The Wood Beneath Our Nails

“I hate it here.”

“You do?”

“Yes. It’s stuffy and cramped and–”

“Old?”

“Well,  I didn’t want to be the one to say it.”

“I guess it’s a bit… vintage.”

“Vintage? This thing has to be falling apart. I wouldn’t be surprised if the roof caved in.”

“Remember when we loved it?”

“No.”

“Remember when we cherished how we could scrape at the decaying wood, the feeling of it in our fingernails?”

“Gross.”

“Luce, I’m not saying I’d do it now. I just mean it meant something to us at one point.”

“Yeah, when I was, like, three. I hardly remember this place.”

“You were ten.”

“Still.”

“We practically grew up here.”

“I wouldn’t say coming here during the summers for a decade is considered ‘growing up.’ This was more Mom and Dad’s thing.”

“And they would’ve loved it if we kept up with it.”

“They would have, I guess.”

“So what happened?”

“We’ve gotten older?”

“You think?”

“Come on, I don’t know. I just know that I hate the rotten smell of this place. An animal must’ve died in the walls. Ten animals. And the ventilation? There is none.”

“Open a window; you’ll survive. Now quit complaining and help me carry the suitcases upstairs.”

“There’s no way they’ll hold. The stairs are just as rotted as the walls. Maybe worse. Maybe my foot will go straight through and–”

“Grab a suitcase, will you?”

“Seriously? We’re staying in this dump?”

“Well, we need to sell it.”

“And?”

“In order to sell it, we have to fix it up.”

“We could stay at the inn down the street.”

“I’m not sure that’s any better. Besides, now we’re old enough to stay in the master bedroom.”

“You mean you’re old enough. We aren’t sharing a bed.”

“Exactly.”

“So where do I sleep?”

“No.”

“What do you mean ‘no?’ It’s cute. Quaint.”

“Shut up.”

“I can’t believe the bed is still intact. I remember tearing at the mattress and– Okay, don’t give me that look. If you want to spend money on a room at the inn, you can.”

“I don’t have money.”

“I know.”

“Let me sleep in the master if you love this one so much.”

“How about no?”

“How about screw you?”

“How about you do something for Mom and Dad for once?” 

“How about– Whatever. You’re right. I’ll sleep on the stupid twin-sized mattress and hope bedbugs don’t eat at my skin.”

“That’s the spirit.” 

“That’s the spirit.”

“Can you toss me a screwdriver?”

“So now you want to help?”

“I mean, look at these cabinets. You built them totally wrong. You might be older, but I was born with the brains.”

“Or the man-hands.”

“What was that?”

“I’m not throwing a screwdriver across the room.”

“Y’know, you don’t need to fight me on everything. Least you could do is thank me for the help. Otherwise, this place would still be falling apart.”

“I wasn’t the one complaining about sleeping on a tiny bed. Or sleeping in this cabin. Or rotted walls and stairs.”

“Pretty sure I heard you scream last night over a couple of daddy long-legs.”

“Just screw the damn screw.”

“Are we sure this isn’t toxic?”

“It’s paint.”

“Paint is toxic.”

“Don’t eat it.”

“But it looks so good.”

“Then eat it.”

“Are you trying to kill me?”

“Luce.”

“Okay, okay. I’m painting.”

“I feel like we’re doing the bathroom so dirty with the blue.”

“It's fine. It looks more like a bathroom than it did before.”

“Less rusty?”

“Way less rusty.”

“I can’t believe we fixed the pipes all by ourselves. I’m proud of us, Big Sis.”

“Are you just saying that to sugarcoat me into getting you a new bed? You know it can’t be done until–”

“After the bedrooms are cleaned up. I know. You’ve said this a million times. I’m actually, genuinely, wholeheartedly proud of us.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“I am too.”

“I’m not going in the water. There are probably sharks in there. If one of those beasts bites your leg off, I’m not coming to save you.”

“It’s a lake, Lucinda.”

“Jesus– Ahh! My ears. My beautiful ears.”

“Lucinda, Lucinda, Lucinda.”

“I can’t take it anymore.”

“Get in the water and I’ll stop, Lucinda.”

“But the sharks…”

“IT’S A LAKE!”

“It’s cold.”

“Then sit on this raft with me.”

“What if it sinks?”

“Sit on it and we’ll find out.”

“I guess this is kind of nice. And the fact it has cupholders.”

