Текст книги "The Secrets of Lake Road"

Автор книги: Karen Katchur

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Jo slipped past the kitchen door and skirted through the living room, making as little noise as possible. She hoped to escape without bumping into anyone. She woke with a nagging feeling, and it had to do with Patricia, Sara’s mother. She sensed it last night while talking with her on the beach. The feeling, or thought, of a memory was there, it was close, but still too far to grasp.

She paused outside the entranceway to the screened-in porch, brushed her hair with her fingers, thinking the back door was the quickest exit to get away, just away, without getting caught. She took two steps into the room and stopped next to a wicker rocking chair.

Gram was sitting in the middle of the floor, surrounded by boxes and odds and ends. Her white hair was messy from sleep. She was wearing her cleaning clothes, an old sweatshirt and jeans, the kind with an elastic waistband. There was a faraway look on her face. She didn’t notice Jo standing nearby. Jo took a cautious step backward and turned to leave when Gram caught sight of her.

“Oh, good, you’re up,” Gram said. “I don’t suppose you could stick around for a minute.”

Jo closed her eyes before turning around and forcing a smile. “No, sorry. I’m on my way out.” She was about to leave when Gram slumped forward, not a lot, but enough to cause concern. She maneuvered around an old lamp, a stack of books, and crouched on the floor next to her. “Are you okay?” She touched Gram’s forearm. Her skin was cool.

“I’m a little tired today. That’s all.”

“Are you sure?” Close up, Gram looked pale.

“I’m fine.” She waved her off. “It’s just a lot of stuff to go through.” Gram looked down at the photo album opened in her lap to a picture of Pop when he was a much younger man. The picture was in black-and-white. He was in a sailor’s suit and sporting a crew cut, serving in the Navy at the tail end of the Vietnam War. Gram and Pop had married right out of high school before he had enlisted. She ran her finger over the old photograph. A sad smile crossed her lips.

“Pop was handsome,” Jo said.

“He was dashing in his uniform,” Gram said. “I remember seeing him in it for the first time.” She brought her hand to her chest. “I was so proud and scared for him. That damned war.”

Jo gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “But he never saw any action. He didn’t have to fight. The war was ending.”

“Thank God,” Gram said, but she seemed miles away, lost in memories.

Jo envied her parents’ marriage, the open way they had loved and respected each other. No marriage was perfect, of course, and there were times when Gram and Pop argued, followed by long stretches of silence, but they had always found their way back to each other. Jo wondered how they were able to balance the good with the bad and keep their love strong for so many years. She supposed it had to do with starting off in the right direction rather than buried in secrets the way her marriage had begun. And yet, she reminded herself that her love for Kevin was just as strong as her parents’ love for each other. It was just that sometimes her love was so tangled with guilt, it was hard to separate the two.

Gram continued to page through the photo album. Most of the pictures were taken before Jo had been born. Gram’s eyelashes were wet with tears. It had been five years since Pop passed and still, at times like these, his death seemed to catch Gram by surprise.

“I miss him too,” Jo said, and wiped a stray tear from her own eye.

She had been close to Pop ever since she was a little girl. She used to follow him around the house while he was doing chores—fixing the kitchen sink, changing the oil in the car, repairing the old washing machine. While he had worked, she would tell him stories, made-up bits and pieces from books or magazines, or she would act out scenes from the playground, or explain in lengthy detail the arts and crafts projects she had worked on in school. He would listen and ask questions as though whatever she was telling him was important when most of the time it was not. It was fair to say she had worshipped Pop and believed he could do no wrong. Even through adolescence, when she and Gram could hardly stand to be in the same room together, through all the arguing, she had maintained a close connection to Pop. That was until the summer she had turned sixteen years old, the summer Pop had learned she had gone ahead and gotten herself pregnant.

She had found out two weeks after Billy had drowned. She had missed her period. At first she had thought the stress she had been under and the grief had made her late. It had been reasonable. But after a few more days had passed and still no period, she had known without having to see the doctor. Her breasts had been sore and swollen more than usual, and her lower abdomen, although normally bloated around that time of the month, had felt different somehow. She had lain awake at night and sworn she had felt a fluttering in her belly as though the baby had already begun to move, to say, Hey, here I am.

Terminating the pregnancy hadn’t ever been a consideration. How could she have killed his baby when she had been certain it had been conceived out of love? She had owed it to him, to herself, to see the pregnancy through.

Gram had shouted, cursed, and stomped her feet. “How could you do this? What were you thinking? What will people think? My God, do you even know who the father is?”

