More than anything, though, the reason we'd decided to go was because we needed a break. Between the kids, Jake's job and the ongoing renovation projects in the house, we were both exhausted. We needed a chance to recharge our batteries. So when I'd gotten the call that I'd won the drawing for the trip to Windy Vista Resort on Lenzen Lake north of Duluth, I'd jumped at the chance. Thankfully, Jake hadn't needed much convincing. We'd grabbed a calendar and found our dates and booked the trip.

The woman at the podium came over the loudspeaker and announced that we were about to begin boarding.

Jake patted my arm. “I'm excited. Can't believe you won it.”

“Right? I never win anything.”

It was true. The only other thing I'd ever won was a prize from a PTA raffle back when I'd lived in Georgia. Emily was five and we were visiting the local elementary school to check things out. I'd dutifully paid a couple bucks for the PTA raffle fundraiser and Emily and I went on our way, touring the school. She'd dissolved into tears once she saw the kindergarten classroom—“Where is your chair, Mommy?”—and announced she wasn't going. After meeting with the draconian kindergarten teacher and the principal who looked and acted like Miss Havisham, I'd concurred. We'd left the school with her in tears and me determined to look into kindergarten alternatives. We'd also left with a certificate for a free dog grooming, courtesy of the PTA raffle. And we didn't own a dog.

“We're going to have a good time,” Jake said, smiling.

I nodded. “You're right. It's going to be great. It's a lakefront resort and it's free. What could go wrong?”

TWO

I leaned forward and peered through the bug-splattered windshield of the rental car. “I think this is the right way.”

We'd landed on time in Duluth, found our rental car and after a few minutes plugging the address of Windy Vista into Jake's phone, we headed north, away from the city and into the rolling hills that hugged the shoreline of Lake Superior. The landscape shifted abruptly, from a bustling port town to virtual wilderness, the highway flanked by thick forest and lush greenery, the blue expanse of Lake Superior barely visible through the copse of trees. The highway took us in and out of tiny towns that reminded me of the tiny villages that dotted the Northeast coastline. The towns would pop up suddenly, the road morphing from a highway to a street lined with houses and antique shops and candy stores. Tourists strolled the streets with ice cream cones and the local kids buzzed by on bicycles, the sun glinting off the shiny rims and the wind whipping through their hair.

“This does not look like Minnesota,” Jake said, slowing as a young woman walking a large Newfoundland crossed the street.

“Because there's no snow?”

“Ha ha. No. Because of all this,” he said, waving his hand. “The hills, the little towns. This looks like a tourist town. You know, like some place people would actually want to visit.”

“That's because people do,” I told him. I grabbed my purse from the floor and pulled out a pack of gum. I unwrapped a piece and handed it to him. “I told you it was nice up here.”

“It's like a different state.” Jake gazed out the window, his jaw working as he chewed the gum. “It reminds me of Maine.”

I popped a piece of gum into my mouth. “You've been to Maine?”

“No.” He looked at me and grinned. “But this looks like what I think Maine looks like.”

“Well, this is Minnesota,” I told him. “You know, the state you hate nine months of the year.”

“I don't hate it,” Jake said. “I just don't like being cold.”

I rolled down the window and warm air rushed in. “Don't think we have to worry about that right now.”

“Good,” he said. The town disappeared behind us and he stepped on the accelerator. “Because the warmest thing I brought to wear is my swim trunks.”

I settled back into my seat and watched the scenery fly by: majestic pine trees, hawks soaring overhead, a small bi-plane headed to some small, country airport. There wasn't a cloud in the sky and I took a deep breath, allowing myself to sink even further into relaxation mode. Jake and I were on vacation. We had a beautiful resort lined up for our romantic getaway. And the kids would be fine.

Thirty minutes later, Jake pulled off the main highway and on to a county road. He handed me his phone with the map application open and I dictated directions as we traversed a maze of roads that led us further from the highway and further from Lake Superior.

“Aren't we supposed to be on the lake?” Jake asked, voicing my concerns.

“A lake,” I corrected. “It didn't say it was on Lake Superior.”

He shot a dubious glance in my direction.

“It's the land of ten thousand lakes,” I reminded him. “It's probably just on a smaller lake.”

He didn't answer and I glanced back down at the phone. According to the map, we were less than a block or so from the resort. My stomach jumped and it wasn't from bouncing on the gravel road we'd turned on to or giddy anticipation as we approached the resort.

Jake leaned forward over the steering wheel. “No. There must be two Windy Vistas.”

The knot in my stomach tightened and I looked up. A hand-painted sign identified the property we were approaching. Windy Vista, it read, the white painted letters cracked and peeling on the aged scrap of wood. There was a tiny guardhouse with a single strip of wood acting as a gate to keep out anyone who might want in. Looking up the hill and toward the property, we saw a dilapidated clubhouse, a pool encircled by a chain link fence...and mobile homes.

Jake glanced at his phone. “Let me type in the address again.” He tapped away on the screen, waited a moment, then frowned. “Still says this is it.”

“As does the sign,” I said, nodding at the piece of wood. “But this isn't what was on the website. Right? You saw it, Jake.” I suddenly wondered if I'd looked at the wrong site, if I'd confused things. Maybe this was all my fault.

He looked up from his phone. “This is most definitely not what was on the website.”

A golf car whizzed around us, skirted the gate and slid back onto the gravel road that led up to...wherever we were.

Jake pulled the rental forward and the gatehouse door opened. A woman wearing a purple tank top and denim shorts smiled at us. Her long gray hair was pulled back into a sloppy ponytail and the belly beneath the tank top would've suggested pregnancy except for the fact that I put her age around sixty.

“Look at her feet,” Jake whispered.

The woman was not wearing shoes. She glanced at us and then back down at a beat-up clipboard in her hands.

Jake rolled down the window. “Hi. We're looking for Windy Vista Resort?”

She nodded, her eyes roaming the clipboard. “Yep. You found it.”

“Uh. We were actually under the impression we were going to a resort?” I said, leaning across Jake. “On the lake?”

“Hotel will hopefully be under construction soon,” she said, still staring at the clipboard. She herself didn't sound convinced this statement was true. She waved a flabby arm out to her left. “And the lake is over that way. Not too far.”

I glanced at Jake. His head was back against the seat, his eyes closed, most likely praying that there was still a good answer for all this.

“You must be Mr. Gardner,” she said, leaning down to look in the car. “And the missus.”

“How did you...?” I asked.

“Ain't nobody else checkin' in today.” She looked down at the clipboard again, tapping it with her finger. “Oh my word! You all are the grand prize winners!”

“Ah, yes. I guess that's us. But...”

“Doncha know we've never had a single person take us up on that contest before?” she said, shaking her head. “Lots of winners, but never any takers. You're our first.”