“What does this place have to do with UFOs?” she asked, finishing her drink.
I wrapped my hand around my can of beer and took my first sip. It wasn’t as refreshing as Chester’s had been, but that could have something to do with the setting, or the company. “It’s not this place.” I leaned in and lowered my voice. “There may be some disappearances involving the sightings.”
“What do you mean?” Clare’s eyes widened. “You really think there are aliens stealing away people?”
I shook my head. “No. But some people do,” I lied. “And nothing sells a story quite like a missing family member thought to be abducted by aliens, right?” I took another drink, this one longer.
“Sounds fishy to me. What happened to the person you’re looking for?” Clare asked.
“Local guy went missing. Cops think it was drug-related, but the brother might say otherwise. He was there on the sixth,” I said, not sure I had the entire story. “Let’s not worry about that, and get another drink, okay?”
Clare nodded, and soon we were eating our fried food and chatting like old friends. The waitress came over to clear our dishes. “Excuse me,” I started, “do you know if any of these men in here go by the name Fisher?”
Her gaze darted around, and she shook her head. “You don’t want to get involved with the Fishers, darling,” the woman said, and the term of endearment was odd coming from someone my own age.
“And why’s that?” I quietly asked.
“Because they have a penchant for ending up dead or in jail,” she said, and walked away.
“You sure know how to pick them, Eva,” Clare said with a laugh.
“Don’t I know it. Come on, maybe we should go,” I suggested, when I saw him across the room. Clark was playing pool. I watched him take a shot and stand up, laughing at his near miss. He was wearing a polo shirt and jeans, worn boots finishing off the look. His hair was blond, shorter than it used to be, styled as if trying to look messy. His gaze crossed the entire bar, and stopped as he made eye contact with me. Even from here, I could see the blueness of them.
“Hold the phone, who’s that? Because I might be willing to get into trouble if that’s a Fisher,” Clare said, seeming to forget she was married.
“That’s… that’s not one of them,” I stammered. Had he recognized me? Did he know it was me?
His stare broke as a girl walked between us, passing Clark a pint glass. He looked around her, and I saw the slim thing slide her arm around his waist in a possessive move, even though I didn’t think she’d noticed him looking at me. They went back to the pool game, and I decided it was time to go. I stood up, and Clare complained it was too early to leave.
The second I was about to pass a burly bouncer, the door swung open, and a man stumbled into me.
“Sorry, didn’t see you there,” he said. He was wearing a denim vest over a white t-shirt; he had forearm tattoo sleeves and shaggy brown hair, and a lopsided smile that was hard to get away with.
“Fisher?” I asked.
His smile faded. “Logan Fisher. Who’s asking?”
“I wanted to talk to you about your brother,” I said, and his face contorted.
“Are you with the police? FBI? What the hell do you want?” he shouted.
I glanced around, noticing a lot of the bar patrons watching us, Clark included. “I only need five minutes outside,” I pleaded.
“Fine,” he said. “Tucker, get me a beer. I’ll be a minute.” The bartender nodded twice.
The outside air was refreshing, somewhat cooler than it had been. Clare was behind me, and I asked her if she wouldn’t mind waiting in the car. She grabbed my keys and left the two of us alone. I walked a short ways from the bar, trying to escape the noise.
“My name’s Eva. I’m doing a piece on the recent sightings, and I wanted to talk to you about Mark,” I explained.
“What does my brother have to do with that bullshit?” he asked.
“You don’t think the two are related?” I asked.
“Look, this town has a lot of history with strange stuff going down. Lights, and God knows what else. Sometimes things can be explained. People go missing all the time, across the country. Spouses leave one another in the middle of the night, kids get abducted, and sometimes a low-end drug dealer gets killed,” Logan said, and I felt like I’d been slapped. Most of what he’d said struck home with me.
“So you think… what? The night that there were multiple sightings of lights in the sky, your brother Mark was killed on a deal gone wrong? What about Carly Miller? What about all the others over the years?” I stepped closer to him, almost daring him to deny it.
