Текст книги "The Secrets of Lake Road"
Автор книги: Karen Katchur
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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 20 страниц)
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Caroline stormed into The Pop-Inn. Her heart was pounding, and she was out of breath. Her shirt was soaked with sweat, and she was pretty sure so was the pad between her legs. The thought made her queasy. She wasn’t ready for her period, not now, not with everything else making her life so miserable.
The screened-in porch was empty. She tore through the family room and found both Gram and her mother at the kitchen table. They looked up when Caroline barged in.
“What happened to you?” her mother asked.
Gram shot her mother a dirty look and rushed to Caroline’s side. “Your hand is bleeding,” Gram said. “And why are you so sweaty? What happened?” She removed the baseball cap and felt Caroline’s forehead with the back of her hand.
Caroline turned her head away. “I’m fine,” she said.
“No, you’re not. You’re overheated and you’re bleeding.” Gram pulled her by the arm and stuck her hand underneath the faucet at the kitchen sink. Once the dirt was washed away, she inspected the cut on her palm. “It doesn’t look too bad. You won’t need stitches.”
Gram poured a glass of lake water from the jug and handed it to her, which she gratefully accepted. She stared at her mother over the rim and gulped the water down in defiance, remembering her mother’s agitation the last time she filled the jug from the well. When the glass was empty, she wiped her mouth with the back of her arm and said, “Mom, I have something to ask you.”
Her mother eyed her. “What’s going on?”
“You should sit down,” Gram said to Caroline.
“No, I want to stand.” She turned toward her mother.
“But you’re burning up,” Gram said.
She ignored Gram and stared at her mother. “Is Johnny named after Billy?”
Gram was the one who sat down. Her mother’s face paled, the dark shadows in the hollows of her cheeks growing darker, blacker, like the look in her eyes.
“Sit down, Caroline,” her mother said.
The tone of her mother’s voice normally would’ve made Caroline do whatever it was she was asking, but not this time. She crossed her arms. “Answer my question. Is Johnny named after Billy? His real father.”
Gram gasped.
“He is, isn’t he?” she asked her mother. She turned to Gram. “And you knew this entire time,” she said. “You were supposed to be on my side.”
“Oh, Caroline,” Gram said. “It’s not about taking sides.”
“It’s more complicated than that,” her mother said.
A small part of her couldn’t believe her mother wasn’t jumping all over her, shouting, Of course not! Johnny is your father’s son. But she wasn’t doing that, and something inside of Caroline shattered. She heard Pop’s saying again: Be careful what you wish for.
“Please, sit down,” her mother said. “Let’s talk about this calmly.”
“I can’t believe you.” Caroline stomped her foot like she used to do when she was three, throwing a tantrum whenever she didn’t get her way. “Gram?” she asked. “Is he or isn’t he my brother?”
“Of course he’s your brother,” Gram said, and glanced at Caroline’s mother.
Her head felt fuzzy and the room was spinning. She blinked several times to make it stop. She refused to pass out, not until she had heard the truth from her mother. She concentrated on standing upright. “So what, is he like my half-brother then?”
Gram stood and touched Caroline’s arms. “Honey, you don’t look so good. Come sit down.”
She threw Gram’s hands off of her. “No.” She had never lashed out at Gram—ever. She didn’t talk back to her or roll her eyes at her or push her away. But she wasn’t herself. She didn’t know who she was, uncomfortable in her own skin, her changing body.
Her mother slid from the bench seat of the picnic table, taking her time in a cool casual way, remaining in control no matter the circumstances.
It pissed Caroline off even more. Black spots raced across her vision. The angrier she got, the faster they darted past. “Answer me, Mom!” she shouted. “Why won’t you just answer the question?”
“I will when you calm down.” Her mother stepped toward her, reaching for her.
Caroline held her arms out, warning her not to come any closer. For a second the request struck her as funny. All the times she wanted her mother’s arms around her, comforting her, loving her. Right now she couldn’t stand the thought of her mother touching her.
“Is he or isn’t he Billy’s son?”
“Billy had a son?” Johnny asked.
Caroline whipped around to find Johnny standing in the doorway. She hadn’t known he was home. He must’ve still been sleeping. His hair was sticking up in the back and his long bangs were matted to his forehead. He was wearing boxer shorts. His chest was bare where two days ago there had been hair. He must’ve shaved his chest hair. It made his pectorals look more defined and his shoulders broader. He scratched his butt and reached for the refrigerator door, pulling it open.
Her mother hadn’t taken her eyes off Caroline. Gram stared at her mother. No one said anything. Johnny pulled out a jug of lake water and drank from the container without bothering to get a glass. When he finished, he looked at the three of them. “What?”
