Friday night in Silver Lake, Los Angeles, California. Alone. In a guest house, eating homemade microwave popcorn. Add a sprinkling of olive oil and it’s actually a healthy after-dinner snack (I read that in Women’s Health). I was watching a critically acclaimed Korean film on GlobalNet when I got a Skype call on my iPhone. It was Alastair from his hotel room in Vancouver.

“Hey, babe, are you lonesome tonight?”

“Well, Elvis, I’m in a bathrobe, eating a tub of homemade popcorn on a Friday night in the City of Angels…”

“I miss you too, Jo Jo—”

“Who’s Jo Jo?” called out a female voice from somewhere in the room. A striking blonde stuck her head out from behind Alastair, a friendly smile morphing into a wide grin.

“Alastair! Who is that woman in your room?”

“It’s alright, Jo! This is Ann Flaherty. Philippa’s sister-in-law. You know, she’s married to Philippa’s brother, Christopher, the sculptor—”

Another face edged into view alongside Alastair. And, yes, he did have a passing resemblance to Philippa. Ann and Christopher waved. “Hi, Joanne!” they shouted in unison.

“I must have told you that my Vancouver trip was to check in on Ann’s movie, Swift Revenge.

“Is that the movie adaptation of the Broadway musical of the same name?”

“Yes, I was the Taylor Swift character on Broadway and Taylor insisted I play that role again in the film,” Ann explained. “Alastair was really instrumental in getting all the parties together with GlobalNet.” She placed both hands on his shoulders and shook. “Philippa told me you’re working with her on an autobiographical screenplay for Alastair—”

“Yes, I adore Philippa and Paul and their delicious little girl Clarissa—”

“My niece you’re talking about. She’s going to take Hollywood by storm when she grows up. Paul should show you the home movies he’s made with Clarissa. In costume no less! Of course, the dialogue is kind of limited. But she emotes really well.”

“Honey, let’s go. I’m sure Al and Joanne have some important stuff to discuss…by themselves.”

“Oh, sorry Alastair, thanks for dinner. Bye, Joanne!” She waved and hooked her arm into Christopher’s. Exit stage right.

“Bye. See you in LA, soon.” To Alastair: “Where were we? Oh, right, you were doing a bad Elvis impression—”

“I played bass in a rock band in college, you know. Lots of Huey Lewis & The News and Bon Jovi covers—” I burst out laughing at the image of Alastair in a big hair ‘80s band. “Wait, I’ll have you know we almost got signed by Billy Schechter.”

“By the mid-80s, wasn’t Schechter washed up in the business? Drug problems. Concealed gun arrest. Domestic violence, yadda, yadda?”

“He got fired from Monarch Records the day before he would’ve signed us. I guess it wasn’t meant to be.”

“I didn’t mean to demean your musical talent, Alastair. I was just picturing you with a Bret Michaels hairdo.”

“I’ll be home end of next week. Save some popcorn for me.”

“Alastair, I think I’ve stepped into it.”

“What, I thought you and Philippa were gangbusters.”

“No, it’s not about the screenplay. Although, I need to fill you in on some changes or additions to the story I want. But we’ll talk about that when you’re back. I’m really excited about the possibilities. What I’m worried about is Dr. Petry, Joey’s dad. He paid me a surprise visit today.”

“You’ve never met him, you told me.”

“No, never, until today. He showed up unannounced when I got home from Philippa’s place. The gist of our conversation was he wants me to broker a meeting with his daughter. Apparently, she’s turned down every attempt to spend time with her. Can’t really blame her. I’d hate him too in her shoes. The man completely abandoned her and Elizabeth when Joey’s dysphoria was diagnosed.”

“You didn’t agree to ambush Joey, did you? It’s not your concern and Joey’s made it clear, I gather, that she’d rather have nothing whatsoever to do with that man.”

“I…I felt they should at least try to reconcile. He is her father, after all. And he seems sincerely contrite…”

“You don’t want to get in the middle of their family drama, Jo. Or is it that you still have feelings for Elizabeth? I mean, you see her for the first time in 30 years. She basically begs you to come back into her life. Her daughter coincidentally starts dating your stepson. You’re being set up on both sides, I think.”