“Cloud Lake gets a lot of people moving through here in the summer. Our population triples in July and August. Lots of bad things happen in those months, so much more than the police or papers ever know. So yes, I’m saying that I think he was killed, or maybe he got spooked and bailed.”
“Without telling his own brother,” I said.
“We weren’t that close. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a beer waiting inside for me.” Logan stepped away and left me standing there alone.
“There goes that lead,” I muttered.
Tomorrow was another day. I headed to the car and drove us home, the whole time thinking about Clark and wondering if he had any idea who he was looking at inside that dive bar. What would he think if Jessica Carver appeared back in his life?
It didn’t take long to drive to the Cloud Lake Cabins, and the porch light was on at unit nine when I pulled up.
“Crap, Dan’s home.” Clare pulled up her shirt at the collar in a vain attempt at hiding her cleavage. “If he asks, can I tell him we went for a drive to Florence for dinner? There’s a spot called Buon Cibo there. Italian.”
What could another lie hurt? “Sure. Buon Cibo. I had the fettucine, you had the lasagna.” I smiled weakly at her, and she came in for a hug.
“Thank you,” she whispered into my ear.
I went into my cabin, and could hear Dan yelling through both sets of walls.
July 13th – 2020
Since my fridge was still empty in the morning, I decided to freshen up and hit Buddy’s Diner before heading over to the church. I wanted to talk with Carly Miller’s family friend, the woman I’d seen comforting the mother on Sunday. If anyone would know what her name was, the pastor would. I considered asking around town for the Millers’ address, since it was unlisted, but I knew no one would surrender it if I told them I was a reporter. Small towns like this stuck together.
Buddy’s was busier than I expected on a Monday morning, but I found my favorite booth open by the window and took it. Isabelle, the same waitress from the other evening, came over with a pot of steaming coffee.
“You again. Glad to see you back at Buddy’s.” Isabelle flipped over a chipped white cup and poured coffee into it without asking first. She nodded to the menu. “Stick with the classics today. Earl is out sick, and his cousin doesn’t know an omelette from a frittata.” She leaned in to say this, and I could smell menthol cigarettes and a layer of cheap perfume doing a poor job of covering up her habit.
“Two scrambled eggs, toast, and hash browns,” I told her without looking at the menu.
She nodded and winked at me before heading over the table beside mine to chat and refill their empty cups. I wished that I’d asked the priest about the Millers on Sunday, but John had been there with me, creating an unintentional distraction. He was supposed to come over for dinner tonight, and I considered calling him to cancel. I didn’t know what to make, and the last thing I needed was getting involved with some guy that lived in Peter Martin’s old cabin.
I tried to imagine Zoe’s face when I told her. If I told her. Ever since that summer, Zoe had been overprotective of me. She blamed herself, even though she didn’t know the whole truth. Neither did I, for that matter. I was missing that week, but being here again was letting the memory map expand, and I understood the events leading up better. Back then,
it had been a whirlwind of confusion and horror, quickly erased by medication and therapy. Dad was so adamant about making me forget, he didn’t think what that would do to me in the long run.
My food came, and I ate it slowly while watching the morning traffic head through Main Street. Families towed boats along behind their large SUVs, local road crews headed to and from their jobsites, often with their windows rolled down, loud country music playing from the speakers. It was relaxing. The noises reminded me a bit of being in New York, and for a second, I closed my eyes and even heard a honk in the distance. I could do this.
The story was coming along nicely. I had the great piece on Chester Brown, the disappearance of Carly Miller, and the angle with Mark Fisher tied in with the seedy underbelly of drugs in Cloud Lake. Something flashed into my mind, and my breath caught in my throat. It all went hand in hand with Peter Martin. The missing girl, the drugs, the same time as the lights appearing. Part of me felt like I was reliving my experience again, only from an aerial viewpoint. Maybe I could help. Maybe I could be the one to figure out these lights that had haunted the town and my own mind for so long.
