Already, I could see a half dozen runners on the High Line as I drove underneath it, heading for the Hudson. I merged right and found myself on the road I’d taken so many times over the last few years as I went to visit my dad in his small house outside Hartford. He’d always had this dream of moving to Connecticut and had finally done so six years earlier. Now he seemed bored out there.
I settled in for the drive, trying to not project anything that was about to happen. I’d trained my mind for this kind of thing. Forget the past, don’t stress the future. You are here. I repeated the mantra and turned up the audiobook volume. It was a non-fiction piece about abductions in New Mexico, and it was my second time listening through.
“For every one of the abductions, the victims noted lights. Sometimes the lights are flashing, and others say they’re focused beams from high above; but nearly every single case file on record recalls the lights. I took it upon myself to interview Dr. Morty Hershfeld about this phenomenon, and he had some interesting theories on the topic.”
The narrator was a doctor himself, but not one who was much respected in the medical field. Mostly because he claimed to have been taken as a child and had made it his lifelong mission to prove that abductions weren’t solely made up by drug abusers and the mentally ill. I’d read a few books by Dr. Donald Teller but still didn’t know how much of his writing was pandering to the masses.
Another voice carried through my car speakers. “Alien abductions weren’t recognized, at least in modern culture, until the early nineteen sixties. This has led to a lot of speculation, blaming television shows and pulp science fiction as having influence on our minds. Why hadn’t we seen UFOs before we knew what a flying light might be? It does beg a few questions, but I believe there were sightings, many of which remain unrecorded.
“There are examples of light in the skies in ancient texts in China and India, as well as Egypt. The ancient Mayans had drawings that could represent otherworldly beings. But others would argue they were only drawing the sun with a beam of light emerging from it. There’s no way to know for sure, but as I’ve stated, I believe that not only have we been visited by beings from other planets, we also are living among them.”
My flesh crawled as I heard Hershfeld’s statement. He’d received a lot of flack, but I appreciated his willingness to document the abductees and experiencers he’d worked with.
Donald Teller took over once again. “Straight from the leading doctor in the field: aliens are real, and they might well be among us as we speak. You all know I’m a believer, but if they’re among us now, we better watch out. I don’t think that’s going to end well.
“Chapter Three: Abductions in the night.” I pressed the off button and sank into the driver’s seat. I couldn’t listen to the rest right now. I had to prepare my questions for the residents of Cloud Lake, and I flipped my phone over to the dictating app and started listing off queries. Some were meant to support their claims, to make the interviewee comfortable; then I’d follow with something to push them to give all their truth away.
An hour or so later, I turned off the dictating and thought about the circumstances of the writing job. How had Barns known about my connection to Cloud Lake? Everything that had happened to me there was done to Jessica Carver, not to Eva Heart. There was no chance I’d ever brought the name of my old family summer spot up at work, and definitely not with Barns. Had I mentioned it to Harry? It was the only logical answer.
I was also one hundred percent certain no one knew about my obsession with aliens. Abductions, Roswell, crop circles; I was a regular freak in a normal woman’s body. I tried to think if I’d ever cared about it before that summer in 2001, but couldn’t recall. It felt like there was so much I didn’t know about myself before that time, as if I was reborn when my dad found me, wrapping me in his strong arms, his tears of joy splashing against my face. I’d never felt safer than in that moment, and as I drove through Connecticut, I almost made the exit to stop and see him.
“Don’t be stupid, Eva,” I said. Even talking to myself, I used my new name, another thing I’d trained myself to do. I figured in another two years, I wouldn’t even have to remember to say Eva. It would be as natural as breathing.
Plus, if I stopped to see Dad, he’d only freak out and try to stop me from going to Cloud Lake. He couldn’t haul out of there soon enough, and I could still hear his muttering about how he’d never return to that hellhole. Once the police had let us leave, it was like a switch had flipped inside of him, and he’d rushed Zoe and me out of there in our old Bronco. I could still feel the sweltering heat of the red nylon seats sticking to the back of my legs.
