She could see he was amused by that. He’d probably been faced with clingy women before. He wanted a good tickle, but then he would send her on her way. She had a sudden vision of her life if she’d never had her charms. How desperate and how sad it would have been, meeting men like this in bars for only a few hours of attention. A whole night, at best.
She’d gotten what she wanted out of life. And she didn’t regret it.
She didn’t regret a thing.
And with that, she opened her palm and watched her last charm disappear.
* * *
The next morning, at the lake, Selma was nowhere to be seen.
“Where is Selma?” Bulahdeen asked when she walked into the main house for breakfast. She was glad they weren’t having cake again. Sugar was nice, but her childhood would always have her believing that protien was the best treat. “She wasn’t here for dinner last night on the lawn, and now she’s not here for breakfast. Her car is gone. Did she check out?” For a moment, Bulahdeen wondered if Selma had made good on her promise to leave her here.
“No,” Eby said, as Bulahdeen’s eyes followed the plate of bacon Eby set on the buffet table. There was a tension in the air that no one was acknowledging. Lazlo hadn’t shown up yesterday, like he was toying with them. Hateful man. “She’s still booked.”
“When was the last time anyone saw her?” Bulahdeen asked.
“I saw her yesterday,” Devin said. “She went back to her cabin and got really dressed up, then left.”
“Has anyone checked her cabin?” Everyone shook their heads. They didn’t seem terribly concerned. “Eby, could I take the spare key and check?”
Eby smiled and went to the front desk. She handed Bulahdeen the key and said, “It’s on your head if she finds out someone went into her cabin without her permission.”
Bulahdeen took the key and walked to Selma’s cabin. She’d been sharp with Selma yesterday on the dock, and she regretted it. She’d been mad at her for saying good-bye at the party. But being mad at someone for acting exactly the way you assume they’ll act is no one’s fault but your own.
When Bulahdeen entered, Selma’s perfume greeted her like a wet dog, getting all over her. That woman loved her perfume.
Bulahdeen stood in the middle of the cabin and looked around, frowning. Nothing looked out of place. Well, everything was out of place, but that was how Selma liked it. The couch was littered with reading materials carelessly scattered around. The bathroom was full of her pots and potions and scented lotions. She could see from here that the bed was covered in candy wrappers and hadn’t been slept in. Where did she go? Bulahdeen worried about Selma. She was always pushing people away. That’s why Bulahdeen always pushed back. For nearly thirty years, ever since meeting her here at the lake, she had called Selma on the first Thursday of every month, and if Selma didn’t feel like talking, well, then, Bulahdeen did all the talking, filling her in on everything going on in her life. The one month Bulahdeen forgot to call, when Charlie was first moved into the nursing home and Bulahdeen was tired and frazzled and spending all her time getting him settled, Selma showed up, having driven all night from Mississippi, because she couldn’t get in touch with Bulahdeen. She’d been mad that Bulahdeen wasn’t dead, for all the trouble she’d caused, and she’d refused to take Bulahdeen’s calls for months afterward. But she’d come around.
Bulahdeen’s eyes landed on the mantle, where Selma had placed the photos of her husbands. She displayed them in much the same way a hunter displays a moose head. She’d hunted them down. It had taken work. And she was proud of her trophies. Bulahdeen had always been fascinated by Selma’s power over men. She was utterly in control. Always. That seemed to defeat the point of being with a man, but to each his own. Selma too made her own endings.
That’s when it occurred to her.
Bulahdeen saw the box on the mantle and picked it up. She slowly lifted the lid.
When she looked inside, she thought, I’ll be damned.
Sometimes, the best endings are the ones that surprise you. Sometimes, the best are the ones that have everything happening exactly how you want it to happen. But the absolute perfect endings are when you get a little of both.
She put the box back, then she locked the door behind her and went back to the main house.
“Any clues?” Kate asked.
“One or two,” Bulahdeen said, handing the key back to Eby. “She’ll be back. She never goes anywhere without her husbands.”
The phone rang and Eby went to answer it.
Bulahdeen went to the buffet table to fill up her plate. Being nosy was hard work. She stopped when she saw a chair in the corner. “Isn’t that the chair Lisette always keeps in the kitchen?”