“Do you know who Billy is?” Caroline asked him.
“Of course. He’s Chris’s uncle who drowned when Mom and Dad were teenagers.”
Caroline was stunned. Everyone in her family knew who Billy was and what had happened and no one thought to tell her. Why were they keeping it a secret from her? Why didn’t Johnny ever tell her? Then again, she couldn’t expect Johnny to tell her anything. It’s not like he confided in her. She had assumed it was the four-year age difference, a brother/sister thing. But the circumstances had changed, and he knew only half of the story. She knew something he didn’t, and the power tasted good on her tongue.
“Tell him the rest,” Caroline said to her mother. “Go on. Tell him the truth.”
“Tell me what?” His chest rose and fell. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” her mother said. “Caroline is upset with me.”
“What else is new?” Johnny winked at Caroline, teasing her.
She glared at her mother, challenging her to tell him, or she would. When her mother didn’t say anything, the anger burned so hot, she thought she might combust.
“Billy is your real dad. You’re named after him,” she said to Johnny, wanting to hurt him for the constant teasing, hating him and loving him too. But mostly, she wanted to hurt her mother for lying to her. “You’re not my brother,” she spit. “And I hate you!”
Johnny put the jug of lake water down and turned to his mother. “What is she talking about?” he asked, his voice quavering.
“Why would you say such a thing?” Gram asked Caroline, but her words sounded false, and it was then that Caroline knew for sure that Gram had been in on it from the beginning. Somehow Gram’s betrayal was worse than her mother’s lies.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Dee Dee was sitting in the kitchen when Patricia woke and appeared from the back bedroom. She walked into the living room, running her hand over the back of the couch, touching the wicker rocking chair, smoothing out the old throw Dee Dee’s mom had knitted. She stopped in front of the mantel over the fireplace and picked up a wedding photo of Dee Dee’s parents. “What happened to your folks?” she asked.
“Dead,” Dee Dee said, sounding matter-of-fact. Her father’s health had gone downhill fast after Billy’s death. His heart hadn’t been able to take it. Her mother had followed him a few months later. Although a piece of all of them had died with Billy, her parents had taken it a step further and gone with him.
“I’m sorry,” Patricia said, and returned the wedding picture to the mantel. “I would’ve come back had I known. They were so good to me.” She walked into the kitchen and put her hand on Dee Dee’s shoulder. “You were all so good to me.”
To Dee Dee’s surprise, she didn’t push Patricia’s hand away. Instead she let her shoulders relax, finding the intimacy soothing. It had been such a long time since she had allowed someone to touch her in a caring, gentle way. Her ex, Neil, had deserted her only a few months before Chris had been born, and she hadn’t been close to anyone since, other than her son. She couldn’t think when the last time someone had wanted to touch her was, let alone spend time with her.
“You look so much like your brother. Did you know that?” Patricia asked, and sat across from her.
“I know.” She did look like her brother. Although where Billy was handsome—broad shoulders, lean, muscular build, strong chin—the attributes weren’t as flattering on a woman. Her masculine features made her look hard, and most men found her height, her strong arms and legs, intimidating.
“I’m sorry,” Patricia said of Billy. “I’m sorry about a lot of things.” Fresh tears left dirt tracks down her cheeks.
“Come on,” she said, and pulled Patricia up and led her to the bathroom. “Take a shower and clean up. We’ll talk when you get out.” She grabbed a clean towel and handed it to her.
Dee Dee waited in the kitchen, listening to the water run. She had already laid out a clean pair of shorts and a white T-shirt and set them on the bathroom sink. She lit a cigarette and thought about popping open a can of beer, but the shower stopped and she didn’t want to drink in front of Patricia. It was stupid, but in some ways, she felt as though she were babysitting her all over again, and a babysitter shouldn’t drink on the job.
Patricia returned to the kitchen wearing the clean clothes that were much too big for her. She rubbed her thin pale arms.
“Sit,” Dee Dee said. “Let me get you something to eat.” She pulled leftover egg salad from the refrigerator. If she had had food that was heavier, fattier, she would’ve made it instead. But she made do with what she had. It was what she did best.
When Patricia finished eating, she began braiding her hair. She kept her eyes away from Dee Dee’s when she said, “Tell me what happened to Billy.”
Dee Dee rubbed her brow. It had been so long since anyone asked to talk about Billy, years since anyone cared to listen, or at least to her version of the story. She told Patricia what she knew. He had been hanging out with friends under the steps of the Pavilion and later on the beach, apparently drinking. It had been late at night under a full moon. After his friends had gone home, Billy must’ve gone swimming alone. No one had seen him after that night. He was reported missing the next day. Five days later they found his body near the floating pier in the middle of the lake. She didn’t bring up the recent discovery of his missing bones found by the recovery team while they were searching for Patricia’s daughter. The fact that they had found sixteen-year-old bones and not her little girl’s body was far from comforting.