Someone honked, alerting me I was veering into oncoming traffic. I swerved to the right and received another honk from the lane beside me for my efforts. My heart was racing, and I blinked quickly, feeling the adrenaline coursing through my body. I had to pull it together. All the thoughts about my past were flooding through my barriers, the walls I’d spent thousands of dollars of therapy on to learn to build. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Zoe’s look should have been enough to warn me off.
She was two years older than me. She remembered more about it and had been there for the week I hadn’t.
As if on cue, the phone rang, and my sister’s name appeared on the console screen. I was too worked up to answer it. I couldn’t let her know I was starting to worry myself, or the call would end with me turning around. I needed the story, and I needed the closure.
The rest of the drive was quiet, and I managed to hold my composure as I sped through Connecticut, then into Massachusetts, which I still was sure I said wrong every time I tried to pronounce it. It was almost noon by the time I was halfway through New Hampshire, and I still had several hours before arriving at Cloud Lake. My stomach was tight, but it definitely grumbled as I saw weather-worn signs for New Hampshire’s best burger.
I decided this spot would be as good as any, and I pulled off at the next exit. The diner was paired with a gas station, and it was full service: something I didn’t find very often any longer. I rolled the window down, and a fifty-year-old man in a blue jumpsuit walked over, wiping his hands on a dirty rag. “Fill ‘er?” he asked with a gap-toothed smile.
His gaze lingered on me, moving to my chest, and I crossed my arms instinctively. I had the urge to leave, to drive away, but the cap was already popped, and my tank was almost empty. I rolled the window up halfway and nodded. “Fill it.”
I’d forgotten what it was like out here in the real world. New York had its own share of interesting characters, but here in the country, it was a different entity. This man’s eyes were wild, and I couldn’t help but be reminded of Peter Martin. When he was done with the gas, he asked if I needed anything else, and the implication behind his words was enough to make me shove the money in his hands and take off, forgetting I was ever hungry.
I fumbled with my purse as I merged onto the interstate and pulled out a pill bottle. I popped one in my mouth and took a swig of cold coffee from my cup.
I was going to get this over with and move on. It was time for me to stop living like this. I had to. I glanced at myself in the rearview mirror, seeing sparkling blue eyes staring back at me. I had to do it for her, the girl I used to be, and I vowed at that moment to be better than I was yesterday. I didn’t need to have a breakdown every time someone like Martin watched me. I could fight that, and would.
With new determination, I drove into Maine, heading north for another hour or so, until my GPS told me to exit off the main road. I followed the secondary, the divided highway turning to a single lane in each direction. Even for a Saturday afternoon, the traffic was light here, and I saw the destination of Cloud Lake on the car’s navigation screen.
I soaked it all in and let the breeze from the open window cool me, cutting the air conditioning off. It was bright out, and I wore sunglasses to counter the glare. The trees were tall and healthy, the heat combined with the greenery collaborating to send a glorious sc
ent into the car. I peered down the road and saw the lake in the distance, faintly beyond the quaint main street I was nearing.
The Welcome to Cloud Lake sign greeted me, and I slowed to a stop, pulling over on the side of the road to look at it. It was so familiar, the blue sky painted on the wooden sign flaking now, unlike when I was a kid. I closed my eyes, and for the first time in nearly twenty years, I remembered something about that summer.
July 3rd – 2001
“Dad, do we really have to come here again? It’s soooooo boring,” I said as I gazed out the window. I was going to be stuck staring at a swamp all summer, fending off mosquitos while Katie and Britt got to swim at the pool. Luke was working there as a lifeguard, and I could already picture them lying out, watching him from behind their cheap plastic heart-shaped sunglasses as he sat in the lifeguard chair, blowing his whistle.
Even Zoe thought Luke was cute, though she wouldn’t admit it.
