Clare waved, and I returned it. “Eva, come join us,” she said, and I glanced at the man beside her. He was a few years older than her. Smaller than I’d imagined, especially considering the yelling voice he’d projected the night before. “This is my husband, Dan. Dan, this is Eva, the one I had dinner with last night.” Her eyes widened in a warning, and I took the hint.
“Hi, Dan. It’s nice to meet you. You’re a lucky man. Clare here is a wonderful woman,” I said, playing nice.
“Good to meet you too… Eva.” Dan’s eyes lingered on me a second too long, and the conversation lulled until John broke the silence.
“These are for you,” he said, pulling a bouquet of yellow daffodils from the table. “We better get these in water. The heat’s making them wilt.”
John stood and left a half-finished beer on the picnic table. He thanked Clare and Dan, and walked over to me.
“Talk to you later, Clare. Nice meeting you, Dan.” And with that, we were away, free from the awkward situation. I noticed John turn around, and if I wasn’t crazy, he made eye contact with Clare. I wondered what that was about. Could I ask him? Maybe he’d noticed the abusive relationship she was buried in and sought a way to assist her.
“Sorry I’m late,” I told him as we entered my cabin. John was wearing a nice pair of dark gray shorts with a button-down short-sleeved blue shirt, open wide at the collar. I felt self-conscious, as my hair was covered in sweat and my t-shirt was filthy from my excursion into the forested area.
“No worries at all. You went for a hike?” he asked.
“I… I went digging on Carly Miller’s street. For my story,” I started to say.
“And then went for a hike?” John laughed as we sat at the table.
“No. I found her,” I said quietly, almost unable to believe my own words.
His eyes widened as he leaned forward, so close to my face I felt his breath. “You found her?”
I nodded. “Yeah, in the field a half mile through a treed section across from her house.”
“How did no one see her before? Her parents must be devastated.” John rubbed his temples, as if the idea gave him a headache.
“You don’t understand,” I whispered, feeling the tears roll over my cheeks. “Carly’s alive.”
John stood up so fast, the chair flew to the side. “She’s alive!” He didn’t say it like a question, but he pumped a fist in the air, cheering. “And you found her. Amazing. You really are a good reporter.”
“Journalist,” I corrected him, but it didn’t matter. He hardly seemed to hear me. I was surprised by his sudden outburst and found his reaction strange. What did I know about this guy? He’d come to town only recently. An outsider. Maybe he was the one who took Carly. Alarm bells rang in my head as I assessed the man. He was handsome, perfectly groomed, polite, caring, well-spoken. I knew a lot of psychopaths were smart, cunning people.
John sat again and grabbed my hand. “You are a blessing to this community, Miss Heart.” He stared at me, and I instantly felt foolish for considering him a suspect. He was just happy. He’d moved here on a whim, and only wanted to be somewhere safe, somewhere good things could happen.
“It was luck,” I said, still unsure if that was the case. Something Sheriff McCrae had said about woman’s intuition struck a chord with me; only it wasn’t quite that, but some deeper bond I didn’t understand.
“Whatever it was, it deserves a cheers.” John rose and opened the fridge. If anyone else had opened my appliance, I might have been offended, but his manner made me not care. He pulled out the bottle of wine, appraised it, and found my bottle opener.
“Glasses are…” I started to tell him, but he was already grabbing two stemmed glasses from the cupboard beside the stove, like he knew where they’d be.
“Got them.” John poured liberal amounts, though I didn’t want to drink. My head still hurt from the dehydration and passing out, but I accepted the glass without comment. I didn’t want to tell him about that part just yet. He raised his glass, and I followed suit, clinking to my discovery. The wine hit the middle of my tongue, and I let my shoulders ease towards the floor.
“I better get the food going, and I need to change,” I told him.
“Tell you what. You shower and change, and I’ll make dinner,” John offered.
“Do you know what we’re having?” I laughed at his disposition. His energy really was infectious. I took another sip of the wine.
