Текст книги "The Secrets of Lake Road"

Автор книги: Karen Katchur

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

“Go on,” she said to Kevin as though she didn’t care what he did, and nibbled Billy’s ear. She wasn’t playing fair, but she couldn’t help herself.

Kevin’s eyes burned through her. “Yeah, I think I will play,” he finally said to Tony.

“Well, all right. Let’s go,” Tony said, and Kevin followed him upstairs.

She stepped away from Billy and lit a cigarette.

“What is it with you lately?” he asked.

“Oh, Billy. It’s nothing.” She ran her free hand through his thick blond hair and kissed his cheek, tasting the earthiness of the lake water on his skin. She buried her nose in his neck wondering what she thought she was doing. She wasn’t eating, barely sleeping, bouncing back and forth between the two. It was tearing her up inside, and yet she couldn’t stop. Her feelings for both were strong, but for very different reasons. Billy was her first love and would always have a place inside her heart. But it was with Kevin that she shared her private thoughts and where her hidden desires flourished. What was she supposed to do? She no longer knew what could make her happy. All she knew was that she couldn’t carry on this way much longer.

They continued their little party under the steps—Billy, Jo, and Sheila—while Kevin’s guitar sang out through the night air. She longed to go upstairs and listen, but at sixteen and under the legal drinking age, she was sure to be thrown out.

By the time Kevin finished his set and Eddie’s shift had ended, Sheila was bent over, throwing up most of the beer she had drank.

“I better get her home,” Eddie said, and held Sheila’s hair from her face as she bent down and wretched again.

After Eddie took Sheila home, an uneasy silence settled between Jo and the two boys. Kevin quietly leaned against the back wall in the shadows, nursing the same bottle of beer. Billy picked the label from his bottle.

She suddenly felt tired of the whole damn thing. Or maybe she imagined the tension brewing between them. The ground tilted beneath her feet. How much did she have to drink? There was no way of knowing. She stumbled out from under the steps, stretched her arms overhead, and spun around. Maybe she should make them choose. Maybe she should make them fight over her. Maybe it was the alcohol that made her do it.

“Catch me if you can, Billy,” she called. “You too, Kevin,” she said, and raced to the beach. She didn’t think about what she would do when they both reached her. Instead, once her bare feet hit the sand, she stripped down to her red bikini, wanting nothing more than to swim under the light of the moon and stars.

She rushed into the cool water and dove under. She was a good swimmer, a strong swimmer. Gram had made her take swimming lessons ever since she was little. She had learned the basic strokes, how not to panic when she was in trouble, like the time her legs got tangled in lily pads and threatened to pull her under.

It was safe to say she was comfortable in the lake as long as she didn’t dive too deep. Even the strongest swimmers, the lake regulars, lost their way in what lay below, in the dark, murky depths of the bottom.

She swam to the floating pier with clean even strokes, despite the alcohol that made her clumsy on land. She climbed the ladder and pulled herself up, thinking it was up to the boys now. Let them fight it out and make the decision for her. She stretched out on the pier—one leg bent, the other straight. She flipped her long wet hair from her shoulders and leaned back on her elbows, posing in a way, and waited. And waited. What were they doing?

She could see them on the beach, talking or arguing. It was as if they were deciding whether to join her. She was irritated. Fine, if that was the way they were going to play it, then neither could have her. She lay flat and looked at the stars. For a brief moment she tasted something sweet on the tip of her tongue. She licked her lips. In that second she felt totally, utterly, completely free. Her breath moved easily through her lungs. Her chest expanded, her heart swelled. She was free.

Until she turned her head to the sound of splashing water and watched her freedom slip away as Billy and Kevin raced toward the pier to claim her.

*   *   *

Tonight, under the same moon and stars, the lapping water against the shore told a different story. She smoothed her wavy hair away from her face. The humidity made it frizz and crowd her cheeks. She should leave this place. She shouldn’t have stayed this long. What was keeping her here? So what if they had found some old bones?

She turned back around toward the parking lot with every intention of heading straight to the cabin and then home to New Jersey. She’d return to work in the morning and beg Rose to cut her a break. She had only missed a couple of days. She was sure she could make it up to her.

But then she noticed a woman sitting on the hood of a car. Although her face was hidden in the shadows, Jo recognized her. She recognized the slumped shoulders, the bowed head. In that moment Jo knew she wasn’t going anywhere. She would stay until Sara was found. She would stay because she owed it to Billy to see this through.