“Should we play Marco Polo?”

  “What are you? Nine?”

“You’re never too old for Marco Polo.”

“When you’re in your twenties, you are.”

“You’re barely in your twenties.”

“I’m twenty.”

“Exactly.”

“Sometimes, I can’t believe I’m the younger sibling. Okay, stop trying to dunk me un– STOP.”

“Polo.”

“What? Come back here.”

“Polo.”

“Em, please. Just lay on the float with me.”

“Polo.”

“Marco.”

“Polo.”

“Emma? Can I sleep in here with you?”

“Hmm?”

“There’s a thunderstorm.”

“There is?”

“You don’t hear it?”

“Mmm.”

“Scoot over, I’m climbing in.”

“Mmm.”

“It smells like Mom’s perfume.”

“I know.”

“So strongly of it. How’s that possible? I can’t remember when she last stepped foot in this cabin.”

“You know, you used to sneak into bed with them just like this as a kid.”

“I did?”

“Just like this.”

“I guess I didn’t grow up as much as I thought.”

“Yeah. Now go to sleep, please.”

“You started the conversation… Okay. Whatever. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

“Hey, I think the cabin is shaking. The winds can’t blow this thing down, can they? What if it gets struck by lightning? I’ve never been in a house fire before, but I wouldn’t put it past this place to get engulfed in flames. It is made of wood.”

“Goodnight, Luce.”

“Oh, gross!”

“What? What is it?”

“I think it’s mold.”

“Yep, that’s definitely mold.”

“Beneath the floorboards? How is that possible?”

“Probably flooded at some point. Now that I’m looking at it, we should’ve started fixing this place earlier.”

“Like, right after Mom and Dad…?”

“Yeah.”

“What do we do about the mold then?”

“Clean it out and replace all the flooring. It shouldn’t be that– Seriously? Stop groaning, it shouldn’t be that hard.”

“So. Much. Wood.”

“No complaining or you’re sleeping outside.”

“I think I actually have money for the inn.”

“You don’t.”

“I do now.”

“Yeah?’

“I don’t.”

“Great, now help me rip up these floorboards. And for the love of God, wear gloves this time.”

“I can’t believe we've been sleeping on all this mold.”

“Turning the nozzle in three… two… one!”

“They’re on.”

“They are?”

“The sprinklers actually work!”

“During weeks of scraping rust and rot out of the cabin, I couldn’t imagine a single miracle. Yet here we are, excited over some sprinklers.”

“We should start our own fixer-upper TV show.”

“Pretty sure that exists. Also, I don’t think you’re cut out for the cameras.”

“Oh, I’m not?”

“Not with that– Hey! You’re disgusting.”

“What? A little mud won't hurt you. It’s good for the skin.”

“Yeah? Then here.”

“Lucinda! Don’t shove me! What is wrong with you?”

“Didn't you say mud is good for the skin?”

“At least help me up. The sprinklers are making mudslides.”

“Sure. Wait–”

“Idiot.”

“You’re so dead, Emma.”

“Shit. We shouldn't track mud on the new flooring. How’re we supposed to rinse this off?”

“Last one to the lake has to clean out the attic!"

“They can’t come.”

“The realtor is five minutes away.”

“Tell her to turn around. We’re not ready.”

“The cabin has been ready for a week. It’s time to say goodbye.”

“But I love this place.”

“I thought you hated it.”

“Did I say that? I actually love it. Love, love, love. Decaying walls and all.”

“What will we do with a cabin? It’s not like either of us can come out every weekend to keep it clean.”

“Yeah, but... Ugh! This was Mom and Dad’s favorite place. We have so many memories here.”

“That apparently you don’t remember.”

“I do. I remember it all. I– I just didn’t want to be here at first, okay? But I remember kayaking while sitting on Mom’s lap and fishing beside our impatient father. Them telling us stories before bed and then keeping the hall light on because the kid’s room gets too dark. I even remember your bizarre wood scraping habit and Dad holding you down to remove the splinters from your fingertips.”

“I knew you remembered.”

“It feels like we’re losing them again. How can we go through with this? They never would’ve wanted us to sell their favorite place, right? It’s ours. They said it’s ours.”

“In the future, you can buy your own cabin. But for now, it has to go.”

“Please, Emma.”

“I know, but we have to sell it. Don’t start the waterworks or I’m going to cry.”

“Em.”

“Luce.”

“Please.”

“She’s here.”