The Secrets of Water

by Wendy Nelson-Sinclair

  THE

  SECRETS

  OF

  WATER

  Works by Wendy Nelson-Sinclair

  The Unfortunate

  The Unbreakable Thread (March 2021)

  Limelight (December 2021)

  The Island of Mists Series

  The Island of Mists

  The Voyager (April 2020)

  The Island’s Daughter (December 2020)

  The Healer (July 2021)

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2020 by Wendy Nelson

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Author, except where permitted by law.

  Cover Art by

  BetiBup33 Studio Design

  DEDICATIONS AND ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  To my friends and family, thank you for your love and never-ending support.

  As always, I dedicate this to my parents and my siblings.

  To every woman writer, past and present, who didn’t let the prejudice against her sex stop her from realizing her dreams.

  Christina Dickinson, thank you as ever for your watchful eye.

  I dedicate this to my Aunt Judy, Aunt Lorrie, Aunt Sharon, and Aunt Nancy. This story is also about aunts who love unconditionally.

  This book is for lost loves. This story was inspired by my great-grandparents, George and Julia, the parents of my beloved grandma, Katherine. Their love remains eternal through their children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and all who follow.

  Finally, this is for my grandma, Katherine. My love for you echoes in Lizzie’s love for Virginia. I carry you close to me with every step I take, always and forever.

  PROLOGUE

  The autumn forest was riotous with color. The spongy, cool ground was damp underneath her bare feet. The dying leaves above rustled as the air held the strong, dense fragrance of freshly turned earth and water. She wore a light linen gown with hand-stitched posies that dotted the neck and hemline. A smile slightly lifted the corner of her mouth at how fitting it was to meet one's death wearing the white of a virgin bride. Why had she not thought to wear a veil? A veil would have perfected the entire affair. Casting the thought aside, she carried on with her final walk.

  This was it. The grand finale of a short, complex life. She relished her final walk along the pathway. In all the times that she had tread this path, she hadn’t appreciated nature as much as she did today. Her daily walks were her refuge from the memories that constantly ate away at her. In them, she was granted momentary peace. The tranquility allowed her to save all the treasured moments they had shared together as they made their way down these trails walking hand and hand, stopping for stolen kisses behind a thicket of trees, or to smell the fragrant roses. The greatest happiness of her life was stolen when the love of her life died unexpectedly. No matter how much she wished it to be different, the bitter truth was that he was gone. That handsome man, the owner of her heart and soul, was dead. His body mere ashes, now resting in some dusty vault alongside those who never understood him. With his absence acute, she was left to pick up the pieces before discovering fate had a harsher plan for her.

  ************

  The end of the trail opened to the pond that lay at the edge of the woods. Behind the thick line of trees, farmers worked their fields, armed with scythes and pitchforks as they brought in the harvests that would supply them for the harsh winter ahead. Those were winters that she would never see nor would she miss them either. She wouldn’t miss the knee-deep snow or the forceful, frigid ever-blowing winter winds. Nor would she miss the hot, stifling air of summer or the fresh, nubile buds of spring. It was autumn and autumn alone that she would miss. Earth’s best time of the year when everything was a dazzling array of vibrant, splendid color. A color that only came from death.

  In a month's time, it would all be gone. The leaves, the grasses, the remains of the flowers—everything so resplendent would be the dull brown that echoed the bleakness of the grave. Even beloved autumn was destined to change. Nothing was constant, except water. Water was reliable, dependable, and eternal. Even a tiny ripple that grew into larger rings would eventually resettle back to the glassy silent topped abyss that it once was. Water was the keeper of secrets. Safeguarded memories for those who didn’t want them told. One could give their offerings to water and there they remained, harbored for eternity. This was why she chose to drown herself rather than ingesting cyanide or hanging. In her last moments, she wanted to share the secrets of her life and meet her death knowing that they would be kept. She wanted one last taste of confidence before she passed beyond the mortal coil.

