was going until the gravel crunched beneath my tires and I saw the driveway winding up through the trees.

The old cabin stood at the top of the slope, tucked against the edge of the lake like it had always been. Silent. Waiting.

I sat there in the driver’s seat for a full minute, just staring.

It was peaceful here. Quieter than anywhere else in the world.

I hadn’t realized how much I missed this place—how much I’d buried it. How much of them lived in the wood, in the water, in the space between the porch posts and wind-chimes.

And God, I was glad it hadn’t been sold.

When everything else had been liquidated, when the house and cars and furniture were all packed and gone… this place stayed. I’d asked the lawyer to keep it off the list. Somehow, I still had a key.

I found it on my keychain. The brass was scratched and cold in my hand as I stepped onto the porch and unlocked the door.

It creaked open with a groan like the house was waking up.

Dust hung thick in the air. Sheets still covered the couch and armchairs. Cobwebs danced in the corners of the windows. The kitchen smelled faintly of pine and time.

It was like stepping into a memory. Like time had frozen here the day my parents died.

The tears came fast—hot and aching, trailing down my cheeks before I even fully stepped inside.

My mom would’ve cried too if she saw it like this. She always kept this place spotless. Warm. Full of laughter and morning coffee and the smell of baked cinnamon rolls.

Now it felt hollow.

But I wasn’t going to let it stay that way.

I dropped my bag near the door, wiped my face with the sleeve of my hoodie, and pulled the sheets off the furniture one by one. I opened the windows, letting in the crisp lake air. The overgrown yard would have to wait—but inside, I could at least start reclaiming it.

This place was the last thing I had that felt like ours.

So I made myself busy.

Because when the grief got too heavy, movement helped. Cleaning helped. Doing something with my hands kept my mind from spiraling.

And even though I wasn’t sure I’d come back here again after this weekend, for now—it was what I needed.

Silence. Space. A piece of who I used to be.

And no one expecting me to smile.

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By Thursday evening, the cabin was starting to feel more like a home again.

Eleanor stood in the middle of the living room, a soft smile playing at the corners of her lips. The air no longer smelled like dust and time, but pine-scented cleaner and crisp lake breeze. She’d wiped down every surface, folded and stored the old sheets, vacuumed the rugs, and swept the wooden floors until her arms ached.

She’d only stopped once the setting sun cast a golden light across the space, slanting in through the wide lake-facing windows.

She caught her reflection in the dusty hall mirror as she passed.

A mess.

Hair wild, cheeks flushed, a streak of grime across her jawline. She looked like she’d crawled out of a cave—but there was a strange sort of contentment in that. For the first time in days, she felt a little lighter.

Eleanor opened the back door and stepped out onto the deck, the cold wind kissing her sweat-damp skin.

Without overthinking it, she kicked off her boots, peeled off her socks, and headed for the dock.

The lake was still. Quiet. A glassy sheet of deep blue stretching into the fading light.

It was late fall—too cold for swimming by any sane standard—but that’s what made it perfect. She needed something to snap her out of the emotional fog that had followed her all week.

With a deep breath, she dove in.

The water was a shock to the system. It stole the breath from her lungs and burned through her limbs—but it woke her. It cut through the heaviness in her chest like a blade. She surfaced with a gasp, hair plastered to her face, fingers stinging, heart racing—and for the first time in what felt like months, she laughed.

Not a big laugh. Just a small, disbelieving breath of sound.

But it was hers.

She stayed in the water just long enough to feel clean. Not physically—emotionally. Cleansed.

Back inside, she wrapped herself in a thick blanket and stood under the shower until her skin prickled with warmth again. She threw on leggings, a hoodie, and her old sneakers, grabbed her keys, and headed into town for groceries and the necessities she’d forgotten she’d need: toilet paper, milk, bread, tea, maybe something chocolate.

Before leaving, she poked her head into the shed behind the cabin and found exactly what she was looking for—two full gas cans and a rusty push mower buried under a tarp.

The yard would be her next project. And it was a big one. Her parents had chosen this land for its privacy—acres of trees and wild grass, with no neighbors in sight.

Tomorrow, she’d tackle it. Maybe not all of it, but enough to feel like she was taking care of something again. Reclaiming it.

That night, she slipped into her old bed, the same one she’d slept in during summers as a kid. The mattress was a little harder than she remembered, the blankets a little thinner, but the smell—lake air, cedar, something faintly sweet—was exactly the same.

She laid there, staring at the dark ceiling, letting the memories come.

Her dad teaching her how to swim off the end of the dock. Her first time water skiing and the belly flop that followed. The peanut butter and jelly sandwiches wrapped in foil, eaten on the beach with sand between her toes. The first time she ever saw the northern lights dance across the sky—her mom waking her up in the middle of the night to see them.

This place was so different from the life they’d built back in the city. No luxury cars, no busy schedules, no business dinners. Just stars, trees, and each other.

And honestly? She’d always preferred it here.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, the glow lighting up the old floral wallpaper for a brief second. She hesitated, then reached for it.

A message from Zack.

> Missed you in class today. No one to keep me entertained.

Eleanor stared at the screen for a long moment, thumb hovering.

She wasn’t ready to reply.

Not yet.

But for the first time, the message didn’t feel like pressure or expectation. Just… a note. A small sign someone noticed she was gone.

She set the phone back down, rolled onto her side, and let herself fall asleep to the sound of the lake lapping gently against the dock outside.