I look at Mildred, her red cheeks sagging toward me, the feathers on her hat flying, and I laugh like a kid who just got finished engaging in a food fight.

“No,” I say to her, taking her hand. “Not at all.”

THIRTY-EIGHT

“No flood!” I announce following Sunday’s breakfast.

The guests break out into spontaneous applause.

There is a distinct difference in the guests today: people finally seem more relaxed.

This, in spite of my waterworks and the abnormally chilly and windy weather that has forced the cancellation of nearly all of my planned activities, from yoga to sunset cruises.

And yet fewer people are working on their laptops, more are interacting, and more are, well, just chill.

How long does it take people to unwind and finally relax? I think. How long did it take me to relax on vacation?

“We were supposed to have a sandcastle-building competition today,” I say. “But I think it might be too cold to spend hours on the lake. But for those who might be interested, I thought we’d just cut directly to the rock hunt and go on a long beach walk. So, maybe around one we’ll leave from here. Meet me in the lobby, and bundle up!”

Nearly every guest—including Trey and Cissy, who have yet to join the others for breakfast—is waiting in the entry when I walk out. We head to the beach, me handing out extra scarves, mittens and gloves for those who I see are unprepared.

“This wind is sobering,” Bev says, as the group heads toward Pier Cove.

I point out different rocks and stones to the group, sharing stories of how my parents and I collected them, and most guests excitedly begin plucking ones they want to take home.

Even Trey, I notice, is hunkered down over the stream running into the lake, picking stones from the clear, cold water and examining each one closely.

Cissy is staring out over the water—looking like a model in her expensive coat and leather gloves, stunning and serene as if she’s filming a perfume commercial.

“So, did Nate send you guys here to spy on me?” I ask, startling her.

She turns, her face falling, my question catching her completely off guard.

For a split second, I can see by her expression that she is thinking of lying to me, but instead she flashes the softest of smiles and says, “How did you know?”

“This doesn’t seem like your type of vacation,” I say. “Oh, and I saw Nate’s name flash on Trey’s cell when I was checking you into your room. I then double-checked your reservation, and saw that someone in Nate’s office had made it.”

“Nice job, Nancy Drew,” Cissy says with a small laugh.

She turns to me and puts her hand on my shoulder.