“Do you mind if I join you?” she asked, and climbed onto the hood without waiting for a reply.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Caroline was hiding in her bedroom. Her hands were clasped behind her head, and she was staring at the ceiling. On occasion, in-between the chattering of Gram and the woman next door, the one with the two young boys, the sound of a plucked chord from her father’s guitar drifted into the room. Caroline wondered if the neighbor woman had brought her boys to the beach that day. She had heard people had been swimming and enjoying themselves even though Sara had not been found. Some of the newcomers even rented fishing boats.

It didn’t seem right. She wondered if it was her fault. If she hadn’t let the snappers go, the lake might’ve been off-limits while the fishermen searched. For the first time she felt a pinch of guilt and questioned whether she had done the right thing. Gram thought she did, although that was before Heil reopened the beach, the lake, and convinced people things were back to normal and life moved on.

She thought of Gram, how she protected Caroline’s secret and chased Sheriff Borg away by faking a heart attack. Caroline smiled with the knowledge that she now had two secrets she kept from her mother. Why should she tell her mother the truth about the turtles or Gram when her mother had never shared anything close to the truth with her?

She rolled onto her side. Her stomach growled. She wanted to get up and find something to eat, but she wasn’t in the mood for adults and their stupid small talk. She wished the neighbor woman would leave. She wanted to talk to her father about Billy. She believed her father would at least answer her questions. Wouldn’t he?

There was a light rapping at her window. She jumped up, thinking it was Adam. Maybe he had news from the lake. She pushed the window all the way up where it had been opened only a crack. She found Megan on the other side.

“Where have you been all day?” Megan asked. “Can you come out?”

She could, but she didn’t want to. “I don’t think so.”

“Well, I’ll come in. Should I use the door so your parents know I’m here?”

“Don’t bother.” Caroline pulled the screen out.

Megan climbed through the window and grabbed Caroline’s hands. “I have news.” Her face was shiny and flushed. Her neck looked burnt and her scalp red. She had been out in the sun too long, tanning. Caroline felt a pang of envy. She was sporting a farmer’s tan. She hadn’t been in her bathing suit in four days.

“Did they find Sara?” she asked.

Megan furrowed her brow. “What? No, not that kind of news. This is better.” She squeezed Caroline’s hands and shook her arms wildly. “I have a boyfriend.”

Now it was Caroline’s turn to furrow her brow. This was the better news? Really? “Who is it?”

“Jeff.” Megan smiled and batted her eyes, the lids covered in the same blue paint. “We sat on the pier together at the beach today.”

“Wait, you went swimming?”

“Not exactly,” Megan said, and shrugged. “It’s a little weird going in the water knowing, you know, what’s in there.”

“A little weird? God, Megan, it’s way worse than that.”

“I know, I know.” She pretended to inspect her pink fingernails. “But my folks say there’s a good chance they’ll never find the little girl now anyway. And what are we supposed to do? Melt in the hot sun all summer long?”

Caroline didn’t have an answer.

“Anyway, what do you think of Jeff and me? Don’t we make an awesome couple? His eyes are, like, the deepest brown. Oh, and wait until you hear the best part.” She clutched Caroline’s arm. “He held my hand. I swear, he did it for, like, a couple minutes. And you know what comes next, don’t you? He’s going to kiss me.”

“Do you want him to kiss you?” Caroline pulled a face.

“Caroline! Of course I do.”

“But you don’t even know him.”

“I know he’s cute.” Megan picked up Caroline’s pillow and turned it over. “Have you ever practiced kissing?”

“No.” She yanked her pillow from Megan’s hands. “And you’re not going to practice on my pillow. I sleep on that. Gross.”

Megan rolled her eyes. “Don’t be such a baby.”

“I’m not being a baby.” She hugged the pillow close to her chest.

They sat quietly, the silence becoming uncomfortable. Caroline tried to think of something they could talk about, something other than boys or Sara. What did they do other summers when things weren’t strange and difficult?

“Want to play cards?” Caroline asked. They used to play cards, eat popcorn, and watch old movies with Gram. Maybe by doing the things they used to do, they’d stop talking about boys and kissing, she’d get her old friend back, and things would return to semi-normal.

“I don’t think so. Do you want me to paint your nails? I brought some polish with me.” Megan pulled a small bottle of pink nail polish from her shorts pocket.

Caroline shook her head.

“Do you have any magazines? Teen Vogue?” Megan asked.

She shook her head.

They were quiet again until Megan stood and said, “Well, I guess I’ll get going.” Before she crawled out the window, she turned to look at Caroline. “I’m meeting Jeff at the Pavilion tomorrow. You can hang out with us if you want to. Or not. It’s totally up to you.”