“No, but I make a mean… whatever you bought.” John smiled again, and I was disarmed. The stress of the day’s events washed away with his charm, and I realized how much I’d missed this. It had been a long time since I’d shared dinner with someone in my own apartment, and this was heaven.
“Salmon and risotto.” I cocked my head to the side, smiling at his reaction.
“One of my specialities,” John admitted.
“Of course it is. Deal. You get that started, and I’ll try to be quick.” I left my glass of wine and headed for the bedroom, grabbing my change of clothes before entering the bathroom. I already heard pots and pans clanging in harmony, and I smiled in the mirror. I really was a mess. Makeup all over the place, hair a disaster, but John hadn’t looked at me with anything but happiness.
As I stripped my clothes off, I had the nagging feeling I needed to protect myself. There was a man in my cabin, and only a thin wooden door away. I double-checked the lock before stepping into the tub. I showered quickly, but still enjoyed washing the grime off my body. A few minutes later, I had a summer dress draped over me, and I towel-dried my hair, knowing it would dry into a frizzy natural look in minutes in the heat.
When I emerged, the smell of grilled salmon hit me like a brick wall, and it was amazing. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and I was ravenous. How had he done this so quickly? The risotto sat finished in the pan on the stovetop, and John added a pinch of salt to the dish before stirring it.
“You look like you’ve been in a kitchen before,” I told him with a laugh.
“Once or twice. Some perpetual bachelors live the life of frozen dinners and takeout, and I figured if I’m going to be eating for one, I may as well enjoy it,” John said. “Dinner will be served in three minutes. If you’d care to head outside to the dining room?” He had a folded towel slung over his forearm, and he gave me a slight bow as he pointed to the door.
I headed out the cabin to the picnic table. The daffodils were placed in a cup of water, since there was no vase here, and he’d found a candle somewhere. The flame flickered in the gentle breeze. My wine glass was outside, and he’d dropped a single ice cube into it in a vain attempt at keeping it chilled. It made me think of some of my friends from the city. They would never do that to a wine, claiming it watered the intentions behind the vintage down.
I sat alone, watching the sunlight glimmer off the lake, which was active tonight. The sound of motorboats cruising blissfully carried for miles, and I smiled, thinking about the people being pulled behind on water skis, wakeboards, and tubes. I missed being on the water.
When John came out, carrying two plates of steaming food, I asked him a question. “Do you have a boat?”
He grinned and sat beside me, not across, so we could both enjoy the view of the water. “I do. It’s nothing fancy, just an old sixteen-foot runabout.” He looked at me as if asking if I knew what that was. I’d grown up spending my summers here, so I did, but he didn’t know that.
“Sounds like a boat to me,” I said casually.
“Why, do you want to go for a ride?” he asked.
I did. I wanted to feel the heat on my face as we sailed through the water; I wanted to feel that special childhood moment of being on a boat with my dad, fishing for the first and last time. “If you have time.”
“How about Wednesday?” he asked.
I nodded. “Wednesday.” I took a bite of the fish, and it was perfectly cooked. The risotto gave me the same feeling, and I wanted to ask John if he’d been to culinary school.
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br /> “Sorry the risotto is a little salty.” John poked at his food, eating it slowly, while I had to stop myself from inhaling it and fending him off with a fork to eat his too.
“It’s amazing. Now I’m really glad you took over the cooking part.” It was the truth. Mine was passable, but this was exquisite.
There was a bang next door, and I heard the sound of Dan’s truck door closing before it peeled off, shooting rocks at their cabin. John looked over at me, eyebrows raised. “Nice couple,” he whispered.
“You know them?” I asked, remembering that small look between John and Clare.
“Not until tonight. She seems okay.” John didn’t comment on Dan, and he didn’t have to. The man was a jerk. “Would you like to accompany me for a walk around the lake after dinner?”
I was tired, but my headache had subsided, and after a shower and food, I almost felt like myself again. Carly would be at the hospital or safely at home, and I considered that a good day. “I’d love a walk.” As expected, my hair was dry now, and I took the plates in, along with my half-full glass of watered-down wine.