“Are you jealous, Alastair? It’s cute if you are. No, I have no remaining feelings for Elizabeth. I even tossed that stupid painting she gave me as a parting gift last Christmas. I do like Joey a lot and I can see she really needs to come to terms with both her parents. What’s wrong with having her father offering her a belated apology? Even if she doesn’t forgive him, it’s a sort of closure. Besides, the guy says his health is pretty bad.”

“Oh, Jo, you’re such a pushover. He’ll probably outlive both of us and Elizabeth. I don’t know what game he’s playing but you should just stay off the field. Let them handle their own problems. I don’t want them hurting you anymore.”

“That won’t happen, Al. I’ll get them together in the same physical space and let them work it out themselves. I’ll get in your Audi and take in the late-night smog. I’ll be very circumspect.”

“I wish I was there to help. Do you want me to cancel the rest of my trip? I can re-schedule the Toronto meetings—”

“Please, Alastair, I’m not a child. And how could you help anyway? Neither of them knows you from Adam. Let’s talk about something else, okay? Like how much you miss me…”

We spent the next half hour talking about blush-worthy things better left out of this narrative. I made another serving of popcorn but topped it with salted butter. Living dangerously, I munched the snack while I finished watching the Korean movie I had screen-recorded while on the Skype call. Tomorrow was going to be a productive day. Joey had Saturday off and had agreed to continue her “life-story” for me. Her story could be another arc in my screenplay, showing another facet of the transgender experience. My own story was rather bland, I thought. As much as I repeated this proviso to Alastair, he just remained adamant that it was a story worthy of a film treatment. And he would kiss me to seal his argument.

It was Joey’s suggestion to have brunch at De Buena Planta, a newly opened vegan Mexican restaurant in Silver Lake on Sunset Boulevard. Neither of us were vegan but Joey was a fan of De Buena Planta’s primary branch in Venice (California not Italy). The new branch had a patio for alfresco brunches on weekends. Not familiar with Mexican cuisine myself, I let Joey order a table full of tacos, burritos, and chilaquiles verdes (lightly fried tortillas slathered in homemade salsa verde). For a beverage, I pitched in to order a carafe of the house spritz (Campari, OJ, and rosé), which I reminded Joey she had enjoyed when she had dinner at my place. I tucked in to enjoy a leisurely mid-morning meal when, without prompting, Joey started to continue the story of her peripatetic journey south from Boston to New York to Washington, DC, and her grandparents’ house. With a mouth full of half-chewed tortilla, I scrambled to reach for my phone so I could record her. By the time I had pressed record, she was already on the train heading toward Union Station in DC.

It was a cloudy afternoon all the way down the Eastern Seaboard as I rode the Amtrak to DC. My mood was a mix of anticipation and loss. I had just spent several days in New York trying to reach into my mother’s past to find clues into my future as a transwoman. But the past refused to heed my beckoning. There were no answers there. Now, I was hours away from reintroducing myself to my grandparents, my aunt and uncle, and my cousins, who all knew me as Joey, the diffident boy, not Joey, soon to be a grown woman. As I looked out at the greyness all around me, shuffle play on my phone delivered the appropriately ironic Joni Mitchell song, “Both Sides Now.” The lady sitting across from me reflexively returned my smile though she couldn’t possibly know what I found so amusing. Both sides now. Yeah, that about describes it.

As I tossed my bulky backpack into the back seat of Grandpa’s 2006 Cadillac DTS, I looked at the 70-year-old man sitting in the driver’s seat. Sam Greene had bought the car the same year he’d retired from his position as a Project Director at the National Institute of Standards and Technology in Gaithersburg, Maryland. I’d spent a month or longer every summer of my life since I was 6 or 7 years old staying with my grandparents. My parents were too occupied by their work at the hospital to mind a child out of school for 3 months. Grandpa would take me fishing or to baseball games, thinking a boy like me would enjoy such activities. Mostly, I would stay indoors reading, playing video games or watching soap operas with Grandma. Despite my strangeness, they both seem delighted every year when I’d be driven down to their house by Mom, kid-sized backpacks stuffed with more books than clothes, the sight of which caused Grandma to chuckle every time. It was a half-hour ride to Silver Spring, Maryland where my grands lived. After sharing a big hug, we settled in for the drive. I had to listen to Grandpa’s favorite news station all the way. It’d be rude to put my earbuds in, so I stared out at the gathering gloom of evening.

