Lunch on the Lake

Every summer for the past five years, Mary had rented the same little cottage on the lake. The tradition had begun during the COVID pandemic, when she and her daughters’ families were keeping their distance from others and desperately needed a change of scenery. She found the cottage on VRBO, less than twenty minutes from home and rented it for a month.

It turned out to be one of the best decisions she had ever made.

The families spent nearly every day there, returning to their own homes each evening. It felt like a vacation without the packing, airports, or long drives.

The cottage itself was simple: two small bedrooms, a great room, a tiny kitchen, and an even tinier bathroom. But no one came for the house. They came for the deck overlooking the lake, where broad wooden steps led down to a patch of lawn, a sandy beach, and a dock that was made for fishing. Kayaks, a paddleboard and a canoe rested nearby, always ready to be launched. The shed stored life jackets, floaties, noodles, and every imaginable toy for a day on the water.

That first summer, the three grandchildren were all three years old. They spent endless hours building castles, digging moats, and channeling tiny rivers through the warm sand. On many evenings everyone stayed for hamburgers on the grill, followed by sticky fingers, chocolate-smudged faces, and marshmallows toasted over a crackling fire.

The month passed far too quickly.

Before the summer was over, Mary had already reserved the cottage for the following year. Then she booked it again the year after that, and the year after that. By the fifth summer there were four grandchildren, and the lake had become the highlight of everyone’s summer.

The children grew with the seasons. They learned to bait their own hooks and fish from the dock. They paddled kayaks confidently across the lake. During walks around the shoreline, they discovered that lake people had a fondness for decorating their yards with everything from, goofy ducks, and wooden owls to giant Big Foot cutouts and colorful pinwheels. Every summer became a scavenger hunt as they searched for the familiar decorations and delighted in spotting whatever was new.

Mary loved the rhythm of those days. Mornings were quiet with mist drifting over the water. She often arrived before everyone else and kayaked on the still water. Afternoons echoed with children’s laughter and the splash of paddles. Evenings settled into the soft chorus of crickets and twinkling fireflies.

This summer, now that the children were older, she found herself looking across the lake more often than usual. There was always something to watch. Fishermen drifted quietly in aluminum boats, their lines disappearing into the water. Kayakers hugged the shoreline, paddles dipping rhythmically with barely a splash. A giant inflatable unicorn floated lazily near the center of the lake, apparently having escaped its dock, while a family of geese glided past as if escorting it. It was best to keep the geese off the lawn and beach if you could. Here and there, people sat on their decks, cradling mugs of coffee and easing into the day.

On the far shore stood a small white cottage tucked among the trees. Someone was almost always there—a solitary figure whose morning routine unfolded at nearly the same time each day. From her Adirondack chair, Mary could just make out a person sitting beneath a patio umbrella.

She couldn’t help wondering who lived there.

That was when she remembered the binoculars tucked away in the hall closet back at home.

The next morning she poured herself a cup of coffee, settled into her favorite chair on the deck, and raised the binoculars to her eyes. The lake suddenly came alive. She could see fishermen baiting their hooks, a turtle sunning itself on a half-submerged log, and dragonflies darting just above the water. People went about their mornings completely unaware that someone across the lake was quietly observing the little moments that made up their day.

She slowly swept the shoreline until she found the white cottage.

A woman stood on the deck wearing a colorful caftan, one hand wrapped around a coffee mug as she leaned against the railing. Mary counted five hummingbird feeders on the deck.

I wonder who she is, Mary thought. Is she alone?

She watched for another minute or two before hearing the familiar sounds of one of her daughters pulling into the driveway.

Later that afternoon, her daughters and grandchildren launched the kayaks for a paddle around the lake. Mary picked up the binoculars again. She smiled as she watched the children laughing, their voices carrying faintly across the water.

Then her gaze drifted back to the white cottage. Mary admired how the woman kept herself busy. Some days she worked in her gardens. Other days she read. Today she had an easel set up on the deck and was painting.

The next afternoon Mary was eating her lunch on the deck. The kids were fishing off the dock. She picked up her binoculars. The woman was lighting the grill while another woman relaxed beneath the umbrella, sipping what appeared to be a glass of wine.

I wonder what she’s making.

The cook placed a flatbread directly on the grill. A few minutes later she carried it to the table. Through the binoculars, Mary watched as she scattered what looked like roasted tomatoes over the crust. Then she opened a container, and spread a generous layer of something creamy across the top. Finally, she finished it with a handful of leafy greens, maybe spinach or arugula. Whatever it was, it looked absolutely delicious, and the look on her friend’s face told her it was.

Mary lowered the binoculars for a moment and laughed to herself. She had never imagined she would be able to see so much from across the lake.

I want that recipe!

That evening, the flatbread stayed on Mary’s mind longer than it should have.

“You seem awfully interested in what’s happening across the lake,” her daughter said with a smile.

“I’m interested in lunch,” Mary replied. “You should have seen the flatbread she made on the grill. It looked delicious”

“Then paddle over and ask her for the recipe.”

“I am not paddling across a lake to ask a complete stranger for a recipe.”

Her granddaughter looked up from her coloring book.

“Why not?”

Mary laughed.

“Because then I’d have to admit I was spying on her.”

The next morning, Mary carried her coffee onto the deck and reached for the binoculars. She focused on the little white cottage across the lake.

There she was.

Only this time, the woman was looking back. She lowered her binoculars just long enough to laugh, then raised them again and gave Mary an enthusiastic wave. Mary couldn’t help but laugh too. She waved back. The woman pointed toward a bright yellow kayak resting on the shore, then gestured toward the middle of the lake.

Mary nodded.

A few minutes later they met halfway, their kayaks drifting gently as they floated side by side.

“I’ve been trying to figure out who all those laughing children belonged to,” the woman said.

Mary grinned. “That’s funny. I’ve been wondering about the flatbread you grilled the other day.”

They both burst out laughing.

“So we were spying on each other?”

“I prefer to call it being neighborly from a distance,” Mary said.

“I like that better.” She smiled. “By the way, I’m Sue.”

“Mary.”

“Well, Mary, if you’re free around noon today, paddle over. I’ll make that flatbread again, and I’ll even give you the recipe.”

“It’s a date,” Mary said.