Jo had handled Gram’s outrage with more ease than she had thought possible. Mostly because Gram hadn’t asked anything that Jo hadn’t asked herself. She could’ve taken the anger, the name-calling, the judgmental glares from Gram. It had been what Jo had expected from her. Gram was what Jo considered a “good girl,” never having said or done anything to raise an eyebrow.

And Jo had known how to fight back against Gram’s accusations, her old-school ways and beliefs about how a woman should conduct herself, about how she should understand her place in society, in a man’s world. Jo was from a different generation, one that didn’t care what men, or really anyone, thought, one that empowered women to be as outspoken as they wanted to be, to own their sexuality. She had wanted to be the one to define the person she would become. She had been free, and yet she had been reckless with that freedom. She had felt as though she had thrown it all away.

But after all the bickering and tough talk, it hadn’t been Gram’s reaction that had tortured Jo. It had been Pop’s. What she had remembered most whenever she thought back to that time was the look of betrayal in his eyes. His faith in her had been shattered. He had said she was no longer his little girl, the girl he had thought he had known and loved. His opinion of his only daughter had changed for the worse. And she hadn’t known how to tell him that she had let herself down too. That she had known all her dreams of getting out, living her own life, being free, were over. What she had needed from him was his support, for him to accept she had made a mistake, and that she loved her baby too much to ever turn back.

Gram closed the photo album and put it to the side, along with the memories it had conjured. They sat in silence until Jo slapped the tops of her legs and looked around.

“What are you going to do with all this stuff anyway?” she asked.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Gram said, and smoothed a white curl from her forehead. “It was just time to clean out the back closets and underneath the porch. No one’s touched the stuff in years.”

“Well,” she said, feeling the day slipping through her hands, knowing she would now stay and help sort through boxes. Seeing Gram tired, the way she was hunched over on the floor, and the moistness in her eyes when she had paged through the photo album, loosened something inside Jo. The compassion had been absent between them for such a long time, but Jo had a sudden urge to tell Gram she was sorry for all the terrible ways she had disappointed her. The words were there on her tongue, and yet she couldn’t force them out. She never could say what was in her heart. So instead she said, “Where do you want me to start?”

For the next few hours Jo pulled boxes of old records, books, and photo albums from the closet. She crawled underneath the porch and dragged broken beach chairs and torn umbrellas to the trash. All the while Gram did the sorting, keeping more than she had intended. Maybe it wasn’t the right time after all.

Jo tossed the last of a bent plastic chair onto the junk pile in the yard. She was dirty and hot under the glaring sun. She brushed her hands on her shorts and smoothed her tousled hair. What she wouldn’t give to jump into the cool lake water. The thought brought her full circle to Sara and her mother and the bones.

She rushed back into the cabin, letting the screen door slam behind her. “Let’s call it quits,” she said to Gram. She figured she had hauled enough trash for one day, and Gram should rest.

“But we’re not done,” Gram said.

I am, Jo thought, and left to go jump into the shower.

*   *   *

Within minutes Jo slipped into a clean T-shirt and shorts and made her way onto Lake Road, stopping once to remove a pebble from her flip-flop. When she reached the Pavilion, she wasn’t surprised to find the doors wide open. Heil wouldn’t keep his precious money-maker closed for four days, not four whole days.

She walked around the back of the Pavilion to the set of stairs that led to the bar. The parking lot was nearly empty, even though the beach was open. Small clusters of families scattered their chairs and blankets on the sand. Their oily bodies baked in the hot sun, but no one was swimming. How could they even if they had wanted? The lake was filled with two dozen or more fishing boats. She scoured the area for Patricia, Sara’s mother, and searched the water for signs of underwater recovery. Where could they be? Who was running this crazy show? She groaned at the sight of Stimpy directing the chaos.

Kevin stepped off one of the docks. Something about his expression gave her pause. Slowly, she walked toward him.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“I’m not sure,” he said.

Sheriff Borg leaned against a nearby pillar, drawing their attention.

“What the hell was going on out there?” the sheriff asked Heil, and motioned to the pier where the fishermen were now gathering. “They need to do this in a more organized manner.”

Heil pulled the waistband of his shorts up around his large belly. “And how do you suggest they do that?”

“They need to be less conspicuous,” the sheriff said. “Stick to early mornings or evenings. And make sure those damned fishing boats stay out of the way of the recovery team.”

Eddie stepped out of his cabin in a clean shirt and shorts. Heil called out to him, something about Eddie getting his ass in gear. He wanted the bar opened early. But Eddie didn’t hear him or if he did, he ignored him. Instead he walked over to the pier and stopped to talk with Stimpy and the other men before sauntering over to Kevin and Jo.

“I told you to get that bar open an hour ago,” Heil called to Eddie again.