Although my backpack was mostly filled with clothing this time (all my reading was on my laptop hard drive or available online), my grandma still shook her head.

“Joey, your clothes are all crumpled and wrinkled. You can’t wear these anywhere nice. I suppose you think you’re going to wear the same t-shirt and jeans for your entire three months here? No, young lady, we’re going shopping tomorrow. Your cousin Sally has already volunteered to drive us to Tysons Corner. They have everything under the sun there.”

“Can’t we just wash them and iron them out?”

“Well, Joey, we…that is, you could do that. But I thought you wanted to study medicine not learn how to be a charwoman. Besides, some of these need to be professionally cleaned and pressed—”

“You just want to go shopping with me, Gran.”

“Is that a bad thing? You’re my favorite grandchild.” Lowering her voice. “Don’t tell Sally tomorrow, okay? She thinks she’s my favorite.” She laughed as she dumped the rest of my clothes onto the floor of my designated bedroom.

“Does Sally have to come along?”

“Oh, she’s been pestering me on the phone day and night to make sure she gets to tag along. Ever since I told your Aunt Karen you were coming to stay until the end of the year.”

“She wants to get a good look at the freak, I bet.” Gran enveloped me in her arms, kissing my forehead.

“You’re not a freak. And Sally loves you. The two of you used to play in a sandbox together when your aunt and uncle lived in Cleveland. Remember? Your uncle was getting his graduate degree in engineering at Case Western.”

“You didn’t know but she used to let me wear her clothes when we played in her bedroom. She said we looked more like sisters than cousins.”

“I knew. Aunt Karen knew. We just thought you were playing around like little kids do. We really didn’t think much about it.” I started to tear up. Gran took some Kleenex from somewhere on her person and wiped my eyes.

“You and grandpa so easily accepted me as a girl. Even mom had some difficulty at first taking me seriously when I told her I was really a girl.”

“We saw you and what we saw was a beautiful little girl trapped in the wrong body. I prayed every day you could be freed from your gender prison. Thank God, the light bulb went on in your mother’s head finally.”

“And that ended their marriage. I split up my parents. My mom’s life was destroyed. Because of me and my stupid…problem.”

“What happened between your mom and dad had nothing to do with you, sweetie. It’s the excuse they use. And shame on them for doing that. I hate to say this, but they should never have been married in the first place. You mother always valued career over personal fulfillment. I told her many, many times not to go into medicine. She thought I was a fool to quit pre-med when I met your grandfather. I did it because I loved your grandfather and wanted to have a family with him.”

“I’m afraid that’s not how women see themselves these days, Gran. I wouldn’t give up my career ambitions for a man or a brood of babies either. I’m sort of glad I can never have children of my own. I’ll never be put in that corner.”

“But, Joey, you can adopt. You’ll meet the right young man, and you’ll want to have a family with him. You’ll see.”

“I doubt that very much. And I’m not even sure I’m attracted to men. Maybe I’m a lesbian—”

“Joey! Perish the thought. Anyway, you’re too young to worry about such things. You’re still a child.”

“I’m 18, Gran! That’s legal age.”

“Shush. Here, this one’s not too wrinkled. Change into this. Your aunt and uncle and your younger cousins are coming over for dinner in about 20 minutes. I would tell you to freshen up your makeup, but you don’t have any on. Brush your hair then.”

Dinner was a bit of a farce. While Aunt Karen warmly welcomed me to the better sex, Uncle Chuck kept remarking that the world was getting too weird for him to handle. He repeated this bon mot several times during the evening despite getting none-too-subtle elbows in his side from Aunt Karen every time he uttered it. My twin boy cousins, 14-year-olds, asked me if I thought The Patriots would win the Super Bowl this season (they assumed I would have inside knowledge coming from Boston). When I just shook my head and said I had no idea, they turned back to the Nintendo 3DSes in their grubby hands and ignored me for the rest of the night. As they were leaving, one of them did turn around and say sheepishly that he thought I was very pretty. He pivoted on a dime and ran out the door, his brother laughing at him.