“You say that every year.” Zoe glanced over at me from the front passenger seat, blowing a bubble with her gum. It popped, falling flat against her chin.
“So?” It was my only retort. She was right. I always complained, at least since I’d passed the line from little girl to teenager. I did usually end up having fun, though.
“Listen. You girls don’t know how lucky we are to spend our summers here. How many parents do you know who are given this much time off?” Dad asked, and I glanced up to see him waggling his eyebrows at me in the rearview mirror.
Dad was the gym teacher at the high school, the same school that Zoe went to and that I’d be starting at next year. I was mortified at the idea of being in a class with my dad. Zoe had told me all the horror stories already, and I knew it was going to be worse for me. Dad didn’t seem to get it. He thought having his daughters in his gym class was the best thing in the world.
“Sounds terrible, Dad. A whole summer with you working, and us being able to do whatever we want to with minimal supervision,” Zoe said, flipping her hand between the seats of the Bronco. I slapped her some skin, and she blew another bubble.
“And now you know why we’re coming to stay at Grandma’s cabin again.” Dad laughed, a hearty, boisterous sound that I still found comforting. I always pictured him as I did when I was a little girl, his big voice pushing through his thick moustache. Even now, with a full beard and much less hair, he was the same strong pillar of a man.
“I hope Grandma doesn’t try making us sew stuff again,” I said. “I swear she’s using us as child labor. You should call someone about that, Dad.”
He laughed again. “I don’t know where you kids come up with this stuff. My mother only wants to spend time with you. She’s in her seventies. Do you expect her to drive you to the mall to scope out hotties?”
Zoe slapped a hand over her mouth. “Dad, can you never say that again?” She looked over at me, a sparkle in her wide eyes. God, Zoe was so pretty. I only wished I had half the natural beauty of my sister. I managed to make a few heads turn from the boys in my class when I tried hard enough, but my sister…she had all the attention, all the time.
She’d turned sixteen a few weeks ago, and she was still fighting with Dad, trying to persuade him to let her get her license. That would be great for me, since I was two years from having that kind of freedom. He’d promised Zoe she could practice over the summer, and if he thought she was good enough, he’d take her to the exam himself.
I rolled the window down and stuck an arm out, feeling the hot breeze against my skin. I loved the summer. The sun, the wispy white clouds, the soft lapping of Cloud Lake as we lay on the end of the dock, trying to decide what movie to watch that night. It was a magical time, and even trapped in a fourteen-year-old’s body, I somehow appreciated it.
“Maybe this won’t be so bad,” I heard Zoe say, and I followed the direction of her head. A boy was cutting the grass near the town entrance, a bright blue sign welcoming us to Cloud Lake. The boy was in a muscle shirt, long basketball shorts drifted past his knees, and his hair flopped over the side of his face.
Dad slowed as we entered town, and Zoe unabashedly waved to the kid. He nodded and kept cutting the grass, sending the staple smell of summer into the car windows. Zoe was right. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.
July 11th – 2020
A car honked behind me, and I realized I was taking up half the road; the shoulder here was only a couple feet wide. I waved them by as I soaked in the town sign, and when the car had passed me, I let out a deep breath. I’d pictured the drive to Cloud Lake so vividly, it had me reeling in my driver’s seat. I could clearly smell the grass.
The sound of a mower lingered in the air, and I glanced to where Clark had been mowing so many years ago. The same patch was long now, full of weeds, and I wondered when they took park maintenance out of the budget.
I literally hadn’t thought about that summer in so long. It had been wiped from my mind, along with so many other things during that time, but now it was as if the key to that memory’s locked box had been located. I wondered what else was going to come rushing back now that I’d returned.
I flicked the blinker on and pulled onto the quiet road, heading into town. The power lines hung low over the first few buildings, and I noticed very little had changed. If you’d asked me ten minutes ago what the first business was on Main, I wouldn’t have been able to answer. Now I saw Buddy’s Diner and instinctively pulled my car over, parking at an angle in front of the restaurant. I hadn’t eaten since this morning, other than the protein bar I always kept in my purse for just such emergencies.