“Yes,” Jack said from his table by the door. He was supposed to have left yesterday. When Bulahdeen saw Lisette sneaking out of his cabin early this morning, she knew why he hadn’t.
“What’s it doing out here?”
“She doesn’t need it anymore.”
She turned to him curiously. “And how do you know that?”
Jack kept his eyes on his plate, but he began to blush. Bulahdeen laughed and turned back to the buffet. She paused when she saw the bowl of mixed fruit. For the first time ever, they were cut into all sorts of shapes. The pineapples were stars. The strawberries were mice faces. What the…? This was happy food. Lisette was making happy food.
Eby got off the phone. She walked to the archway leading to the dining room and said, “I don’t know what to think of this.” She put her long hands to her cheeks. Bulahdeen always thought Eby had beautiful hands. She was trembling.
“What’s wrong, Eby?” Kate asked.
“That was Lazlo Patterson.”
“Is he coming by?” Kate asked. “Do you have time to get your lawyer out here?”
“He’s not coming by. He said he’s having a family situation. He told his wife he was divorcing her this morning. Between that and Wes not selling his land…” She laughed. “He’s decided to drop the project.”
Everyone got to their feet and surged toward Eby in the foyer with a flurry of questions.
“What game is he playing now?” Kate asked.
“I don’t think he’s playing,” Eby said in amazement. “I told him to give it to me in writing, and he agreed. And he sent his lawyer home.”
“So you’re not selling Lost Lake?” Bulahdeen asked. “Hot diggity!”
“Apparently not. Not to Lazlo, anyway,” Eby said. “Kate, are you still looking for that investment?”
“I am,” she said, taking Eby’s hand. “I am so ready.”
“Yes,” Devin said as she ran to the window as if looking for something outside, some immediate reaction to what was happening. “Wes is getting out of his van,” she said. “And Selma is driving up, too.”
Kate went quickly to the door and opened it. “Hi, neighbor,” Kate said to Wes.
“Lazlo is letting Eby keep the property,” Wes told her, excitement all over his face. “I saw his lawyer in town, picking up coffee before he left to go back to Atlanta. I wanted to be the first to tell you.”
“We just heard,” Kate said, laughing. “What happened?”
Wes shrugged, smiling back at her. “I don’t know.”
Eby walked to the doorway, beside Kate. “Wes, have you had breakfast?”
“No.”
“Then come in. We’ve got some business to discuss. Kate is going to take over the place while I travel, and she’s going to need a good handyman.”
Kate nodded and extended her hand to Wes. He held her eyes as he approached her and took it.
And with that, Wes walked inside, and finally came home.
Bulahdeen pushed past where everyone was now talking excitedly in the doorway.
“There you are,” Bulahdeen called to Selma, who had just gotten out of her car. No one was welcoming her back, though if they knew what she’d done, they would have. “You’ve been gone a while.”
Selma
was wearing a stunningly low-cut red dress, and her hair was disheveled. She put her hand on her neck, to hide the love bite there. “Have you seen the hotel by the water park?” she said to Bulahdeen from the driveway. “It’s divine. What are we all doing here?”
“What, indeed,” Bulahdeen said. “Come in for breakfast. We’ve just had some wonderful news.”
“I’ve already eaten,” Selma said, closing her car door and walking toward the cabins.
“Then come to my cabin later,” Bulahdeen said, walking out of the house and following her. “We’ll have tea and some nice pinwheel cookies.”
“Why?” Selma asked suspiciously.
“Because that’s what friends do.”
“You’re not my friend, Bulahdeen,” she said, hopping from foot to foot as she walked away, taking off her heels. “I don’t have friends.”
“You are my friend.” Bulahdeen huffed after her. “You’re my best friend. And you know it. Why else would you have used your last charm on a man you’re disgusted by, in order to save a place you don’t even like? You did it for me. You did it for all of us. You do great endings. I like your style.”
“You’re a crazy old woman,” Selma said as she reached her cabin and walked up the steps of her stoop. She took her key out of her purse, but then turned. “How did you know I’d used my last charm?”
Bulahdeen leaned against the railing of the steps, out of breath. “I looked.”
