Lies Beneath

by Anne Greenwood Brown

  “Poetry,” I said, straightening up.

  “Hmm, well, we don’t have a huge selection in that regard. Mostly we carry the bestsellers and some books of regional interest. But …” She walked past me and slid a ladder out from behind the counter. “I think …,” she said, setting up the ladder and climbing to the third rung.

  She looked down at me. “Robert Frost?”

  “Actually, I was looking for something on the Victorians.”

  She grunted a dull “Huh” and fingered through a few books on the topmost shelf. “Ah. How about this? I think it covers the Regency and Victorian periods.” She handed it down to me, and I turned it over in my hands. The cover read:

  A Time of Elegance

  Below the gold-leafed title were the names Brontë, Byron, Keats, Kipling, Rossetti, Tennyson, Wordsworth, Yeats.

  “Perfect,” I said, smiling up at her.

  “Oh, good. Glad that’ll work for y’now. So let’s see.…” She backed her way down the ladder and headed for the cash register.

  I pulled a crumpled twenty from my pocket. The smell of New Orleans still lingered in its folds.

  “Poetry buff, huh?”

  “Not exactly. Not yet, anyway.” I handed her the money just as the cat peered around the corner at me. I stared it down and it bared its teeth.

  “Mrs. Murphy, no,” scolded the woman. “Be nice to the customers.”

  “No worries,” I said, and let myself out the door. Moments later I found a grassy strip of city park that followed the shoreline between the Bayfield marina and the ferry dock. A line of giant boulders buffered the shore from the waves. A crooked white oak grew out of the center of the park. Just outside the edge of its shade is where I found my seat on the grass.

  Opening the book, I scanned the table of contents for the Victorians and started with Emily Brontë, searching the poems for something useful, something enticing, something seductive that would draw Lily closer and end this ridiculous repulsion she felt for me. Then my eyes landed on the most obvious weapon. I’d read the first line before—and not on the page of a book, but in Lily’s tattoo: No coward soul is mine.

  Dog-earing the page, I whispered each line aloud until it was etched into my memory, then moved on to Tennyson’s “Charge of the Light Brigade” and its “Half a league onward, / All in the valley of Death.” Another poem was all about “blue isles”; a third about the Lady of Shalott.

  Who were these people? Every one of them asked the same question I did: How to escape a life where everything good was fleeting? But when I got to Yeats, my heart nearly stopped.

  “A mermaid found a swimming lad, / Picked him for her own, / Pressed her body to his body.…”

  I snapped the book shut and pressed my eyes against my knees. What did Yeats know about anything?

  Despite the sunny day, a shadow passed over me, cooling my skin as drops of water hit my bare toes. There hadn’t been any clouds that I noticed before. I reached to protect my new book from the rain and startled to find Tallulah peering down at me.

  She was fully clothed (thank God!), but her hair was still dripping wet from her trip over. Her face eclipsed the sun, creating a halo of light around her head.

  “What are you doing here, Lu?”

  “Looking for you,” she said.

  “Well, you found me. Have a seat.”

  She sat close, and the wet soaked into my right side, calming me, as I ran through the poems in my head. As if she could read my thoughts on land, Tallulah reached over me and grabbed up the book.

  “What’s this?”

  “Homework.”

  The book opened to the dog-eared page, and Talullah turned pages, stopping with a snort. “Wow, what’s this?”

  I didn’t have to guess which one she was reading. “Victorian poetry. Lily likes this stuff. Can you believe it?”

  “Just coincidence, right?”

  “Oh, yeah. I mean, there’s plenty of other stuff in there that has nothing to do with us, but definitely weird, right?”

  “To say the least.”

  “Do you think it’s a good thing or a bad thing?”

  “I suppose it’s what you make of it, Calder. Use it to your advantage, without giving us away, of course.”

  “As if.”

  “Just make this quick, all right?” She cuddled up to my side and laid her head on my shoulder. “Here. How about this one?” she said, flipping the page to something new. “If you were reading this to me, I’d be putty in your hands.”