I checked the email from Barns to see where he’d put me up. I didn’t remember if the town had much in the way of hotels, but I was happily surprised to see he’d found me a private cabin at the Lake. It was much preferable to a seedy motel, where cheap tourists filed in with their five kids and inflatable noodles, screaming in the pool until midnight.
I pushed the door open to Buddy’s, the sound of the chimes comforting. I inhaled, smelling exactly what one would expect from a place like that: fry grease and old coffee. It was endearing. I’d spent so long in New York eating at bistros and writing in fancy coffee shops, I’d almost forgotten what it was like to be on the road. When I’d first started in journalism, I worked for one of the big guys and spent a year traveling across the eastern seaboard, covering stories from “The Secrets of Cape Cod” to “Hurricane Sally: The Aftermath.” I’d learned a lot, but after burning through an engine in eleven months, I’d decided something a little more stable was necessary.
I waited for someone to seat me, and when no one came, I walked to the counter, pulling out a stool. A woman with darkly-dyed curly red hair turned to notice me, and she smiled like she didn’t have a care in the world.
“What can I get you, dear?” she asked sweetly. She had an edge to her voice, like she’d been married twice and smoked two packs of menthols a day. I instantly warmed to her. I glanced at her nametag, wondering if she’d worked here before. Isabelle. It sounded familiar. No, there was no way someone would be at the same diner for twenty years.
“Coffee,” I said, “and a menu, please.”
She nodded and poured some dark brew into a chipped white cup, passing a plate with cream and sugar on it. “Where you from?”
“New York,” I said, picking up the extra-large laminated menu. I searched over it, knowing if I didn’t order something like a burger and fries or a sandwich, I was risking my stomach’s health.
“Quite a ways for a pretty girl like you to come. What’s it like living in the big city?” Isabelle asked.
“Not much different than anywhere, I guess. You wake up, go to work for someone, and go home at night. Hopefully find a few minutes of peace and solitude in between.” I smiled, matching her mood.
“Amen, sister. Spoken like a woman awake to the world. What’ll you have?” she asked, eyeing my menu. I glanced around, finally noticing the few other tables in the place with people at them. Kids drew on a placemat beh
ind me, as I could see them in the mirror behind Isabelle. Their mom was staring out the window, looking for a happiness she’d likely lost some years ago. I did that. Whenever I met someone new, I’d always make up stories about them in my mind. It was a quirk of mine.
Four seats down the counter, a farmer sat reading the newspaper. In the day of digital newspapers and magazines, I’d returned to the place time forgot, and my first minute inside Cloud Lake, I was a witness to someone still reading a paper. He licked a finger and flipped the page, glancing up as he caught me staring.
“Miss? Did you want some food?” Isabelle asked again.
“Sorry. It was a long drive. I’ll take a cheeseburger and fries. Hold the onion.” I slid the menu over to her, and she gave me another patented grin as she eyed me up and down casually. I was in good shape, or at least mediocre shape. I liked to go to yoga twice a week, and I walked everywhere I could, so in my opinion, that allowed me to eat something bad for me once in a while. This was one of those times.
The chimes rang out again as I took a sip of the strong coffee. I added in a little more cream as a man came up to the counter. He didn’t look at me, but I caught his eyes in the mirror. They were dark, sad eyes. I imagined he’d recently had a loss in his family. A brother, maybe a child. He was tormented by it. I broke my stare at the mirror and chided myself for being so foolish. I was here to do a job, not play childish games.
“Hey, Izzy. Here for my dinner,” he said as the waitress appeared from the kitchen.
“Like clockwork.” She passed him a brown bag, grease already seeping through the edges. He slipped a ten-dollar bill onto the counter before pulling out two singles and adding them to the note.
Lights Over Cloud Lake Page 3