“You went into my cabin without my permission?” Selma asked, indignant.
“I thought you’d been kidnapped by Bigfoot.”
“I would have had a better time,” Selma murmured, turning back and slipping the key into the lock.
“If you put ice on that hickey, it’ll go away faster,” Bulahdeen said, climbing the steps and waiting for Selma to open the door.
Selma put her hand on her neck. “Ice on my neck? That’s freezing!”
“That’s why they call it ice.”
“Are you really coming in?” Selma asked.
“Of course.”
“I’m never getting rid of you, am I?”
“Nope.”
Selma walked in and held the door to her cabin open, shaking her head impatiently as Bulahdeen walked inside.
And just before Selma closed the door, she smiled.
* * *
From the lake, the alligator watched the house. He watched Wes arrive and walk inside with that girl he had always loved. He watched the beautiful woman walk away with the old woman, and they disappeared down the pathway toward the cabins. The little girl with the glasses was standing at the dining room window. She held her hand up, pressing it against the glass. She was smiling at him.
He floated there with ease, submerged except for his eyes. He was remembering something from long ago, a feeling he used to know, in his life before this. He used to know the name for it, that moment when you know everything is going to be okay. Now it was barely there, on the fringe of his primordial memory.
He wondered if it would ever go away entirely, this sense of two worlds. One day, as he floated here, would he see this place and these people and not recognize them anymore?
One day, maybe.
But not today.
He took one last look at the little girl, then he submerged himself fully into the water and swam away.
Acknowledgments
In early 2011, I was surprised by a diagnosis of advanced-stage breast cancer. I couldn’t see it then, but that year of horrible change brought me to an amazing place in my life. But I didn’t get there alone.
Thank you to the outstanding doctors and nurses at Hope Cancer Center and Mission Cancer Center. My mom, Louise, and my dad, Zack; Michelle Pittman; Heidi Carmack; Kelby and Hanna; Billy Swilling; Jenn McKinlay and all the Loopy Duetters, Meg Waite Clayton, Kelly Harms Wimmer, Susan McBride, Menna Van Praag, and Lynnie Thieme for the tunes; Tracy Rathbone; Helene Saucedo; Nancy and Sandy Hensley; Debbie Wellmon; Beth Elliott; Stephanie Coleman Chan; Alexandra Saperstein for the Curly-Wurlys; Erin Campbell; the Jarretts; the Hortons; the Gibbs; Dix Creek Chapel; Carolyn Mays and Francesca Best at Hodder; Pat Hoopengarner; Penny Carrell; and all my family, friends, and colleagues who supported me. Jennifer Enderlin and everyone at St. Martin’s Press, for being there when I leapt, because after the year I’d had, I didn’t want to be afraid to do it. It’s been a phenomenal experience. My agent, Andrea Cirillo, and everyone at JRA, for your caring and confidence and all-around awesomeness. Shuana Summers and everyone at Random House. It was a wild, wonderful publishing ride with you. Lastly, my readers, most of whom I have never met, but who were there for me when I was diagnosed in a way I never expected. Your good thoughts, your prayers, your notes, your cards, your gifts came to me at a time when I needed them the most. The fullness of my heart is beyond measure.
I just celebrated my second year in remission.
ALSO BY SARAH ADDISON ALLEN
Garden Spells
The Sugar Queen
The Girl Who Chased the Moon
The Peach Keeper
About the Author
SARAH ADDISON ALLEN is the New York Times bestselling author of Garden Spells, The Sugar Queen, The Girl Who Chased the Moon, and The Peach Keeper. She was born and raised in Asheville, North Carolina. Visit her at www.sarahaddisonallen.com.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
LOST LAKE. Copyright © 2014 by Sarah Addison Allen. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.stmartins.com
Postcard design by Helene Saucedo
Cover design by Olga Grlic
Digital illustration by Steve Gardner/Pixelworks
Cover photographs: trees © Zach Frank/Shutterstock.com; lanterns © 2012 David Min/Getty Images; lake © Michael DeFreitas/Getty Images; moss © Irinak/Shutterstock.com
e-ISBN 9781250019813
First Edition: February 2014
Lost Lake Page 23