  She moved down the embankment towards the shoreline. The stones she had sewn into her dress were heavy and cumbersome. She smiled as she tested their weight. The rocks would do their job. They would hold her down long enough for the water to whisk her life away.

  Reaching the water’s edge, she hesitated as it ebbed over her shoes. With a long sigh, she stepped into the frigid water without regret. She waded into the water at a slow pace, feeling as it rose up the length of her legs. Its coldness sizzled, stinging her exposed skin and lower body. Soon, she was waist deep in the pond. She kept moving and stretched out her arms, letting them swim in circles on the water’s surface. Dozens of ripples cascaded out, in search of the water’s edge where they would finally be stilled. The water was at her chest now and within seconds, it was over her head. She held her breath by instinct but kept going until she was at a point where the water was several feet over her head. She attempted to kick herself up, testing the stones and found them adequate. She went motionless, feeling the pressure in her lungs build, followed by the need for air growing to the point of bursting. Her body fought against an unnatural environment. The urge to slip out of the dress pulled at her but steadfastly, she fought against it. She remained where she was until her lungs were unable to hold the air. Her mouth burst open, gasping. Her brain waged war as water filled her mouth, her throat, and lastly, her lungs until the last bubble slipped from her nose and floated upwards. She remembered the moment when her spirit slipped away from her body. She watched herself float lifelessly before turning back towards the shore. How odd it was to see oneself, dead and unmoving, as if frozen in time. There would be a bright, white light her aunt had told her so many years before. A tunnel that would reunite her with those that she loved. A light where she would wait for those she left behind when their times came. She knew that he waited for her at the end. Eager, she flew towards him, to a place that banished the misery, the heartache, and the darkness away.

  ONE

  “Mail,” the intern shouted, appearing unexpectedly through Lizzie Bennett’s office door.

  “Thank you, Abby.” Lizzie paused and accepted the large bundle that balanced precariously in her co-worker’s arms. “Have a good weekend,” Lizzie added as the young brunette returned to her work distributing mail.

  Turning back to her desk, Lizzie eyed the large stack with irritation. Why was there always so much more mail on Fridays? she thought as she hissed out an annoyed groan.

  Lizzie sorted the stack quickly. The bulk was a mixture of junk mail and information requests from the university where Lizzie taught British Literature. On the very bottom sat a large manila envelope. As she reached for her letter opener, Lizzie’s cell phone buzzed in her back pocket.

  “Don’t forget d
inner,” the single text read as she unlocked the screen. Glancing at the analog clock, Lizzie swore under her breath as she remembered her promise to meet her best friend, Darcy Cross, for dinner. “Don’t forget!” A second text reminded her.

  Lizzie and Darcy had been the best of friends since they were eight years old. Darcy was the only kid that had been nice to Lizzie after she was orphaned and uprooted to come and live with her grandmother. Lizzie’s parents were killed when the private airplane that her father, a private pilot for a wealthy businessman, was flying suffered engine problems and crashed into the Atlantic Ocean. Her father was an open book, Lizzie learned after Virginia brought her home. Her mother, however, was an enigma. The two girls were inseparable from the first day they met at school. Although she was two weeks younger, Darcy was overprotective of her friend and pummeled anyone who dared to make fun of or pick on Lizzie. Even to this day, she threatened to run anyone through if they dared to give Lizzie a cross look.

  A smile stretched across Lizzie’s face as she recalled the wonderful years filled with shared memories. Slumber parties. Awkward school dances. Inside Jokes. Screaming and going wild at boy band concerts. First loves, first heartbreaks, and crying on each other’s shoulder. There wasn’t a moment that they didn’t share. If had been anyone else other than Darcy who had asked her out tonight, Lizzie would have refused. Ever since Lizzie’s grandmother, Virginia Bennett, died, all Lizzie wanted to do was to go to work and go home. The museum, the college, and home were the only places where she felt normal. Everywhere else, it was as if cold eyes trained on her, judging her for not snapping out of her melancholy. Tonight, however, she dared to step out beyond her comfort zone and meet Darcy for dinner at a fancy new Italian restaurant that one of Darcy’s clients owned.