The sheriff left Heil’s side and headed in their direction.

Kevin grabbed Jo’s hand and squeezed it tightly, pulling her close.

The sheriff stopped in front of them, eying them. “I wonder if you can answer a few questions for me about your friend Billy around the time he went missing,” the sheriff said. “Do any of you know how he might’ve hurt his arm?” He directed his question to all three of them.

“No,” Eddie said. “It’s the first I’m hearing about it. I know it’s been awhile, but I’m pretty sure I was the only one walking around injured.” He showed the sheriff his missing thumb tip. “Snapper got ahold of me around the same time.”

“What about you two?” the sheriff asked.

Jo didn’t like the way he was looking at her.

“Well?” he asked, waiting for one of them to speak up.

The cords in her neck strained. “I don’t remember him being hurt,” she said.

“Why?” Kevin tightened his grip on her hand. “What’s this about?”

“They found a fracture on his ulna, the smaller bone in the lower arm,” the sheriff said. “I’m curious how it might’ve happened.” He directed his next question to Kevin. “As I recall, you were with him that night. Did he fall? Did he get into a fight with someone? Anything at all you can remember, even if you don’t think it’s relevant.”

“No,” Kevin said without hesitation. “Nothing I can think of.”

The sheriff waited a beat or two, perhaps hoping one of them would offer more information in the silence. When no one spoke up, he said to Kevin, “So there wasn’t a fight over anything, say, like a girl?” He looked back at Jo.

“What’s your point?” Kevin asked, digging his nails into the back of Jo’s hand.

“No point. It’s just funny how you ended up with the girl.”

Jo concentrated hard on keeping her face neutral. But Kevin, he shook his head, clearly disgusted. “We got together afterward. Not before.” His voice was strong, convincing.

“I had to ask,” the sheriff said, although it didn’t sound like he believed him. “If any of you think of anything that might help clear up this matter, you be sure to let me know.” He turned to walk away.

“Do you even know if the bones are Billy’s?” Kevin asked, and Jo wished he hadn’t. She didn’t know how much longer she could hold it together. She wanted the sheriff gone.

The sheriff turned back around, taking his time, looking them over. “Nothing’s confirmed. Yet,” he said in a low, cool voice.

*   *   *

Eddie set two bottles of beer on the bar. “Don’t let the sheriff get to you. He’s just being a prick. He’s got a hard-on for Dee Dee, and he’s just making shit up to keep her happy.”

Jo nodded and reached for a beer. She was too shaken to talk, although she didn’t lie to the sheriff when she told him she didn’t know Billy had hurt his arm. But still, she had a sick feeling in her stomach because she knew how he might’ve hurt it.

Kevin kept his eyes on the bottle in front of him. His body was tense. “It doesn’t change anything,” he said.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Kevin sat at the bar the rest of the afternoon into early evening. He lost count of how many bottles of beer he’d had, but by the buzzing in his head and the slight sway of the room, it had been a lot. In the time it took to numb his brain, he convinced himself the fracture in the bone meant nothing. It could’ve happened in any number of ways.

Stimpy and his clowns had gone and come back, their search unsuccessful. They were settling in for the night. They whispered about picking up first thing in the morning. The sole watercraft left on the lake was the underwater recovery team, whittled down to three men, who were also packing it in now that the sun had set.

Jo had gotten off her stool and headed to the bathroom some time ago. She was in there forever or maybe she wasn’t. Time became a fuzzy thing. Earlier, after their run in with Sheriff Borg, she had grown increasingly quiet. She became distant, locked inside that place she went, shutting him out.

He turned to look at the bathroom door again. Maybe he should check on her. It seemed like a hard decision to make at the moment; he was unsure how it would play out. She might be appreciative for his concern or agitated with his smothering. He’d give her another five minutes.

Glass shattered behind the bar. Kevin came up out of his seat to find Eddie crouched over a broken mug. “You okay?” he asked.

Eddie waved him off. It was then Kevin noticed Sheila had walked inside with Nick, the drummer from one of the local bands. Heil must’ve hired them to play for the night.

“Hey, Kevin,” Sheila said, and kissed his cheek. She leaned over the bar. “Hey,” she said to Eddie, and reached for him. Eddie looked so damned happy, Kevin almost felt sorry for him, because he knew how Eddie felt. He knew how loving a woman could make you so happy one minute and then miserable the next.

The band carried in their equipment and began the process of setting up for the show. Kevin recognized one of the guys: Tony, the lead singer. He had been playing at the Pavilion for as long as Kevin could remember. In fact, when Kevin was playing guitar regularly, Tony used to let him play a song or two to warm up the crowd on the nights Eddie had worked as bar back.

