by Laura Kemp
Moments later, I pulled into the driveway and parked the Heap.
Stepping into the late afternoon sunlight, I was surprised to see my downstairs neighbor out in her flowerbed. I was even more surprised when she gave a friendly wave, followed by, “Hey, there.”
I waved back, a bit shy as she straightened and wiped her hands on a pale blue apron.
“Nice day,” I ventured, taking stock of her slim frame, green eyes, and the silver hair bunched neatly at the nape of her neck.
“It is,” she agreed while removing her hat with a gloved hand. “Can you believe we have weeds already? It seemed like only yesterday the daffodils were pushing their way to the sunshine.”
I nodded as if I spoke her language, thinking again of my mother and the particular irony of a woman who had failed to nurture a child working miracles with violets, orchids, and roses.
“Do you garden?”
I shook my head, remembering a Christmas long ago when a poinsettia, one my mother assured me I could not kill, was placed on the dining room table and into my loving care.
But murder it I did. After weeks of neglect followed by buckets of liquefied love, the poor leaves withered and curled unto themselves like a child spooning a teddy bear.
“I’m Iris,” she smiled, extending her hand.
“I’m Justine.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, too,” I motioned toward our kitchen window, perched high over the top of our heads. “My roommate and I moved in last week.”
“I noticed.”
I smiled to myself. “I’m not sure how long we’ll be staying.”
“Most people don’t stay long. It’s not exactly the lap of luxury up there.”
“Not really,” I admitted, hoping I hadn’t offended her since the home had been in her family for generations.
She wiped her brow. “But sometimes new soil does a body good.”
I nodded again, feeling the needle prick of her observation.
“Have you lived here long?” I began my slow approach, fancying myself quite the undercover journalist.
She laughed. “Do I look like it?”
“Well…” I began, uncomfortable.
“I’m just kidding. Yes. I’ve lived here all my life.”
I laughed, realizing perhaps too late that Black Ops was not my calling. “I have some relatives up here. I thought I’d look them up while I was around.”
‘Oh?” she lifted an eyebrow. “Who would that be?”
“An uncle,” I paused. “Maybe you’ve heard of him.”
“More than likely I have.”
“His name is Robert Cook.” For some reason I didn’t want to look into her eyes when I said the name. Still, I couldn’t stare at my flip-flops forever and so bit the bullet and lifted my gaze.
To my surprise she was looking at my necklace, the delicate silver circle intersected with a cross that had never seemed interesting to anyone before.
“Uncle, you say?”
I nodded. “My dad’s brother.”
Her eyes met mine, reflecting something so subtle I felt she must know something. It gave me hope—a small ember in a cold room.
“That name is common to folks that live out past the Falls.”
“The Falls?”
“Ocqueoc—you must have passed the signs when you came into town.”
I shook my head, not remembering much about my grand entrance into Lantern Creek besides my need to use the bathroom.
“Long story short, the Cook Family had a homestead out that way. Some of their children settled around Onaway and in the country beside the waterfall. Maybe your uncle is out there.”
I smiled to myself. It wasn’t much—but it was enough to steer me in the right direction.
“Have you found a job yet?” She asked while peeling off her gloves.
I felt almost embarrassed when I answered, “Not yet.”
“Think you’ll be staying here long enough to need one?”
I shrugged. “I hope so.”
Iris looked down, worked the dirt from beneath her thumbnails. “My daughter runs Three Fires Lodge out on Ocqueoc Lake. That’s near the Falls. They always need help getting the place ready for the season.” She stopped short. “I’ll give her a call.”
“Wow,” I began, suddenly energized. “That’s really nice of you.”
“If you don’t like housekeeping the lodge has a tavern you can barmaid at. Pam says it’s pretty busy most of the year. Tips are good, too.”
I felt the ember of hope swell to a full-blown flame. If the Cook family had settled past the Falls and I was working at Three Fires Lodge, I was sure to run into someone who had heard of Dad.
“I’ll go inside and make a call, then,” She turned, glancing at me over her shoulder. “Enjoy the rest of your afternoon, Justine. And rest easy.”
I nodded before I knew what I was doing.
Rest easy…
Was it that obvious? Or did I possess a certain look wise old women mistook as that of the perpetually stressed? Whatever the reason, I caught myself smiling as sunshine washed over the side of my neck. I closed my eyes and smelled the breeze- pine mixed with water and well-worked earth.
Rest easy…
If only I could.
Chapter Four
True to her word, Iris phoned her daughter and secured my first official job interview of the summer. Choosing a conservative, “I mean to be taken seriously” outfit, I came out to model the ensemble for Holly.
My roommate was not impressed. “Is that lace on your collar? You’re trying for a job at a fishing lodge, not a church.”
I glanced down at my blouse just as Holly took my hand and dragged me to the threshold of her closet. “Your mom should’ve done this a long time ago.”
I cringed, thinking that my Mom’s fashion sense might have gotten me killed in high school when Holly held up an aquamarine T-shirt with a scooped neckline.
“What were you wearing when we wound up in the ditch?” she asked and I looked away, hating how my face caught fire. “You’re lucky Dylan didn’t haul you in for a fashion emergency.”