Tysons Corner Center is a super-sized shopping mall in Virginia, 13 miles north by northwest of Washington, DC. It boasts over 300 shops, services, restaurants, a movie plex and a concert stage. You can spend an entire day going through its various and sundry enticements. Me, I just wanted to buy a couple of skirts, tops, jeans, underwear sets and sneakers and escape with a sliver of brain function remaining. I was prodded, pushed, my arms and legs wrenched this way and that, all in the name of finding the perfect fit. Gran got tired of the tussle and left the dirty work to Sally, my cousin. She had just started her freshman year at Georgetown, so she was living on campus and had to drive 20 minutes to Silver Spring to pick us up and then 30 minutes to Tysons Corner.

“I’m sorry you had to miss a day of classes to help me shop,” I said with my back turned to Sally in a fitting room in H&M as she was zipping me into a skater skirt.

“No problem. I just missed Freshman Composition in the morning today. I’ll get an A no sweat. I’m thinking of majoring in English so I’m pretty good with words. Girl, you’ve got no hips.”

“I’m still growing, and I’ve been taking hormones for only two years. I’ll probably have a bubble butt like my mother before too soon.”

“And the upstairs could use some packing peanuts.” I must have sniffled audibly. “Don’t cry, Joey. I’m a doofus. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I’m bad at humor.” She turned me around and the skirt which she didn’t finish zipping up fell to the floor. “You’re a cute girl. I wish I was as pretty as you. Really. You know, I know some guys at school who’d fall all over themselves asking you out. You should hang out with me and my friends in DC on the weekends. There’s lots to do and see in the city. And lots of cute guys.”

“I’m not very social, Sally. Even before my transition, I didn’t have many friends or hang out much. I barely set foot in a mall more than a couple of times a year, much less went to concerts or saw movies.”

“Didn’t you have a really close friend? Maybe some cute boy who’s probably wondering what happened to you over the summer? Look at you now! He might be pleasantly surprised.”

I thought about my erstwhile best friend Julia and how that relationship was probably over before it ever began. Had I ever experienced a real crush on anyone, boy or girl? It’s so confusing being me.

“I’ll come by Saturday morning and pick you up. The gang is thinking about going to Mazza Gallerie and pushing our noses against the windows, dreaming of having the money to buy the clothes on the mannequins. Then hitting Adams Morgan to see what’s hopping. Sound good?”

“More shopping?”

“We’re not going to buy anything. We can try stuff on though. As long as the salesgirls think there’s an outside chance you might be holding daddy’s card. So, wear something nice.”

“Well, alright. I’ll have to get the green light from Gran and Grandpa though.”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about that. I’m Gran’s favorite grandchild. She has blind trust in me, girlie.”

Having finished our vegan Mexican brunch, I suggested we reconvene at my temporary domicile. Driving our separate cars through the weekend traffic, it took us an extra 10 minutes to arrive at Hidalgo Avenue. Once inside, I made some instant coffee. It was El Pico. I had unexpectedly found it at Trader Joe’s.

“Mom still drinks El Pico. It’s hard to find in Boston. I’d assume it’s even more difficult to find here. It reminds me of rainy weekend afternoons sitting in her kitchen in Somerville. Does it remind you of my mom?”

“Sometimes, Joey, sometimes. Settled in? Continue. I’m recording…now.”

Grandpa allowed me a day of rest from my arduous bout of shopping. But instead of just flaking out on the couch or staying in bed until after noon, I was woken up at the crack of mid-morning to wash all the clothes I had just purchased the day before. Gran sorted out the ones that needed hand washing while the others could be thrown into the washing machine.

“You’re lucky, Joey. Back in the day, you had to iron your clothes too. Otherwise, you’d look like just tumbled out of a cement mixer. Nowadays, there aren’t many fabrics that need ironing. Looks like millennials can take credit for at least one good improvement in life.”

After Gran finished watching her “stories,” as she called the soap operas the followed (Days of Our Lives, One Life to Live, and General Hospital), she insisted I try on all of my new clothes for her. I modeled the entire collection behind the closed door of my bedroom. Yes, even the underwear. There was a beatific smile on her face throughout my little runway show. She clapped her hands several times and tears rolled down her cheeks.

“You look so much like your mother at the same age, it’s stunning.”

“So, you’re saying mom was a scrawny, bony-hipped, flat-chested teenager?”

“You’re still growing, Joey. Look at yourself in the mirror. I see a beautiful young girl. What do you see?”

“I see me, Gran. The new, improved me.”

“That beautiful girl has always been there. I saw it when you were a cute little rugrat.”

