Black Balloon

Chapter 19

Winter melted into Spring and slowly but surely the cottages on Lake Road filled up with summer residents. Most were owned by the weekend warriors, the vacation homes of the upper-middle-class, who would drive in on a Friday for a few days of daiquiris and sailing, and then zip back home in time for Monday morning's meeting. But some were semi-permanent residents like myself who spent the warm months in their mountain retreat; retirees, seasonal workers, trust-fund recipients. This included Dr. Lumnah and his wife Nancy, who owned a cabin three down from my own. I had begun meeting many of my new neighbors on my regular morning runs, which led to several conversations about why I was running or where I was in a hurry to get to. I tried to explain that I was running for exercise but apparently this was not a popular activity in 1956.

One morning I was almost home from my run when my lungs gave out and I stopped to catch my breath. While I stood there panting and cursing my inadequate stamina, a Ford Squire station wagon pulled up behind me and stopped. I was so exhausted, sweating through my cotton t-shirt and panting like a dog, that I hardly noticed the sound of the vehicle coming up behind me. I had grown accustomed to having the whole road to myself so sharing it with traffic was an adjustment. I finally turned around to realize I was standing directly between the wagon and its destination: the driveway of 182 Lake Road, a two-story log home with a wraparound porch and floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooking the lake. Of all the cabins on the road, it was by far the nicest. I had previously snuck onto the porch and peeked through the windows, admiring the massive stone hearth, timber beams, and fancy-schmancy furniture. It was truly a thing of beauty, a far cry from my small shack with its itchy couch and rusty ol' woodstove.

I threw the driver a demure "so sorry" wave and stepped out of his way. He rolled down the window as he slowly pulled past me and into the driveway:

"What are you running from?" he asked jokingly. "Should we be running too?"

He made a mock 'looking behind himself in terror' gesture, as if expecting an oncoming grizzly bear.

"Beautiful day for a jog," I replied.

He smiled and pulled up to the house. The top of the wagon was piled high with trunks and suitcases. He stepped from the car and marched up to me with an outstretched hand.

"Bob Lumnah," he declared confidently.

"Hi. Werner Auerbach."

"Oh, no kidding? You related to Hermann?"

"Yes, sir. He's my dad."

"Really? You look too young."

"He started late."

"This is my wife Nancy," he said, gesturing to an attractive middle-aged woman standing beside the passenger door, "and my daughter Carmella."

I hadn't noticed the third person in the vehicle until that moment, but as he introduced her, a tall beauty with straight auburn hair down to the small of her back and skin the color of a milky latte, rose from the backseat and smiled at me.

"Hi."

I raised my hand in a tiny wave. She wore snug checkered shorts barely below crotch length which accented her long legs. She had the awkward posture of a teenager that hadn't fully grown into her body and was still figuring out how to carry herself like an adult woman, but my god, she was beautiful. I tried not to stare too long and quickly snapped my head back towards the man.

"I'm just a few houses down," I said, pointing. "Very last cottage."

"Oh yeah. That's Hermann's place. He around? I'd love to pop in and say hello after we get unpacked."