Tony walked over to him, holding a guitar. He shook Kevin’s hand. “It’s been a long time. Do you still play?” he asked.

“Not much anymore,” Kevin said. He had tried to play in the months after Billy had drowned. He’d pick up a guitar, play a few chords, and end up putting the instrument down. At the time it had felt too hard, and he had wondered if he’d ever be able to play again.

Tonight Tony held out his guitar. “Warm us up,” he said.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Oh, come on, Kevin. What could it hurt?” Sheila nudged him. “Do it for old time’s sake.”

Maybe it was the alcohol that had loosened him and made him soft, but before he knew how it had happened, he was sitting on a stool on the small stage, tuning the acoustic guitar, warming up his rusty voice. He adjusted the microphone and cleared his throat. Here goes nothing.

He started to sing, and the music moved through him as it had in the past, the rhythm familiar and comforting. He moved back in time, swept further away with every pluck of the strings. The crowd, if you could call it a crowd, hushed and turned to listen. He closed his eyes and lost himself in the lyrics, singing an old Goo Goo Dolls song, “Iris,” the one song that reminded him of Jo.

She had since returned to the bar, sitting on the same stool she had sat on all day. He didn’t have to look to know she was watching, listening. Her eyes burned through him. He kept singing, his fingers remembering every chord. The guitar felt good in his hands.

When he finished, the meager crowd clapped. Tony slapped him on the shoulder. “Beautiful,” he said.

Kevin put the guitar in the stand. The music had opened a place inside of him he had locked away a long time ago. He felt vulnerable and exposed, but more than that, he felt a raw need, a yearning so strong, it made his heart ache. He crossed the room to where Jo was sitting. Sheila was sitting next to her. He lifted Jo’s chin and kissed her full on the mouth, needing her now more than ever.

She pushed him hard in the chest. He stumbled backward, confused at first, thinking his actions must’ve taken her by surprise. But then he realized she was looking around to see if anyone had noticed he had kissed her. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand as though she couldn’t stand to have any part of him touch her.

“Goddammit, Jo.” He turned and strode for the door.

He didn’t make it halfway down the stairs when he heard her call his name. He kept walking, lengthening his stride. The night air was cool on his back. His hands were fisted by his sides. Even now she continued to make him feel the fool.

“Kevin, wait.” She chased after him, catching up to him a third of the way across the parking lot. She grabbed his arm and spun him around. “Stop,” she said. “Please.”

“Why, Jo? Why should I bother?”

Her face was flushed, and she had that crease between her eyebrows she got whenever she was angry. But there was something else in her eyes, a flame he recognized.

“Who are you afraid is going to see us together?” He glanced at the lake. A spotlight from a lone fishing boat drifted across the water, the beam reaching as far as the parking lot, the light crossing them at the knees. It was as though he was reliving the nightmare for the second time. Back then he had to stay away from her to protect her, to protect their secret. But things were different now. The little girl drowning had nothing to do with them, and yet it had everything to do with them. If it weren’t for the girl, they never would’ve found those bones. He grabbed Jo’s arms and pulled her to him.

“Billy’s dead, Jo,” he said. “And you’re my wife. My wife.” He couldn’t help himself; he kissed her again, hard, smashing her nose and scraping her teeth with his.

She struggled, twisting her shoulders, trying to free her arms. The more she fought, the more aroused he became. He pulled her closer, her breasts pressed against his chest. He forced his leg between her thighs. She bit his lip.

The sudden pain made him loosen his grip. She punched his chest with her fists and shoved and pushed him until their bodies separated. They both were breathing hard, staring at each other.

“Asshole.” She lunged at him, knocking him in the shoulder.

He didn’t fight back. They had been here before. They had played this game before. Instead he brought his hand to his bottom lip, his fingers coming away bloody.

By the time he looked up again, she was on him. She grabbed his face in her hands and kissed him as hungrily as he had kissed her. He grasped the back of her neck and placed his hand on her low back, crushing her to him. She reached between his legs.

“Oh God,” he moaned.

They stumbled to the edge of the parking lot, kissing and fumbling with their clothes. To hell if anyone was watching. He wanted someone to see him have her. He lifted her up and pinned her against the thick trunk of an old maple tree. He clutched a handful of her hair and yanked her head back, kissing and biting her throat. She wrapped her legs around his waist, opening herself wide for him. He pushed deep inside of her, letting her take him to a place only she could take him.

They clung to each other, their bodies slick and warm. His legs felt weak with exhaustion. She sobbed against his chest. He was spent, used, wondering how their love brought out the best and worst in him, how something so sweet could taste like poison.