  I slipped the book from her fingers and read aloud:

  “First time he kissed me, he but only kissed

  The fingers of this hand wherewith I write;

  And ever since, it grew more clean and white,

  Slow to world-greetings, quick with its ‘Oh, list,’

  When the angels speak. A ring of amethyst

  I could not wear here, plainer to my sight,

  Than that first kiss. The second passed in height

  The first, and sought the forehead, and half missed,

  Half falling on the hair. O beyond meed!

  That was the chrism of love, which love’s own crown,

  With sanctifying sweetness, did precede.

  The third, upon my lips, was folded down

  In perfect, purple state; since when, indeed,

  I have been proud and said, ‘My Love, my own.’ ”

  “Putty,” she repeated, sighing deeply. “But I think a little of that will go a long way. This book should carry a warning label.”

  “ ‘Caution: Use Sparingly’?” I suggested.

  She nodded. “Or ‘Keep Away from Open Flame.’ ”

  “Roger that,” I said, giving her a little salute.

  16

  LIKE A BOOK

  Two days later, I had just finished wiping down the multicolored tables and chairs in the Blue Moon Café and had started polishing the black marble countertop. I looked up as the bell rang out and Lily walked through the door in a blue velvet jacket and felt fedora. She took two steps, then skittered to a stop when she saw me grinning.

  “Oh, c’mon. You again?” Her arms stood out from her body at an odd angle. I knew she’d react that way. I’d anticipated it. It was even funnier than I imagined.

  “Me again,” I said, shrugging and giving the counter another swipe.

  She looked around nervously as if she were wondering whether she should leave, but then she squared her shoulders and set her jaw. She walked quickly across the black-and-white checkered floor and put her hands on her hips. “What are you doing here?”

  “I work here,” I said matter-of-factly, folding up the wet towel. “The more appropriate question is, what are you doing here?” I suppressed a smile. I knew the answer, but it was still fun to ask. Maris had given me lots of crappy jobs in the past. At least this one was turning out to be fun. It was embarrassing how much satisfaction I got out of teasing Lily.

  “I work here now,” she said. “This is my first day.”

  “You don’t say. Well, in that case, grab an apron. They’re under the counter.” I bent over to replenish the bakery case with cream cheese Danishes. She leaned over the counter and peered down at me.

  “Are you stalking me?” she asked.

  “I was here first.”

  “You knew I was applying for a job here.”

  I stood up and faced her accusation head-on. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe I already worked here when you told me that?”

  She paused for a second, considering the possibility, balancing embarrassment against persisting doubt. “Is that true?”

  “No.”

  She sighed and rolled her eyes. Her aggravated expression made me smile. This whole thing was aggravating. She was supposed to be malleable, persuadable. Easy pickings. That was what was supposed to be happening here. Don’t fail, Calder. I won’t let you fail.

  She blew all the air out of her lungs and gave me the full force of her glare. “So you are followin
g me.”

  There was no point in lying. “Yes. I am following you.”

  Her carefully controlled exterior faltered. “Why?”

  I leaned across the counter, clasping my hands together and bringing my face closer to hers. We locked eyes once more, but this time I refused to let her look away. “Because I like you. I’m sorry if that makes you nervous.”

  All the color drained from her face. “I thought you thought I was crazy.”

  “I like crazy.”

  “You’re unbelievable,” she grumbled.

  “So I’ve been told.”

  She slid her velvet jacket off her shoulders and hung it on a hook screwed into the wall. Her lace blouse barely met the top of her skirt, exposing a sliver of pale skin. I pulled an apron out and tossed it to her. She came around the counter as she tied the bright blue apron around her waist.

  Mrs. Boyd walked out of the back, checking things off a list she had clamped to a clipboard. Her pink-and-blue-flowered skirt waved as she walked. She wasn’t watching where she was going, and she nearly bumped into Lily.