  “You have to come,” Darcy begged the week before after she first proposed the idea. They were at Lizzie’s and scarfed down a Stouffer’s lasagna dinner. “Vivian, the older lady who likes the giant bouffant.” Darcy mimed an abundance of teased hair, highlighting it with a well-timed Dolly Parton reference. “Her husband owns the place. Viv said that if we visit, she’ll comp our meals. Apparently, I am the only one that can make her hair look half-way decent. She’s offering us a free food! You have to come, Liz. There is a world waiting for you outside of work and home. A world that would like to see you more,” Darcy added, suggesting that she was the world and she desperately missed her friend.

  Lizzie reluctantly agreed to go. In truth, she knew that she should be out living her life, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Her grandmother had died just over a year ago and at times, Lizzie felt like she had been buried with her. Lizzie’s life turned upside down the night Virginia died and it frightened her to know that it would never be the same again.

  Lizzie’s phone buzzed a once more with the address to La Mer, the restaurant, along with instructions to be there at seven. Giving the clock another check, Lizzie read six-fifteen. Deciding that work could wait until she got home, Lizzie threw the junk mail away and put everything else, including the manila envelope, into her backpack. Hauling the heavy bag onto her shoulder, she got up, turned off her office light, and left to join her friend.

  ************

  Traffic during her journey across town was horrendous. People merging without signaling. Car horns, erratic drivers, and an endless parade of cars moving like turtles on their backs were all things she hadn’t missed. The late hours Lizzie kept over the past year had caused her to forget how terrible Friday night traffic was. After a fraught-filled battle, Lizzie pulled into the La Mer parking lot with minutes to spare. Circling the parking lot several times, Lizzie swore with frustration. Every parking space within a moderate distance of the front door was occupied, forcing Lizzie to park in the overflow lot next door and trek to the restaurant.

  “You made it!” Darcy exclaimed as Lizzie appeared in the dining room. “You just missed Vivian. She’s sending over an order of fried calamari.” Darcy jumped up from her chair to greet her. She hugged Lizzie tightly, giving her an extra squeeze for good measure. “I am so happy to see you,” Darcy beamed. “Isn’t this place amazing?”

  “It’s lovely.” Lizzie scanned the room, taking in the decor. The interior was warm and inviting, bedecked in rich, calming tones of dark browns, deep reds, and soft cream. The owners had spared no expense. The inside made one feel like they were dining in a posh Tuscan villa. Despite her disdain for large crowds, Lizzie relaxed.

  “So, how was work?” Darcy asked as a server appeared with their appetizer and promised to return shortly to take their entrée order.

  “The usual. Jacobs still treats me like I’m an intern instead of a researcher,” Lizzie said, referring to her boss, Marc Jacobs, the director of the museum.

  “That doesn’t surprise me. It seems like he’s always acting like a clueless parent, rather than a supervisor. Didn’t I tell you when I met him that he seemed like an obtuse prat?”

  “You did indeed,” Lizzie laughed briefly before it abruptly died in her throat. That had been the night of the Christmas Soiree. A night of extreme humiliation, professional ridicule, and worst of all, her grandmother’s last night on Earth.

  “Well, my work is growing exponentially.” Darcy caught the shadow that passed across Lizzie’s features and quickly redirected the flow of conversation. “Since Bobby put one of my cards on the bulletin board at his Grandma Rosa’s retirement community, I have had a steady stream of customers,” Darcy continued, grateful to her boyfriend.