She found herself saying, “Yeah, okay.” Or rather, whatever.

*   *   *

Once Megan had gone, Caroline no longer heard voices in the kitchen. She found her father sitting alone at the table. The guitar was in his lap. He was smoking another cigarette. His brown wavy hair looked messy, as though he had raked it with his fingers more than once.

“Where’s Gram?” she asked.

“She went to lie down.” He turned a guitar pick over in his hand.

She opened the refrigerator and stared at its contents, not finding much of anything other than old sandwiches. Normally, the shelves would’ve been stocked with leftovers from dinner: meatloaf, baked beans, potato salad, rice pudding.

It was the first time she became aware that maybe Gram had been affected by the events at the lake, more so than she had let on. Otherwise, Gram wouldn’t have let their supplies run so low. Caroline decided she would offer to go to the Country Store for Gram tomorrow. It was a perfect excuse to search more newspapers for a headline she might’ve missed.

She grabbed an apple and sat across from her father. She eyed him up. He seemed faraway, but if she was going to talk with him, it was now or never while she had him alone.

“Hey, Dad.” She bit into the crisp apple and said while she chewed, “I didn’t know you were friends with Billy.” She meant to shock him, or at least surprise him with the little knowledge she had about the mysterious boy from his past.

But his face remained neutral. He didn’t answer for a long time. Instead he continued turning over the pick in his fingers. Then he took a drag from his cigarette before snuffing it out in the ashtray.

For a second Caroline didn’t think he had heard her. She was about to repeat the question when he looked up. His face took on an expression she had never seen before.

“Who said we were friends?” he asked in a voice she didn’t recognize.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Jo pulled a pack of cigarettes from her pocket. “Do you want one?” she asked Patricia, and fished around for a lighter.

“No, thank you. I don’t smoke.” Patricia’s blond hair fell loose around her face in waves. She clutched a cloth doll in her hands.

Jo imagined the doll had belonged to Sara, the same doll that had been on the rocking chair in front of the tea set. For a moment her thoughts drifted to Caroline and how it would feel if her own daughter was missing. Would Jo be clutching Caroline’s softball mitt, struggling to hold it together like Sara’s mother? But Jo didn’t think she could. She’d fall apart if it was her daughter, if it was either one of her kids.

She lit the cigarette, letting the nicotine soothe her. A melodic rhythm poured from the jukebox into the night air, although Jo couldn’t name the tune. Kevin would know. All he had to do was hear the first few notes and he could name the song and the band that played it. He had a gift.

She took a long drag and exhaled. “I remember you,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper. She was embarrassed she hadn’t known who Patricia was this entire time. In some ways she felt as self-absorbed as she had been as a teenager. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize who you were earlier.”

“Oh, that’s okay.” Patricia wiped her eye with the doll. “I was what, ten years old the last time you saw me?”

“I guess. Heil remembers you.”

“Heil’s an asshole,” Patricia said.

Jo looked at her, somewhat surprised, and then smiled. “He is an asshole. But seriously, I should’ve known who you were. I mean it.” She hesitated. What did she mean? She was sorry she didn’t recognize Patricia as one of them? Why did it make a difference whether she was or wasn’t a lake regular? A little girl had drowned. That should be enough for all them to care and do everything possible to find her. But somehow it wasn’t. Somehow, Patricia knowing Billy, being here at the lake all those summers, it made a difference to Jo. She felt connected to Patricia in ways she couldn’t explain, not logically, but she felt she owed her something.

“You’re not the only one, you know,” Patricia said. “Other than Heil, I’m not sure anyone else remembers I used to come here with my parents.”

It was true. Gram hadn’t known who Patricia was, and she had been friends with both Bob and Jean. She was certain Kevin didn’t know. If anyone else had been privy to Patricia’s connection to the lake, the news would’ve spread through the colony and the search may have gone differently. Or maybe not, based on her previous conversation with Heil.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”Jo asked.

Patricia shrugged. “I was going to tell everyone, but I never got the chance. And then, it no longer seemed important,” she said.

Jo touched Patricia’s arm in a comforting way. “I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters now.” She wiped her eye with the doll again. “I got as far as the beach on our first day here and that was it. I never even got to introduce Sara to anyone, not even the Hawkes.”

Jo waited for Patricia to continue, but she didn’t. She disappeared somewhere deep inside herself, staring off at some point in the distance. Jo flicked the cigarette butt to the ground. She watched the ember fade and burn out. Whatever Patricia hoped to gain by returning to the lake, it had ended in a nightmare. But it still didn’t explain her comment about Billy.