“I get it,” I muttered. “And while we’re on the subject—he has a girlfriend, so it wouldn’t have mattered what I was wearing.”
She shrugged, “I figured.”
Angry, frustrated, and still saddened by the fact that he had a significant other, I pulled the offensive blouse over my head and tossed it in the corner.
“How’d you find out?” she asked.
I didn’t answer, just reached for the blue shirt, but before I could grab it Holly snatched it away and I was left standing in my skivvies with a job interview less than twenty minutes away.
“I went for a drive out by Grand Lake.”
She wrinkled her nose and handed me the blouse. “Were you stalking him?”
“No! I went out to the lighthouse again and they just happened to pull out of his driveway. Come on—I would never—”
“Never say never, Squirt.” She took a step closer and adjusted the bottom of the borrowed shirt. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“He has a girlfriend, Holl. It’s never going to happen.”
“Like that matters.”
If I’d had more time I would have asked her what she meant, but I didn’t, and so headed for the door and Three Fires Lodge—a small resort situated on Ocqueoc Lake, ten miles northwest of Lantern Creek.
The drive was beautiful and wild and lonely as I hugged the lakeshore, praying the Heap wouldn’t choose this remote location to finally call it a day.
A dirt road veered left and I took the right fork because it was paved, thinking I’d mistaken Pam’s directions for the nearest route to nowhere. Moments later I saw the sign for Three Fires Lodge. A long gravel driveway broke from the paved road and wound into the face of dense woodland. A quarter mile later and I pulled up beside a large A-frame log cabin.
My heart beating just a bi
t faster than usual, I stepped out of the car and climbed the steps. Not watching my feet, I almost tripped over a slumbering black Labrador who snorted at the inconvenience.
I raised my hand to knock when the door opened and a woman stepped into the space between us. She was short and slim and wore faded jeans paired with a yellow shirt. Her hair was red and curly and tied back with a handkerchief of the same color. Shading her eyes, she looked me up and down.
I gave a little wave, then let my hand drop to my side, feeling like a dork.
“Rocky!” she nudged him with her foot. “You are no gentleman.”
I smiled as he rolled over onto his side, leaving me just enough room to squeeze into the front lobby of Three Fires Lodge. If this dog greeted everyone, I was surprised the place had any guests.
I had a change of heart when I saw the front room. Doorstop or no, the space was homey and charming with an ‘Up North’ feel that made flatlanders like myself feel like we were really rustic adventurers.
An impressive fieldstone fireplace dominated the far wall, an elk head hanging above the mantle and I could picture the Lodge on winter nights with the snow blowing outside. People would be gathered around the fire, playing checkers or telling ghost stories. The cold would make this room seem welcoming, a refuge from the elements.
“I’m Pam Mallory,” the woman in front of me spoke and I snapped back into the present moment, hoping she didn’t think I was flighty.
“Hello,” I reached out and shook her hand. “I’m Justine.”
“Mom doesn’t ever call me.”
“Oh,” I said. “She doesn’t?”
“You must have impressed her.”
“She…uh,” I paused, thinking of the woman I knew nothing about, “Likes to dig in the dirt.”
Pam chuckled, then reached up to tighten her yellow handkerchief. “Let me show you around.”
I nodded, more nervous than I cared to admit as we made our way through the lobby.
“This is the main lodge.” She explained. “Next week this room will be full.”
“I can imagine,” I said. This was just the sort of place I’d dreamed of when I spent hours wishing away the cornfields and lame human-interest stories.
“See that place?” She pointed out the nearest window to a white cottage partially hidden by a massive oak tree. It was quaint and charming, just like the rest of the property, with a split rail fence I imagined she had put in herself. “I live there with my son.”
I nodded again, not wanting to ask questions so soon, and came up with the neutral, “How old is he?”
“Ten going on thirty-seven.”
I gave a polite laugh, wondering when I would get to meet this boy and if he would be annoying or cool when she reached over and opened a sliding glass door. A small porch led to some steps and a gravel road that wound into the woods. Framing either side of the path and separated by several large trees were red clapboard buildings that resembled my bunkhouse from fifth-grade camp.
“All the cabins look pretty much the same,” Pam said while we walked. Stopping in front of the first one, she ascended the steps and opened the front door. “I need help with spring cleaning but after that only on Saturdays.”
I looked down, disappointed. If I didn’t start pulling my weight back home I wasn’t sure how long I could stay in Holly’s good graces. Catching my look, Pam added, “We have a tavern that stays open year-round. I have one good barmaid, but she just gave her notice.”
I twisted my face into something cheery, scared she might suspect I didn’t know crap about mixing drinks.
Still, a barmaid uniform had to be better than a milkmaid’s.
“I could do that.”
“Good,” she smiled. “Now for the grand tour.”
The cabin was simple and rustic. One large room with a floral print couch and two wicker chairs overlooked Ocqueoc Lake. An adjoining kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom completed the tour in about twenty-two seconds.
“We have ten cabins. The last two are out on the point and more secluded.”
“They look nice,” I said, hoping to segue into the question I’d wanted to ask when I first entered the main lodge. “My uncle would love this place.”