John stayed outside, and when I returned with my walking sandals, he was out by the lake, gazing out over the gentle waves. The sun was setting below the treeline, and I wondered if we should bring a flashlight just in case.
“It’s beautiful here. I never knew what I was missing, spending all those years in cities. Don’t you miss this?” he asked.
Miss this? “How could I miss this?” I asked, my never-ending alarm bells ringing again.
“You couldn’t have always lived in Manhattan. Wherever you hail from must have involved nature.” He said this with such poise, I wanted to kick myself for constantly over-reacting about nothing. I had to put my issues behind me, at least for tonight.
“You’re right. Connecticut. Outside Hartford.” That was where Dad lived now, and I could describe his home with ease. “There was a lake, but not as big as this. My grandma lived there, and we’d visit all the time. I do miss it. I really do.” We started our walk, heading past the grounds of the Cloud Lake Cabins. There was nothing but trees and a well-worn dirt path for almost a mile. It was probably the last section of the lake that was undeveloped, and I wondered if this was one of the sights Dan had his eye on turning into a resort.
Eventually, we began to pass huge cabins, ones that hadn’t existed when I was a kid. There were two-story log houses with sprawling decks, double docks with fancy motorboats. We saw two women sitting in wooden chairs, and John waved to them.
“I’ve done jobs for a bunch of these people already. They were so happy to have someone local to maintain their houses. The other guys around town are either always heading out of Cloud Lake to find work or they’re drunk,” John admitted.
“Then you must seem like a good alternative. At least, compared to the absent and uncouth,” I said jokingly.
"Only by a narrow margin," he played along. I was really enjoying the walk, and the company. This trip to Cloud Lake had become something I’d never expected. A bizarre adventure, but one with very little UFO presence. My mind drifted to the story I needed to be writing, and I wondered how Carly’s story would merge into the piece.
“This is where the infill ends and the dilapidation continues.” John pointed to the next cabin, which was decrepit and rotting. The roof looked near to collapsing, but smoke poured from a chimney, telling me someone actually lived there. “The county’s trying to force these people out, but not all of them want to sell.”
I saw a kid playing behind the cabin, kicking a soccer ball around by himself. “What happens if they don’t sell?”
John kicked a big pinecone on the path. “They always sell. Money talks, and these people need it.”
We kept going, passing through an opening in the trees, and I scanned the lake to catch a glimpse of the other side. From here, I could almost make out Grandma’s cabin, and Mr. Martin’s next to it, the one John was residing in. I wondered if the basement had been fixed, or if John had any idea whose place he’d moved into.
Eventually, we found the public section, the outer edge to Local Beach. It was where things changed for me, and when John perched on a bench near the water, I couldn’t help but meander away from him to where a fire roared, people surrounding the flames.
July 11th – 2001
“Where’s Grandma?” I asked Dad. He was half-asleep on a chair, a can of Coors in his hand. The TV flickered, casting shadows across the room. The drapes were closed, and it was stuffy inside the cabin.
Dad’s eyes blinked open, and he looked around like he’d been asleep for years. “Grandma? She’s in bed.”
“How did chemo go today?” I asked, knowing the answer.
Dad didn’t answer; he just gave me a forced smile in its place. “Where’s Zoe?”
“She’s by the lake.” I held out two mason jars with lids. “We’re going to catch fireflies,” I said in a bold-faced lie. We used to always do that when they came out at night, as kids. It seemed to surprise him, and when he motioned to lower his recliner, I shook my head.
I took his empty can and went to the kitchen, grabbing him a fresh one. “You stay here and keep an eye on Grandma.” I knew my dad was tired, and he would only have a taste before dozing off again. It felt so deceitful, and I hated myself for it.
My dad was one of only three people in the world that cared about me. I had the urge to stay and watch a movie with him while Zoe went to this Local Beach party alone, but I also felt a strange possessiveness I’d never experienced before over Clark. At least not since Lucy the elephant, my childhood stuffy I brought with me everywhere.
“Well, have fun.” And just like that, Dad made my decision for me.