It was Grandpa’s idea that a few days of lake fishing would recall those happy summer days of yesteryear for me. Of course, I always enjoyed fishing with Grandpa. But it wasn’t the ritual of baiting hooks with worms and crickets, sitting in a pontoon boat for hours, or even, on occasion, beating the adults by hooking the biggest catch of the day that was the highlight for me. For someone who often felt neglected by their parents, the feelings I had kicking back and trading smiles with grandpa while casting a line into the lake were warmer than the summer sun. So, I gladly accompanied him on his pilgrimage to Deep Creek Lake in the far northwest corner of Maryland, a three-hour drive from Silver Spring. We always stayed in a cabin at The Walleye Fishing Lodge. The owner, his family and the staff knew my grandfather well as a longtime patron. I suppose they might very well remember me too. But would they recognize me now?

Gus Brando, the owner of the lodge, welcomed grandpa with a stentorian greeting. “Dr. Greene! Good to see you again! We have your favorite cabin ready for you.” He looked at me, was about to say something, stopped and turned to his wife, Bridget, standing next to him behind the front desk. He whispered and she shook her head. Seeing their confusion, my grandfather introduced me.

“You remember my granddaughter, Joey. She’s been coming every summer since she was knee high to a grasshopper.” He scanned their faces for some sign of recognition.

“Of course, Joey! Well, you’ve certainly outgrown your tomboy phase. You’re such a pretty girl. Shame you hid behind boy clothes all this time.” Bridget nodded to her husband who picked up her baton.

“Yes, how silly of us. Of course, it’s Joey. I remember—what was it?—two or three summers ago you caught that largemouth bass that was 11 pounds and change. The other fishermen came back talking about Dr. Greene’s grandchild hooking the biggest catch of the day.”

“Looking like you do now, Joey, I bet you’ve been hooking big catches of another species entirely,” Bridget chuckled.

“My son’s out with the morning sortie. The boat should be back around 1PM. You’ve got time to have a quick lunch before the afternoon boat embarks. You remember my daughter, Stacy? She’ll show you to your cabin. Stacy?”

A girl about my age with light brown hair, wearing a flannel shirt and faded jeans, a ball cap on her head, emerged from the office behind the front desk, carrying keys in her right hand.

“Follow me, Dr. Greene and Joey. It’s a short walk from here. You have all your bags and tackle with you?”

“Yup. Lead the way, Stacy.”

Stacy leaned into me and asked, “What’s going on? Why’d your grandpa say you’re a girl?”

“It’s complicated. But he’s correct. I am a girl.”

“No way! All this time I thought you were a boy. Everyone thought you were.”

“Well, I was. A boy. But I’m a girl now.”

“I don’t get it. You’re talking in riddles. Okay, Dr. Greene. Here’s the keys. You’re pretty familiar with the cabin. It’s the one you always ask for.” Turning to me. “We’ll talk later, Miss Boy Girl.” She walked quickly away.

“Let’s drop our bags here and take our rods and tackle boxes with us to the lodge. A quick lunch and that boat should be ready to embark a little after 1. Hungry?”

“I wouldn’t mind having some crab cakes.”

“Neither would I, sweetheart. Neither would I. Let’s go.”

Mick Brando, Gus and Bridget’s 20-year-old son, strode into the lodge’s dining room with a few of the fishermen who had gone out in the morning on the pontoon boat. His tanned, clean-shaven face, framed by his sweat stained Nats baseball cap, lit up when he saw my grandpa and me sitting at a corner table, our plates brimming with crab cakes.

“Dr. Greene! I was thinking we’d seen the last of you for the summer. And where’s Joey? We missed him this year.”

“I’m right here,” I said, not looking up, my mouth full of crab cake. Mick raised the bill of his cap and stared at me.

“And who’s you?”

“Joey.”

“Mick, don’t tell me you don’t recognize my granddaughter. She’s grown up, that’s all.”

“Uhhh…you could’ve fooled me. All this time I thought you were a boy. Come to think of it, you did seem a little too swishy for a boy. Guess you’re out of that tomboy phase now.” He took off his cap and sat down at our table, uninvited. “You got a boyfriend, Joey?”

“That’s kind of a personal question.”

“Because if you don’t, there’s a really nice stretch of lakeshore down toward William’s Point that’s just beautiful in the moonlight, especially this time of year. We could take a leisurely walk after dinner, watch the moon come up.”