“Your uncle?” she asked.
“He likes to fish and these cabins are right up his alley. I can’t believe he’s never been out here.”
She was about to take the bait and ask his name when someone entered the cabin behind us. Turning, I saw a young man dressed in jeans and a plaid work shirt. He stood about six-foot and was lean-muscled with a pleasant face, amber eyes, and a generous amount of brown hair.
“Sorry to bother you,” he said. “Just finished with the porch on Cabin Seven and thought I’d take a breather.”
“Jamie,” Pam smiled, her eyes searching behind him for a moment. Then, with added tension, “Where’s Adam?”
He waited for a beat before answering, “Out front.”
“Oh,” she breathed, and I wondered at her caution. Turning to me, she said, “Jamie, this is Justine. I just hired her.”
I felt my eyes go wide with delight and Jamie laughed. “I think that’s news to her.”
“Shouldn’t be. Lord knows I’m desperate this time of year.”
“Don’t let her fool you,” Jamie chuckled, his crooked smile breaking through. “She runs a tight ship.”
“So he thinks,” Pam gave him a playful punch on the arm and I wondered how long these two had known each other and if either of them had heard of Dad. “This guy doesn’t know how good he has it. “
“I know,” Jamie laughed. “Where else can I get paid for hanging out in the woods and chatting with pretty ladies?”
I looked up quickly.
“Come meet Adam,” Pam said, breezing over what could have turned into an awkward moment. I followed her outside.
A boy sat with his back to us in a lawn chair on the front porch. His hair was curly like Pam’s, but of a darker, richer color that held no hint of red.
“Adam?” Pam asked, and for a moment his eyes met hers—large eyes that just matched his hair. “This is Justine.”
He didn’t answer, just sat with the wind ruffling those dark curls before his eyes found mine.
I smiled.
It took a moment to realize something was wrong. Maybe it was the way his gaze flickered over me and never really caught, or the way his fingers went to his ears, or the soft sound he began to make.
I looked to Pam, who was watching her son with a mixture of affection and resignation, perhaps hoping those eyes would linger and stay and catch hold of something. Anything.
“My son is autistic.”
I searched my memory for something that would hold resonance for me and came up empty.
“He doesn’t talk but he’s very bright,” she went on. “Jamie sometimes takes him along when he has projects but most of the time he’s with me or Rocky.”
“I see,” I said, searching for the right thing to say. Feeling dumb. Every mother wanted a person to make a fuss over their kid, and here I stood acting like he had the plague.
“He won’t bother you.”
“Oh,” I began, “I didn’t—”
“I know you didn’t.”
I smiled, feeling like she understood my embarrassment. Like it hadn’t been the first time.
“We’ll see you on Saturday morning, then. Nine o’clock.”
“Okay,” I said. “Thanks, again. This really means a lot.”
“No problem,” she said while touching Adam’s elbow. The boy stood up and followed his mother, turning once more to look at me before walking up the driveway towards his house. I felt his brown eyes on me, lingering longer than the last time and wondered what he was thinking and how it would feel to be unable to speak what was in my heart.
He’s very bright…
All the worse.
“Oh, Justine,” Pam turned at the bottom of the steps. “Who was that uncle you were talking about?”
/> I paused, adrenaline kicking up.
“Robert Cook.”
Pam’s face tightened and I thought I saw her swallow. One moment turned into several before I had the courage to ask her if she was all right.
“Sure,” she nodded. “I just haven’t heard that name in a while.”
My chest ignited and I took a deep breath to steady myself. Would she finally tell me my father was living in some little shack past Ocqueoc Falls, waiting for the daughter he’d left behind in Webber? Painting? Putting lost birds back in their nests?
“Where is he?” I asked, surprised that my voice was steady. “We heard he lived up here but my Dad hasn’t seen him in ten years.”
She shrugged, her face softer now. “I wish I knew.”
I felt my hope flee and reached out to grab it by the scruff of the neck. “But you did know him?”
“Oh, yes,” she smiled, fondly even, and for the first time, I felt fear creep into my heart, fear for what I might learn about the father I loved.
“How did you know him?”
She smiled again, looked down at her son and touched the topmost of his windblown curls.
“He’s Adam’s father.”
Chapter Five
Had it not been for the porch railing I’m sure I would have sunk to the ground and began to hyperventilate. Or laugh or cry out to the sky in some sort of primal awakening that only takes place in forests like these, but I just stood there, too dumbstruck to speak until Pam cocked her head and said, “Guess we’re related, then. All the better. Keep the good jobs in the family.”
Jamie chuckled behind me and I wanted to turn and speak my grief, wanted to run into the woods where no one could see me and try to wrap my head around how Dad could have a son.
How I could have a brother.
Had Mom known? Or Iris—when she felt “compelled” to speak to her daughter after I mentioned Robert Cook’s name?
Mom never calls me…
I looked at Adam Mallory, feeling a strange mixture of hatred and love swell within me for the sibling I’d always wanted. I wondered who he looked like, why he was so dark when I was fair and if Dad had loved him as much as he loved me. Had he sat him in the crook of a soft tree or paddled to the middle of the lake in an old inner tube?