“Thanks. See you later,” I told him, and departed out the front door. It was still warm out, but I wore jeans and a sweater, knowing it wouldn’t stay hot forever. The nights could be deceivingly chilly, even in the middle of summer. Zoe was waiting a hundred yards away, wearing shorts that showed off her long tanned legs, and a t-shirt that Dad would say was too tight to have on outside the house.
“Did he buy it?” she asked, looking to the jars in my hands.
“Of course he did. Why wouldn’t he believe his sweet daughter, who until tonight never lied to him?” I replied.
“Jess, listen to me. Telling Dad a few lies about what we’re doing is okay. We’re kids, and kids do this. And what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, all right?” Zoe was already walking away, down the path that would lead us around the lake to Local Beach.
I set the mason jars behind a thick tree and followed her. We passed Mr. Martin’s window, and I swore I saw the curtains jostle as we neared.
“That guy is so creepy. I think he’s watching us.” My voice was a harsh whisper.
“God, you are too much, Jess. I think someone’s read a few too many R.L. Stine books. Would you keep it cool? I knew I should have come without you,” she said, stabbing me in the heart with her words. I was seeing a new side to Zoe, one that was going to leave me behind any day now. I’d seen it coming and didn’t think there was any way to stop it.
We kept onward, and I was grateful for pants as we wound our way through dense brush along narrow pathways. “Are you sure this is the right way?” I asked my sister, who clutched the coupon with the crude map like a rosary.
“Not really, but there’s no other path,” she said, and my uneasiness spread as we progressed further. I had to keep glancing behind me, suddenly one hundred percent positive that Mr. Martin was going to sneak up behind and grab me. I told Zoe, and she laughed, but this time, there was a nervous edge to the sound.
Minutes later, the path widened. We saw more cabins, and eventually, a wide beach that could only be Local Beach. A fire roared beside a few picnic tables; a group of twelve or so kids lingered around it.
Some grunge rock played from a stereo, and my heart soared as I spotted Clark beside the fire. He was wearing a Bruins hoodie, his eyes dark shadows again
st the flickering flames.
Zoe walked over, leaving me behind, and a girl greeted her. I didn’t hear what they said to each other, but they seemed friendly, and as I approached, I heard a boy offer Zoe a beer. My sister glanced at me, and I hoped she’d say no. That she’d stay a kid just for the rest of the summer, that she’d be my bestie, at least until I started at her high school.
“Sure, I’d love one,” Zoe told the kid, and someone tossed her a cheap can of beer, the kind Dad said tasted like horse urine. Zoe popped the top like a seasoned pro, and foam spilled out on her hand as she giggled.
I glanced at Clark and sat by myself on the end of a picnic table, just far enough that I could barely feel the heat emanating from the bonfire on the sand. One of the kids lit a cigarette, and Zoe was in the middle of a group of five teenagers, each around her age. The oldest-looking one hovered back. He seemed like he might be out of high school. He lit a smoke, and the smell carried over to me. It wasn’t a cigarette, it was marijuana. My instincts told me to leave, and to make Zoe come with me, but she seemed like she was having the time of her life.
The joint was passed around, and I was so happy to see Zoe wave it away. One of the boys grabbed a girl’s hand, and they ran over toward the water. The sun was absent now, and stars littered the night sky. I caught the couple making out, and instantly, I wanted to get out of there. I wasn’t ready for a party like this, even if Zoe was.
“Hey, Jess. Glad you came,” Clark said.
A lump caught in my throat, and I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to speak again.
“Are you okay?” he asked, and I finally found my nerve.
I avoided eye contact with him and could feel how close he was to me as we sat there. “I’m great. Thanks for inviting us.” I glanced over at Zoe, who was talking with a boy. The others had walked away from them, and she flipped her hair over her shoulder, swaying side to side, sipping her beer like a veteran.
“Your sister doesn’t take long to make friends, does she?” Clark asked.
“Never. She’s always everyone’s friend.”
Lights Over Cloud Lake Page 12