  “Oh. Lily Hancock, is it? Good. Punctual. I like that. I’ve got to pick up some more milk at the store. Calder, there’s supposed to be a delivery soon, so if the driver needs you to sign, just go ahead and do that.

  “Lily, Calder can show you around. He just started the other day, but he picked things up really fast. You’re in good hands.” She folded her list and put it in her purse, slipping the clipboard behind the register. “Back soon,” she said. The bell over the door jingled.

  Lily spun to accost me. “You’re training me?”

  I shrugged. “There’s not much to it. The cash register has each of the menu items on a separate button. Push what they order, hit Total. Make change. I’ll teach you how to run the espresso machine as the orders come in.”

  “Is it going to get busy?”

  “Highly doubtful. It’ll be busier this summer when the tourists start coming, but it’ll be dead slow until Memorial Day. You won’t have much to do except talk to me.”

  “Great.” She dragged the word out to let me know just how little she was looking forward to it.

  Her eyes met mine for a second. I stared into their clear gray, the sky before a storm, almost the same color as the aura fuzzing around the curves of her body. It reminded me of the color kids put off when they’re feeling put upon, but for Lily the vibration was different, more silvery, like resigned martyrdom or a willingness to sacrifice.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Looking at you. Do you find that odious?”

  “Odious? Who says that?”

  “Hmm. I guess I do.” I reached toward her, and she slapped my hand.

  “Well, don’t stare at me like that. I don’t like it,” she said.

  “What would you say if I said I couldn’t help it?”

  “I’d say you were being odious.”

  “Why don’t you like me, Lily Hancock?” I didn’t know why I asked so directly. Probably because it was driving me crazy not knowing. If I was doing something wrong, I needed to change my strategy. Or was it something else? Regardless of Maris’s plan, did I want Lily to like me? I pushed the thought out of my head. It was ridiculous.

  Lily folded her arms across her chest. “Fine. Here it is. Why did you wait so long to save me?”

  “That’s what all this hostility is about? So unnecessary. Lily, I got there as quickly as I could.”

  She stared at my neck, and my Adam’s apple bobbed. I knew the silver ring didn’t show, but she seemed to be looking straight through me. She stepped closer, and I took a quick step back, suddenly … nervous, like she presented some unknown danger. Pavati’s accusation lurked somewhere in the back of my head.

  “I guess,” she said.

  “And you’re clearly fine.”

  “Whatever.” She looked around the café. “Is there something I should be doing?”

  “Come with me.” I led her to the back room and showed her where Mrs. Boyd stored the bags of coffee. “Bring a couple bags up to the front each morning. One for the bin. Put one underneath. The napkins and paper towels are here on this shelf.” I grabbed a big handful of paper napkins. “Make sure the holders are stuffed tight.”

  “Got it,” she said, laboring under the weight of the coffee bag.

  “So,” I said, choking back a laugh. Make this light. Keep the conversation going. “Are you enjoying Bayfield so far?”

  She exhaled an exasperated sigh. “Well, as you know, it got off to an interesting start. Uff da.” She dropped the bag on the counter.

  “True, but I’m still waiting for you to tell me why you’ve never come before.”

  “Mom and Dad just announced one morning we were moving.”

  There was something more she wasn’t telling me, but I nodded. “Spontaneity is a good thing. The best things in life happen when you just let events … unfold. When you try to control things too much, you do yourself a disservice.”

  “I know what you mean.” She headed back for the second bag, and I followed close behind.

  “So, your dad teaches at the college?”

  “Yeah. He’s going to teach in the Humanity and Nature Studies department starting next term. But enough about me,” she added quickly. “How ’bout you?”

  “Um. What do you want to know?” I asked, disappointed she was no longer willing to be the subject of conversation. “I’m an open book.”

  “Then tell me everything,” she said. She looked around for something to cut the bag, and I handed her a scissors.

  “How about the abridged version?”