“Leave her alone, Mick. She’s not interested in some high school drop-out smelling of walleye and lake trout with a bunch of stale pick up lines,” Stacy sneered at her brother. She had snuck up quietly behind him.

“Sorry, Mick, I came up here with my grandpa to fish, not to hook anything on two legs.”

Getting up from our table, Mick shot me a determined look. “You can sit in the seat of honor on the boat this afternoon. That’s next to me, the captain. See you in a few.” He nodded to my grandfather. “Dr. Greene.”

“Ugh…maybe I should just forget about fishing today and go back to the cabin. I’ve got some reading I could catch up on.”

“Joey, don’t let him spoil your day. I’ll sit between you two,” my grandpa offered.

“If you want to fish without my brother breathing down your neck, I can take you out on a rowboat. There’s a honey hole down the shore that Mick never takes the boat to. He saves it for himself, the putz.”

“What do you think, grandpa?”

“Don’t you have your duties to take care of, Stacy?”

“Not really, Dr. Greene. I’m going to school right now. Garrett College in McHenry. Majoring in Business Management. I don’t have classes on Wednesdays. Mom and Dad don’t mind me wandering around just as long as I don’t get in the way.”

“It’s up to you, Joey. I was looking forward to doing some angling with my favorite grandchild but if Mick makes you uncomfortable…”

“Let’s go, Stacy.” I picked up my rod and tackle box and followed her out the door. “See you later, grandpa.”

“Hold up, Joey.” He held out the stupid wide-brimmed beach hat that Gran had insisted I take up to the lake with me to keep the sun off my fair complexion. Spitefully, I grabbed it and crammed it down on my head. As I turned around, I saw Stacy trying to stifle a laugh by covering her mouth.

It didn’t turn out to be much of a honey hole. Both of us barely got a handful of bites all afternoon. And it got progressively darker as the day descended toward dusk. There were angry looking clouds in the distance, inching closer. The wind picked up.

“So, now that you’re a girl, do you have a boyfriend?”

“Like I told your brother—”

“We’re just girls shooting the shit. You can tell me. Just curious. The way you look now…”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re very pretty.” I blushed and turned away, pretending to jiggle my line.

“No, really. I thought you were cute as a boy but, wow, you’re a knockout as a girl. Bet you’re beating off the boys with a stick.”

“Well, I’m not into bondage. Or boys, I guess.” She moved closer to me on the small rowboat.

“Are you, like, into girls?”

“Frankly, Stacy, I’m not sure what I’m into. It’s so confusing, the whole sex thing. Before my surgery, I think I had a crush on my best friend, Julia. But, that’s over now. She’s not into girls.”

“She’s a fool.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Look, you got a bite! Reel it in. Real slow. Give him some run. Then when he’s close, speed up. Yeah, that’s it. Let me get the landing net and scoop it out of the water. Hey, it’s a decent-sized one!”

I took my cellphone out and snapped a picture of Stacy holding up the fish.

“Here, give me the phone and I’ll take a shot of you holding it. After all, you hooked it.”

That was the last bite we got all afternoon. Soon enough, I found myself dozing off while Stacy continued to drop a line into the lake, making small talk that I never heard. I was startled awake by Stacy shouting something about rain. Then, hard pellets of rainwater crashed into everything in and around our boat. The sky was a blue-black bruise. There was lightning in the distance. Stacy was rowing like a maniac and shouting. My hat got drenched in minutes.

When we reached the shore, Stacy hoisted me out of the boat and pushed me blindly forward. She struggled to move the boat further inland before finally giving up and taking my hand as we ran through the sheets of rain cascading down.

“There’s an empty cabin close by,” she shouted. My free hand was trying to keep my hat from flying off. The thunder and lightning were scary. I squeezed Stacy’s hand as she half pulled, half dragged me along. After several minutes of running, we came upon the cabin. Stacy found the key in her massive chain, and we rushed into the dry interior. When she tried to switch on the lights, there was nothing. The electricity was out. Lightning strikes will do that, especially in remote areas like this.

“You’ve got cat eyes, Joey. They kind of glow in the dark. They’re lovely…and spooky.”

“But I can’t see in the dark like a cat.” We both pulled out our phones and flicked on the flashlight function.