“Do you remember when I stopped by your cabin?” Jo spoke in a soft, soothing way, hoping to lure Patricia back into the conversation. “You mentioned Billy.”

Patricia turned to look at her. In the dark, Jo could scarcely make out her eyes.

“Yes,” Patricia said. “Billy.” Her voice lifted. “How is he? And Dee Dee?”

Jo’s mind raced to catch up with what Patricia was asking. My God, she was right. After all these years, she didn’t know what had happened to Billy. How could she tell her he had drowned? How could she tell her they may have found his missing bones while searching for her daughter? She wouldn’t tell her, not about the bones. It didn’t change anything where Patricia was concerned. In fact, it seemed cruel.

Her throat felt dry. “Dee Dee is okay. The same.” Bitter. She swallowed hard. “But Patricia,” she said as gently as she could for both their sakes. It had been so long since she said the words out loud. “Billy is dead.”

“What do you mean, dead?” She held the doll to her chest and searched Jo’s face in the dark. “I don’t understand.” She grabbed Jo’s forearm. “He’s really dead?”

“Yes.”

Patricia continued trying to see something in Jo’s face. Jo could only imagine what she was searching for—grief, guilt, truth. Eventually she released the grip on Jo’s arm. She turned away. She was quiet for some time. “It’s just so shocking.” She curled in on herself, hugging the doll. “How?”

“He drowned,” she said, surprised how much it still hurt, how raw the pain still felt.

Patricia shook her head. “No, that can’t be. Not Billy. He knew the lake better than anyone. He couldn’t just drown.”

“You’re right,” Jo said, and turned her head away. “He couldn’t.”

Not unless he’d had help.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Caroline rubbed her eyes and sat up in bed. Her mother was talking to someone in the kitchen. She picked up the old alarm clock from her nightstand. A sliver of moonlight gave off enough light to see that it was three a.m., the dead hour. She had heard the term watching one of Gram’s television detective shows. She thought it was a cool phrase. However, having been awakened in the middle of the night during the dead hour wasn’t as cool as it sounded in daylight.

Someone in the kitchen burped, which meant it had to have come from Johnny. When wasn’t he disgusting?

Her mother continued talking in a hushed voice, and something about her tone pulled Caroline from the bed. It was obvious whatever they were saying they didn’t want anyone else to hear. She dismissed the idea they were whispering because it was the middle of the night and they didn’t want to wake anyone. Johnny wouldn’t have cared. He only thought of himself.

She could say the same for her mother, but that kind of thinking always made her feel bad. She couldn’t discount the times her mother had tried to be the kind of mom Caroline had wanted—one who baked treats for special occasions, cheered from the stands at sporting events, applied Band-Aids to booboos, prepared home-cooked meals.

Her mother wasn’t good at being a regular mom.

But maybe Caroline should give her a break. After all, Caroline was fed—mostly fast food—but still, she never went hungry. Her mother had sent store-bought cookies into school for Caroline’s birthdays, and twice her mother drove past the ballpark looking for one of Caroline’s softball games, only to discover she went to the wrong field.

She peeked through the crack of her bedroom door. The overhead light in the kitchen allowed for a narrow view of the table, the pantry, a basket hanging on the wall. Gram had several baskets, all hung in the kitchen for decoration, but also for use. Gram thought nothing of grabbing one of them off the wall and filling it with chips or pretzels or popcorn.

Her mother and Johnny were sitting at the far end and out of sight, their voices muffled. She slipped into the hall to listen, stopping to hide in the shadows.

“I’m glad Gram’s okay,” Johnny said. “I would’ve been here had I known.”

Her mother said something Caroline couldn’t make out.

“We took the girls to the drive-in. What else were we supposed to do? It’s too damn depressing hanging around here.”

Caroline heard the strike of a match. Her mother or Johnny or both were smoking.

“Whose car did you use?” her mother asked.

“Chris’s mom’s.”

“Damn it, Johnny. I wish you wouldn’t have. Why didn’t you ask to use one of our cars?”

“What difference does it make whose car we used?”

“It just does. I don’t want you taking anything from them.”

“What does that mean? I wasn’t taking anything from them. What do you have against Chris? What has he ever done to you?”

“I don’t have anything against Chris. It’s not him.”

“Then who is it?”

Her mother didn’t respond.

“Tell me, Mom, because I know it’s something, and whatever it is, I can handle it.”

There was a long stretch of silence.