“Anything else?” Isabelle asked, and I shook my head, pulling out fifteen dollars and handing it to her. “Thank you, dear.”
“Tell Earl’s cousin I enjoyed it,” I told her, and moved for the door. As I stepped out onto the sidewalk, I knew it was going to be another scorcher. It made me feel like a storm was coming. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but soon. It used to always be like that here. A week of hot, then a few days of thunderstorms to wash it all away.
A truck drove by, a father and daughter pulling a small-engine boat behind, with fishing rods sticking out of the bed of the vehicle. The girl was smiling and chatting her dad’s ear off. It made me want to call my own dad. I’d only fished that one day with him and knew he’d always longed for more time like that with me.
July 10th – 2001
“Shhh, don’t wake Grandma,” I told my dad, and he exaggerated sneaking around our living room on his tippy toes. I rolled my eyes at him when he stumbled and knocked over a garbage can. “Good work, Dad. I’m sure you woke the neighborhood with that move.”
“It is after five in the morning. Shouldn’t they all be up anyways?” he joked, grabbing some granola bars and bananas from the kitchen. Coffee was brewed, and he filled up his thermos, raising a questioning eyebrow in my direction. “Want some?”
I blinked the sleep from my eyes. “Coffee? You said I wasn’t allowed until I was twenty. Or was that dating?”
“Both. But since you’re acting so grown up these days, I thought you might enjoy a little fresh brew. Just a little bit,” he said. Dad started preparing it, and I went outside to grab our lifejackets from the shed. The door was stuck, and I pulled on it. The rain must have expanded the wood during the heat wave.
“Need a hand?” a voice asked, and I glanced over to see the neighbor, Mr. Martin, standing five feet away. He was in a dark green bathrobe, cinched tight around his waist. He was younger than I’d originally thought, and seeing him there so suddenly caused me to freeze in place.
“Did you get the jackets?” Dad asked from the porch.
“I can’t get the door, Dad. Can you come help me?” I asked, pushing the waver from my voice.
“Sure, kiddo.”
I stepped away from Mr. Martin without ever speaking to him, and when Dad arrived, he turned on his friendly neighbor routine. “Oh, we finally meet. You’re up early, aren’t you?” Dad asked the man.
“Pete. Pete Martin.” He stuck his hand out, and I cringed as Dad shook it. The man was thin, his hair graying and receding from his forehead.
“Brian Carver. But my mom calls me late for dinner.” Dad laughed.
“Kate’s a sweet woman,” Mr. Martin said.
“Unless she catches you sneaking out past curfew. Then she’s a real killer,” Dad said, and the two men laughed. I didn’t like the interaction one bit. I could still see the way his stare lingered on my sister the other day, and to me, this man was never getting my trust.
“And who’s this lady?” He caught my gaze and winked at me.
I wanted to run away, to get out of there, but Dad was all too happy to chat casually. “This is Jessica. Other daughter’s still sleeping.”
Mr. Martin nodded, grinning at me. “Good. Going fishing, I see?”
“Yep. I’d usually be out there an hour ago, but you know how it is getting a teenager to wake up,” Dad said, and that hurt a little. I thought I’d been extra fast. “Do you have kids?”
“I do. But they’re past their own teenage years. My son’s actually around for a few weeks,” Mr. Martin said.
“Well, we’d best be off. Good to meet you,” Dad said, and I turned, walking away. “Jess, what about the vests?”
“You get them. I’ll meet you in the boat,” I said, without turning around.
A half hour later, we were drifting along the far edge of the lake, the sun peeking through the trees, casting shadows on the water. Dad had told me this was his favorite spot in Cloud Lake, and I could see why. The air was fresh, and it was still cool enough to not feel constantly overheated.
“Pass me the bug spray?” Dad asked, and I sprayed my legs again before passing the can over. “You having fun?”
I held my rod, not sure I remembered his brief instructions, but the line was in the water now as we trolled along the coast. It didn’t feel like anyone else was out on the water, just my dad and me, and I loved it.