  “You can start there. Right here?” she asked, opening the bin. I nodded.

  “Okay, let’s see, I like … wool socks and cotton T-shirts.”

  “Duly noted. What else?” She combed her fingers through her hair and pulled it into a loose bun. I wondered what it would feel like to run my fingers through her hair like that, and I let myself get distracted in the fantasy until my skin burned under her patient gaze.

  “I like the color of the Caribbean.” I paused and absorbed the warmth of her smile before adding, “Dogs, not cats. Boxers, not briefs. Redheads over brunettes …” I glanced sideways at her, and she met my gaze. “I have a penchant for girls in velvet jackets … and I think you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

  She choked in surprise, sputtered, and shook her head. “You see? This is what I mean.”

  “What?”

  “Nobody talks like that. I barely know you.”

  I was genuinely confused. Didn’t girls like to hear this stuff? Besides, it was, conveniently enough, the truth. “Well, I talk like this. And you should be used to people telling you you’re beautiful.”

  “Well, I’m not,” she said, and she sounded like she was getting irritated with me again. The feeling was mutual.

  I leaned against the wall and pulled up one knee. “Okay. I take it back. You are completely average. Dull, dull, dull. Unremarkable in every way.”

  “Much better,” she said, mollified. She flicked her finger against my shoulder.

  A woman came in and bought six chocolate croissants. I showed Lily how to ring up the order, and she put them into a bag. “Thank you. Please come again,” she said, waving to the woman as she walked out the door.

  “So …,” I pressed, “back to you. Your family. What’s your dad like? He must be a complete bore to sire someone as banal as you.”

  She exhaled an exasperated sigh. “He’s funny.” Then she smiled like she was remembering a joke. “He loves my mom a lot, and he’s not totally embarrassing in public.” Another smile.

  “Really? No lame jokes? No embarrassing pants?”

  She dropped into a bright purple chair and stuffed a stack of napkins into the stainless steel holder. “Nope. He’s cool. He had a tough time as a kid with the whole parent thing, so I think he works extra hard to be a good dad. He’s wanted to come back here forever, but I thin
k he was afraid to.”

  “What’s there to be afraid of?”

  Lily hesitated, as if she hadn’t planned on getting so personal so quickly. Her mouth hung open and blood rushed into her cheeks. “I guess you could say this place tore his family apart.”

  I was fascinated by the irony. Wasn’t it my family that had been destroyed? I couldn’t let her stop there. I stared into her eyes and willed her to share more information. Thoughts spun out of me—images of the two of us whispering in confidence—and I pushed them into her mind, compelling her to trust me. She fought against it. She was stronger than I’d expected, maybe stronger than any human I’d ever encountered. But right when I thought I couldn’t get through, right when I thought I was a bigger failure than even Maris had guessed, Lily’s resistance gave way.

  She drew up her chin and said, “The story is that this place made my grandpa go crazy.”

  I leaned against the counter, the marble cool under my palms, and braced myself against what was coming next. She pushed her chair back hard, making it screech across the floor.

  “He said he saw a monster in the lake.” She watched me closely. “Sorry you asked?”

  “No,” I said.

  “He dragged the whole family away from here without any warning. Everyone said he was crazy. After that, my dad was never allowed in the water—anywhere—and they for sure never came back here. Even when my dad was old enough to come alone, he stayed away out of respect for his dad.”

  “So why the change of heart?”

  “Partly because of my mom’s health. And Grandpa died in January. I think this move is a meet-your-demons-head-on kind of thing for my dad.”

  I swallowed hard. Fortunately, she had no way of knowing the demon was inches from her, steaming a carafe of milk into a perfect froth.

  “The whole monster obsession broke up my grandparents’ marriage. Grandpa was even medicated for a while. I don’t know. Maybe he was crazy, but—aside from the weird stories—he always seemed pretty normal to me. Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you’re in pain or something.” She frowned. “You’ve been around here a long time, right? Have you ever seen—”