“There’re some blankets somewhere. We need to get out of these wet clothes.” She walked into what I assume was the bedroom and started rifling through the drawers. “Okay, I’ve got two. Come here, Joey. You change first and I’ll start a fire in that potbelly stove over there.”

When I came out of the bedroom, wrapping the blanket tightly around my body, my hair a curtain of wetness, Stacy, who was warming her hands in the heat emanating from the potbelly stove, let out a low whistle.

“That blanket looks real good on you. I was hoping this afternoon I’d get you wet sooner or later.” I stood stock-still, my mouth agape, as she brushed past me to change out of her wet clothes. Finding a place on the rug close to the stove, I turned off my phone’s flashlight. The room was aglow in the soft light of the fire. Kindling crackled intermittently as thunder boomed outside. Stacy returned swathed in a blanket identical to mine It and sat close to me.

“It looks and sounds like the end of the world outside.”

“This is a nice way to go if it is.” She looked into my cat’s eyes. I was starting to shiver. I hadn’t really dried myself very thoroughly.

“Come here. Let’s hold each other. We can keep each other warm.” She wrapped herself around me and started to nuzzle my neck. I was starting to swoon. Shivering and swooning. Stacy was very warm, and her lips moved from my neck to my cheeks and finally my lips. We kissed deeply. We fell gently onto the rug. Blankets were shrugged aside. There were no words spoken.

She licked droplets of water all the way down my body until she reached the center of my being. Stacy was the one resembling a cat as she lapped at the edges of my consciousness. I arched my back.

“Be gentle. I’m still a little sore down there,” I cautioned.

“I’ll try. But you turn me on so much.” The pleasure was starting to get so intense, I just closed my eyes and stopped caring about the soreness. Later on, I returned Stacy’s ministrations. Exhausted, we held each other and whispered sweet nothings into each other’s ears. In fact, the only intelligible word I could utter was “nothing.” It was my first sexual experience. I thought about that and turned the matter over in my mind this way and that before I felt Stacy get up, wrap her blanket around herself, and try to get a signal on her phone. I looked up at her groggily as she was able to reach her dad at the lodge.

“Dad says electricity’s out in the region. Good thing lightning didn’t hit one of the cell towers. He says the forecast is heavy rain until early morning. It’s better if we just stay here until morning when I’m sure they’ll have the power up again. Your grandpa’s worried so you better call him and tell him you’re safe and dry.”

We stayed close to the stove as evening enveloped our world. For dinner, we had some granola bars and water that Stacy had stowed in her backpack. There was nothing else to do so we made love again before falling into the arms of Morpheus, our own arms entwined.

Early the next morning, when we made it back to the lodge (yes, the rowboat was still where we left it, miraculously), hugs and kisses were exchanged all around. Stacy and I felt like soldiers returning home from the war. Grandpa was almost in tears. I had never seen him cry. It made my own tears roll down my cheeks as I hugged him especially tightly. After breakfast, Stacy said goodbye to me as she left for school. In front of all these people, including her parents and brother, she couldn’t even kiss me. Grandpa and I would be gone by the time she returned from the campus, so she just squeezed my hand and promised to call me in Silver Spring.

Later, in the car, during the three-hour drive home, I remembered my plans to hang out with Sally’s friends on Saturday. The events of the past 24 hours made feel more confident in the prospect of mixing socially with kids my age. I even looked forward to window shopping as a normal 18-year-old young woman. I turned to grandpa and lazily asked, “Would you and gran be upset if it turns out I’m attracted to girls?”

“No, why would it upset us? I assumed you were attracted to girls before this summer. So, what if you are now? You’re who you are and that’s good enough for us, angel. We just want you to be happy.”

That was a good place to stop. I turned off my phone and let Joey exhale. She shook her head as if coming out of a hypnotic state.

“Whew. You should be a therapist, Joanne. I haven’t talked about that time in my life in such detail to anyone, ever. Thanks for listening.”

“No, thank you. You’re giving me insights I could never have gotten from my own experience or reading random case histories. So, is next Tuesday night a good time for you?”

“Eliot’s next home game is Wednesday. It could be the deciding game! So, Tuesday would be perfect. By the way, would you mind if I brought someone along with me?”

“Eliot? Of course not. He’s my stepson. My home, however temporary, is his home anytime.”

“No, not Eliot. Someone else.”

“Someone I know?”

“You’ll have to wait until Tuesday.” She giggled.