“It’s Chris’s mom, isn’t it? What happened between you two?” Johnny asked. “Why don’t you like each other?”

Caroline craned her neck, eager to hear her mother’s reply. There was another long silence. Caroline’s mind raced. It must have something to do with Billy. Wasn’t Chris’s mom, Dee Dee, Billy’s sister?

Movement across the hall caught her attention. There was a dark shadow behind her parents’ bedroom door. Her mother said something, but she missed what it was, too distracted by the dark figure.

“Dad,” she whispered.

He darted away without saying a word, taking his shadow with him. Then Caroline heard Johnny say, “Whatever, I’m going to bed.”

Caroline scurried back to her bedroom and climbed underneath the covers. She wondered what her mother had said to Johnny. It couldn’t have been much, or he wouldn’t have retreated so quickly. But what was strange and what bothered her more than missing a big part of their conversation, was why her father would be spying on her mother and Johnny too?

She burrowed under the sheets. Maybe her father felt as she had—closed off from her mother, pushed away. Johnny was the only one who had a solid relationship with her. When was the last time her mother had sat in the kitchen and talked with her? Had she ever? Not that Caroline remembered.

A batch of tears threatened to spill, and she swiped her eyes repeatedly until the skin underneath was dry and raw. She wouldn’t cry over the things her mother did or didn’t do. She was too old for that. She just wished she didn’t feel so alone and mixed up inside. What she wanted more than anything was for her mother to hold her, comfort her, and tell her everything was going to be okay, that what she was feeling was normal. It would pass. The summer would continue, and there wouldn’t be any secrets to hide. And whatever happened with Billy was not a big deal, nothing for her to worry about, she should leave it lie, forget about it, and enjoy herself while she was here.

But Caroline knew she couldn’t do that. Her parents were both involved in something and she had to know what it was and why. Besides, how could she pretend this summer was like all the others when a little girl had drowned? Wasn’t Sara the reason her parents stayed at the lake? Wasn’t another drowning the reason her parents’ past felt so close to the surface, to the here and now? Otherwise, her mother would’ve split after a day or two, and her father would’ve hit the road hauling whatever it was that kept him away from home sometimes for weeks. Caroline would’ve been dropped off to stay with Gram like every other summer, forgotten about by her parents, tormented by her brother.

*   *   *

She was restless most of the night. Her mind wouldn’t settle down. Thoughts of both Billy and Sara washed over her, pulling her under, sinking her into the deep, dark abyss to the bottom of the lake.

The next thing she knew she was standing outside her bedroom window in her nightgown. The summer air was unseasonably cool. She shivered underneath the swaying branches of Willow. She didn’t remember crawling out the window, but she must have. Otherwise, how could she have gotten outside?

One of the branches brushed against her arm as though vying for her attention. What is it? She asked the tree, saying the words inside her head. Do you want me to climb up? She took a step closer, when a little girl poked her head out from behind the trunk.

Caroline rubbed her eyes. She was dreaming. Of course she was. She felt the warmth of the bed and the sheets wrapped around her legs. But somehow when she opened her eyes, she was still outside under the tree. Sara, she called.

Sara appeared wearing the same yellow-and-pink polka dot bathing suit. Her braids dripped water onto her shoulders and down the front of her chest. Her skin was pale, almost translucent.

What are you doing here? Everyone’s looking for you, she said in a dreamlike voice, although she could feel herself talking inside her chest. Could she be talking in her sleep?

I want my mommy, Sara said.

I know you do, she said in an understanding voice, because wasn’t that what Caroline wanted too? I’ll take you to her. She reached for her, but Sara recoiled.

Don’t let them find me, Sara said.

I won’t. I promise. But you need to come with me now. I’ll take you home, she said. I’ll take you to your mother. It was then Caroline noticed holes, hundreds of them, up and down Sara’s arms and legs. It was as though bits and pieces of her body had been rubbed out, chunks of her skin removed. Caroline covered her mouth to keep from screaming.

Find me, Caroline, Sara said in a whispering voice. Find me.

Caroline sat straight up in bed, her hands over her mouth. She was shaking so hard, her knees knocked. She breathed in and out, trying to slow her speeding heart. She was dreaming again. It was only another bad dream. The room was warm and humid. The curtains sagged in the stagnant night air. The window screen lay on the floor beneath the window. She thought she had put it back after Megan had left. She was pretty sure she had.

The chill she had felt in the dream crept up her spine and settled in her bones. It wasn’t real, she told herself, and sprung from the bed. She stuck the screen back in the window and pulled the curtains closed. It wasn’t real. Then why did it feel that way?