Patricia listened quietly, her brow furrowed. “It doesn’t make sense. He was good in the water. He knew the lake better than anyone.”
Dee Dee snorted. “It never made sense to me, either. Kevin said he was the last one to see Billy. That he had left him alone on the beach, thinking he was going home too. But I think Kevin is covering up for somebody. I think Jo was on the beach with Billy and she was the last one to see him alive. I think she has something to do with him drowning.”
Patricia shook her head. “I don’t think Jo would’ve hurt Billy. She loved him.”
“Maybe she did, maybe she didn’t. I don’t know and I don’t care. But what I do know is that she’s hiding something. She knows more about that night than she’s saying.”
“Was there an investigation?”
“They ruled it an accidental drowning even though he cracked his skull. And after lying on the bottom of the lake for five days, his body was torn apart by the snappers. They couldn’t find any evidence to prove otherwise.” Until they found the bones from his forearm, but again, it wasn’t the right time to share this information.
Patricia suddenly looked horrified.
Dee Dee realized the insensitivity of her comment, forgetting Patricia’s daughter hadn’t been found, and it was coming up on six days. “Pattie,” she said, and stopped. It was the harsh truth, and she wouldn’t apologize for it. Patricia needed to hear it, not only about Billy, but what to expect if there was anything left of her daughter to find. But she couldn’t bring herself to tell her that, and neither of them spoke for some time.
Patricia was the first to break the silence. “When did he drown?” she asked.
“You don’t know?”
“I only heard about it yesterday.”
“Jesus,” Dee Dee said, thinking after all this time. “July 1997,” she said.
She looked surprised. “But I was here that summer. How could I not have known about it?”
“It happened the same night your parents dragged you out of here. I was babysitting, and they stormed into the cabin, fighting. You left that morning, and I never heard from you again.”
“I remember,” she said. “It was awful. My parents fought so often that summer.” She covered her mouth and appeared to be thinking. After a few moments of silence she said, “And he drowned that same night?”
“Yes,” Dee Dee said.
Patricia disappeared inside her own thoughts once again. She shook her head. “No,” she said. “That’s not right. They weren’t on the beach.”
“What are you talking about?” Dee Dee clasped Patricia’s hand.
Patricia held on tight. “They’re lying.”
She looked into Patricia’s eyes. “What are you saying? Who is lying?”
“They are,” she said. “They weren’t on the beach. They were on the pier.”
“Who was on the pier?”
“I saw them.”
“Who?” Dee Dee asked. “Who did you see?”
“You know how you can see the pier when the moon is bright?” Patricia said.
“Yes.” It was true. You could see the floating pier clearly under the light of a full moon. “Who did you see on the pier that night?”
“Billy. He wasn’t on the beach.”
Dee Dee grabbed Patricia’s arms, wanting to shake her to get the answers out of her quicker. “Was anyone with him?”
Patricia flinched. “You’re hurting me.”
“Sorry,” she said, and patted Patricia’s arms where her hands had been. More gently, she asked, “Was anyone else on the pier with him?”
“Jo.”
“I knew it,” she said. “I knew she was lying.” She stood, knocking the chair over. “That bitch.” She turned toward the counter, not sure what to do with the new information. Jo wasn’t on the beach after all. She was on the pier with Billy, right where his body had been found. “And you’re certain it was Jo?” She had to ask one more time. It’s not like Patricia was of sound state of mind, going through her own personal hell.
“Yes, I’m sure. I was by the lake catching lightning bugs. You remember. You gave me a jar and punched holes in the lid.”
“Yes.” Dee Dee nodded. She remembered. Patricia should’ve been asleep, but it was such a clear beautiful night, she had let her stay up way past her bedtime playing outside, catching bugs. And it was almost dawn by the time Patricia’s parents had burst into the cabin to collect her.
“Kevin was there too,” Patricia said.
Dee Dee whipped around. “What did you say?”
“Kevin. He was there too.”
“That can’t be. He said he was on the beach.”
“No, he was on the pier with them.”
She bent close to Patricia’s face, searching her eyes. “Are you sure?”
“Oh yes, I’m positive.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Caroline ran from the kitchen and into her room. She slammed her door and threw herself onto the bed. She pulled the quilt Gram had made over her head. She hadn’t meant what she said to Johnny. She didn’t hate him. It was just the opposite. She loved him and wanted him to continue being her brother. She wanted to take back her words. He was as much a victim of their mother’s lies as Caroline was.