“I am. I can see why you’re always out here,” I said, trying to keep an accusatory hint from my words.
It didn’t work. “Jess, I know it’s hard only having a dad, and that I’m not the easiest man to deal with. If you think I’m coming out here to get away from you or your sister, that’s not true. Life’s been tough, and now with Grandma…”
We sat facing each other on the benches, and my mind drifted to the necklace tucked under my bed. I understood what he meant. “We’re the Carvers. We’ll get through it, Dad.” I forced a smile for his benefit.
“You’re right. How’s the summer going? Did you go down to the volunteer center yet for the Summer Kick-Off party?” Dad asked. He knew we hadn’t, but he was making small talk, trying to get me to open up.
“Tomorrow. Zoe hates the idea of babysitting kids, but I think it might be fun. I mean, if you can teach kids every day, we can at least help watch some for a few hours,” I said, getting a laugh.
“Are you worried about starting high school?” Dad asked. He didn’t often divert into topics like this, but fishing together was some really solid alone time, and he probably wanted to take advantage of that. I didn’t mind.
I unscrewed the thermos and drank the coffee. “It’s not what I expected,” I told him, pretending I hadn’t been sneaking sips from his cup for years.
“Coffee can be an acquired taste. You need to get it right for yourself. Two cream, one sugar is my go-to, but you might like it with more or less of something. And if you’re starting out, stay away from the sugar. My doctor told me to stop using it years ago, and here we are.” Dad took a sip from his cup before raising it in the air. He never told me stuff like that, so I decided to open up to him about next year.
“I wasn’t trying to avoid the question about school. I’m nervous. Some of my friends are going to other schools, and there’s the whole…”
“Your dad being a teacher thing?” he asked.
“Yeah, and Zoe already going there two years ahead of me. She’s so pretty and popular.” I gripped the fishing rod and stared blankly at it.
“She’s your sister, and she loves you. I bet having Zoe in the same school as you can only help your transition. She won’t leave you behind, no matter what you think. That girl adores you,” Dad said, making me feel better.
“What about you? Is it weird teaching Zoe?” I asked.
“I’m her physical education instructor. So for the most part, she plays the sports and does the w
ork. Of course, I enjoy it because I get to see my kid and get paid at the same time. It’ll be the same with you, Jess.” Dad craned his neck backward and looked toward the rising sun. “We should get moving,” he started as my rod’s line began to pull.
“I got one! I got one!” I yelled, almost letting go of the rod in the process. “What do I do?”
Dad came over and showed me, giving me step-by-step instructions, never taking over, only guiding. I loved him for it. He was teaching me, and if this was how he did things, I knew having him there for my gym class was going to be fun. A couple minutes later, I was cranking the reel and pulling a fish from the water. It flapped around in the air, and I hated the idea of killing an innocent creature like this.
Dad was so proud, I could see it all over his face. He must have sensed my trepidation, because he showed me how to unhook the lure and set the fish into the water. He said it was catch and release. The next one, I decided to keep, but felt terrible for doing so.
An hour later, Dad had three of his own caught, and we were on the dock, the boat tethered to the end.
“Smile,” Dad said, using a disposable camera to take a picture. I held the rod and fish, smiling for the shot, but feeling dreadful about the life I’d snuffed out.
July 13th – 2020
For a few moments, I stared at the photo from the local paper of me holding up the fish before folding the sheet up and shoving it into my purse. That had been the only time I’d ever fished, and it was the only proof I’d caught something. Dad had the roll developed and handed it to the police the day I’d gone missing, never to retrieve the picture again.
I looked younger than I had in my head at that time, still a girl.
The church parking lot was empty except one old Cadillac, and I decided the pastor was exactly the type of man who’d drive that car. I was about to head in when Zoe’s image appeared on my phone’s screen.
I had to answer it. I’d already ignored her calls and had replied to her worried text with an: I’m okay. Clearly, that hadn’t been enough to satisfy her concern.
Lights Over Cloud Lake Page 9