  Bobby Rodriguez was a first-generation Mexican American. A local police officer, he’d been a lifesaver when Virginia Bennett died. Bobby wore many hats across those horrible days. Host, coffeemaker, chef, and tissue distributor, to name a few—when all the funeral goers had come to pay their respects, eat from the buffet, drink gallons of coffee, and offer nothing in return except their condolences. Since then, Bobby dropped by occasionally, mostly with Darcy in tow, to see that Lizzie wanted for nothing.

  “I feel like your protective, older brother,” the tall, stocky built Bobby said frequently. Lizzie admired his thoughtfulness and appreciated how he adored Darcy. After dating a long string of losers, Darcy met Bobby when he came into the shop where she worked to get a trim. The two had been dating for just over a year and a half and Lizzie expected a wedding announcement any day.

  “And you, Miss?” An unfamiliar voice snapped Lizzie out of her reverie. She glanced up to their server looking at her, patiently waiting for her answer.

  “I’ll have the Chicken Parmigiana,” she said simply. With an affirmative nod, the server left to fetch their dinner salads.

  “That’s wonderful, Darce,” Lizzie replied, happy for her best friend’s string of luck.

  “It is. I finally feel like I’ve got my life together. Maybe it’s time for us to focus on getting you out of this funk and finding your spark again.” Lizzie’s shoulders dropped at what sounded like another “you need to get out and live” lecture. Instantly, judging from the way Darcy’s eyebrows knitted together, Lizzie knew her best friend instantly regretted what had come tumbling out her mouth. “I shouldn’t have said that.” Darcy moved to apologize.

  “No, you shouldn’t have.” Lizzie met Darcy’s eye with a reprimanding glance.

  “I just worry about you, is all. I’m afraid that you’re never going to learn to live with your grief and move on with your life. If Virginia was alive, she’d be furious to see you like this.”

  Briefly, Lizzie debated on leaving but ultimately chose to stay. Even though she hated to admit it, the truth was that Darcy was right. If Virginia Bennett was standing here at this moment, she would have ordered Lizzie to get up and stop wallowing in misery. Virginia Bennett was a fighter, right up to the end. It was a trait that her granddaughter often wished she had inherited.

  “I’m just not ready to move on yet, Darcy,” Lizzie said for what seemed like the hundredth time over the past year. “Some people grieve differently than others. My gr
andma’s passing wasn’t the only thing that happened that night, remember? There’s a lot of trauma that I still need to process.”

  Darcy reached out and supportively took Lizzie’s hand. It was clear that Darcy meant well but that she’d somehow forgotten the whole sequence of events that had occurred on that early-December night.

  “I’m so sorry! I wasn’t thinking, but I meant it when I said that I worry about you. I don’t want to see you waste your life or see you filled with regrets, Lizzie.”

  “I don’t either. I just need more time to deal with all of this,” she asked simply, and Darcy grudgingly agreed.

  The two made small talk as the server brought their salads. Several minutes later, he appeared carrying a tray with their entrees. Once they were alone again, both fell quiet, lost in the savory, robust flavor of chicken parmigiana and shrimp scampi.

  “I know that asking you here tonight was a lot, and I really appreciate that you came. I was wondering though—if you’re up to it—if you’d like to go to Sal’s next Friday?” Darcy asked. Sal’s was their local pizza parlor. Both Lizzie and Darcy worked there during their high school years and it had always been their ‘go-to’ place. Lizzie mulled over Darcy’s offer. Sal’s was a comfortable hole-in-the-wall where Lizzie could hide in a back-corner booth. Not to mention, Sal’s had the best pepperoni pizza in the county.

  “Sure,” Lizzie agreed. “I’d like that.” Darcy yipped excitedly and dove headfirst into the tidbit of gossip she had been dying to share.

  “Bobby’s sister has really popped,” Darcy spoke animatedly between bites. “She’s decided she’s going to postpone the wedding until after she gives birth because she doesn’t want to look like ‘a beluga whale’ when she walks down the aisle.” Both women laughed heartily as they envisioned Bobby’s prim-and-proper sister, Eugenia, hauling her pregnant body down the church aisle.