Johnny’s voice bellowed from the kitchen. Caroline threw the covers off to listen. “Is it true?” he asked.
Her mother must’ve nodded because the next thing he said was, “Jesus Christ. And you didn’t think to tell me until now?”
She pulled the quilt over her head again. So it was true. She hadn’t realized a small part of her was still hoping she was wrong. Knowing the truth didn’t make her feel any better. It made her feel worse.
Her bedroom door creaked open.
“Go away,” she said, not even knowing who it was. She didn’t care. She didn’t want to talk to anyone.
The door closed and someone sat on the edge of her bed. She smelled coffee and talcum powder, the two smells she identified with Gram.
“Caroline,” Gram said. “I know you’re hurting. It’s a lot to take in.”
“You think?” she shot back.
“Your mother should’ve told both you and Johnny a long time ago.”
“Yes, she should have.” She pulled the quilt down, uncovering her head, but she couldn’t look at Gram. Instead she looked over Gram’s shoulder at a spot on the wall. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”
“It wasn’t my place.”
“But I thought you didn’t like Mom. How could you let her lie to me?”
“You think I don’t like your mother?”
“Well, yeah. You two are always fighting. You’re never nice to each other.”
“Oh, Caroline. I love your mother. I may not like the choices she’s made, but I love her.”
“You could’ve fooled me.”
Gram sighed. “A mother-daughter relationship is a complicated thing. We each have our own way of doing things, our own ideas of how things should be, and sometimes we don’t agree on what that thing is. We clash. We may fight. But we love each other anyway. It’s just how it is between your mother and me.” She touched Caroline’s cheek. “It doesn’t mean it has to be that way with you and your mom. You can make it be the way you want.”
“Tell that to her.” She wiped her eyes, refusing to let the tears fall.
“I think you should tell her. Talk to her.”
Caroline picked at a thread that had started to come loose from one of the stitches on the quilt. She was too angry to talk to her mother. She didn’t even want to look at her.
“I don’t hate Johnny,” she said instead. “I didn’t mean what I said.”
“I know you don’t. I’m sure he knows it, too.” Gram paused as though she was considering whether to say anything more. Then she asked, “How did you find out?”
“It’s not rocket science. I did the math.” She stared at the ceiling. “Plus, I found out Billy’s full name. William J. And then I saw a couple pictures of Billy. And then there’s Chris. In ways, Johnny looks like them, their family. I didn’t know for sure. I was only guessing, but it seems I guessed right.”
Gram pressed her lips together and nodded.
“Does Dad know?” she asked, already knowing the answer, but finding she needed confirmation so she wouldn’t question herself later about who knew what and who had lied.
“Yes,” Gram said. “He knows.”
Caroline rolled over and put her back to Gram. She wished she could start over and return to the first day of summer, when her family had made sense in their screwed-up way. She wanted to go back to that day on the beach when Sara had drowned so that she could pull her off the pier rather than what she did, which was to leave her alone. Sara’s death was the catalyst that pushed her into asking questions about drownings, about Billy and her mother. Now that she knew the truth, she didn’t know what to do with it, with all the anger she felt inside.
Gram put her hand on Caroline’s hip. “Are you going to be okay?”
“Sure, I’ll be okay,” she said, but she didn’t sound convincing even to her own ears.
* * *
After Gram left her room, Caroline sneaked into the bathroom. Her mother and Johnny were arguing in the kitchen. They started shouting. Caroline didn’t think she had ever heard her mother raise her voice at Johnny. A rush of adrenalin shot through her as the screen door banged shut. She saw Johnny storm past the window. She ran out to catch him.
“Johnny, wait,” she said, hustling down the steps and onto the dirt road. He kept walking, turning down the hill toward the lake. “I don’t hate you,” she called after him. “I’m sorry.”
“Fuck off, Caroline,” he yelled, and disappeared around the corner.
Caroline turned and saw her mother standing at the edge of the yard. Their eyes locked for a brief moment before her mother turned her back and walked away.
Caroline glanced at Willow and scurried underneath the swooping limbs. She climbed into the crook of the thick branches, pulled her knees to her chest, balancing her chin on top. The cut on her palm throbbed.
She had really screwed things up. She hadn’t meant to hurt Johnny. She wasn’t sure what her intentions were anymore. She was only certain of one thing. She wasn’t going to win her mother’s love, not after what she had done.
Maybe Gram was right, and it was up to Caroline to determine what her relationship with her mother would be. She admitted, beneath the pain and anger, she felt a kind of power, believing it was her choice to make.
The only problem was she no longer knew what she wanted from her.
