The Light in the Lake

by Sarah R. Baughman

  I watch Aunt Mary as she shifts Baby Katy to her hip, lifts a big bowl out of the refrigerator, and tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear. She and Liza have always had the same thick, curly brown hair and freckles across their noses. Aunt Mary catches me looking at her and winks. When I was little, she used to rock me to sleep when Mama was working late. I still remember the sound of her voice singing lullabies: Say good night, close your eyes, and the stars in the skies will keep shining.…

  “Come on,” Liza says. “Let’s hang out in my room.”

  Aunt Mary wraps me in another hug before Liza can pull me toward the stairs. “It’s good to see you, sweetie,” she says, and her arms are strong enough for both of us, warm and close around the parts of me that might break.

  Liza’s room seems too small somehow, the walls pushing in. I pull the whale tooth out of my pocket and roll it in my palm.

  “Can I see that again?” she asks, reaching for the tooth.

  My hand feels cold without it.

  “Cool,” Liza says. Her forehead wrinkles as she turns it around, holds it up to the light. “It really is big, like you said.” She hands it back to me. Her eyes have a searching look, like she can feel the shape of the things I’m not saying. I can feel it too, and it makes my heart pound. I quickly shove the tooth back in my pocket.

  I need to say something. But talking about Amos’s notebook feels like too much. “So,” I say, “Mr. Dale told me I should apply for that summer thing.”

  “Huh?” Liza asks. “I don’t remember him saying anything about a summer thing.”

  “You probably just forgot. Maybe he posted it on the bulletin board.” Liza’s not usually forgetful.

  “Maybe?” Liza chews her lip.

  “Anyway, it’s this Young Scientist position out at Maple Lake,” I explain. “Mr. Dale says the lake’s polluted, and he and some other scientists are researching it. He says if I apply and get picked, I can learn how to help them.”

  Liza gasps. “What?” she says. “Wow. That’s…”

  “Crazy?” I finish. “I know. I mean, Mama will probably freak. She doesn’t want me going out on the lake anymore.”

  Liza looks at the wall. When her eyes move away from me like that, I know she’s got bunched-up words inside that she wants to say but won’t.

  “Honestly?” she finally says. “I know you want to be an aquatic biologist and all, but would it really be that weird for your mom to freak about it?”

  I open my mouth, then close it again, like a fish struggling for air. My face feels hot. Okay, maybe it’s not weird, exactly, but is my best friend really supposed to be siding with my mom?

  Liza’s voice drops low. “Sorry,” she says. “I just mean… do you actually want to go out on the lake now?”

  Words stick in my throat again. Deep inside my head, I can hear a tiny voice saying “Yes!” as loud as it can.

  My out-loud voice is quieter. “I kind of do,” I whisper. “Sometimes.”

  “Okay…” Liza says slowly. I can tell she’s trying to make enough space in her head for what I’m telling her. Sometimes doing that means rearranging all the ideas that used to be there, kind of like moving furniture into different places around a room, or giving away what doesn’t fit. “But also… polluted? That doesn’t make sense. Maple Lake’s the cleanest one around.”

  I shrug. “I thought so too,” I say. “But they’re scientists. They must be onto something.”

  Liza doesn’t look convinced. “But you’ll still be able to come over?” she asks. “To help take care of the calf?”

  “After I’m done out at the lake some days, I can come over,” I say. “It’s not like the calf needs us eight hours a day, right?” I try to make my voice light, but Liza’s forehead is wrinkled up like a Kleenex again and she’s biting the right corner of her lip.

  “I do still want to help you raise the calf, Liza.” I lean over and nudge her shoulder with mine. “But I want to go back out on Maple Lake too. I know this might sound weird, but… I miss it.”

  “You miss it?” she says. Then she shudders. “I don’t.”

  “It’s hard to explain, I guess.” How do I make her understand that the lake is part of me? No matter what it took from me?

  “I just want you to be okay, Ad,” Liza says.

  “I will be,” I say. “And hey, I haven’t forgotten about the Shoreland Art Show either. That’s a big deal. I’ll help you with your portfolio.”

  Liza’s eyes brighten. “You promise? I’m super nervous about it.”

  “So where is it?” I always love seeing Liza’s art. “You promised I could take a look.”

  She blushes. “Okay, this is totally dorky, but you know how Mr. Dale has been making us draw the moon? I got super into that.”

  “You’re submitting what you drew in class?” It’s not that I don’t think her moon drawings were good—they were beautiful even though they didn’t have to be. It’s just hard to imagine a school science assignment turning into an art project.

  “Not quite,” Liza says. “I redid them to be bigger, more detailed. But yeah, I wanted to show the phases of the moon.”

  She reaches over to her desk and hands me a folder thick with paper. Her face looks almost shy, which is strange for someone who knows everything about me, even that I’m a little scared of lightning and like to wear mismatched socks.

  I open it, and like always when I see Liza’s drawings, I take a sharp breath in. Her moons shimmer in dark night skies. But at the same time that I know she’s done a good job, I can also feel something missing. I just don’t know what it is.

  “These are really beautiful,” I say. I know she wants me to say the next part, but I pause, thinking of just how.

  She leans in, encouraging me. “But…” she says.

  “Well, it does feel like there’s something missing,” I say, shuffling the papers. “What’s here is good, but I think there should be more. More than just the moon. I wish I knew what.”

  Liza nods, her brow furrowed. “I know you tell it like it is.” She takes the folder back and sets it on her desk. “I’ll work on it more. There’s time.”

  I swallow hard. I am supposed to tell it like it is. We both are. That’s the agreement. I don’t keep secrets from Liza, and she doesn’t keep them from me. Not when we were six, and I was scared to go in the barn because of ghosts, and she gave me a flashlight and we brought Bumble with us every time we went in there, for months. And not now either. Maybe because we’ve known each other forever, we know it doesn’t make sense to bury words. They just come out sideways later. That’s why the secret of the notebook and the creature sits like a lump in my stomach, but nothing can make me talk about it. Not yet.

  “You’ll figure it out,” I say.

  “You know what’s actually kind of funny?” Liza says softly. “Your mom probably would have wanted to do this Young Scientist position too. I mean, if she were still a student.”

  I laugh. “Doubt it,” I say. “Mama likes the lake—liked it—but…”

  “Well, my mom says your mom was really into science at Shoreland High,” Liza says. “She got all A’s back then.”

  “Really?” I knew that Mama had to learn something about science to become an aide at the hospital. I took for granted that she knew a lot about where we live just from growing up around here. But I didn’t know she might have been as interested in science as I am.

  “Yeah, back when you first decided you wanted to be an aquatic biologist, I was telling my mom and she said—‘Sounds like the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.’ Doesn’t your mom ever talk about it?” Liza’s eyes dig into mine.

  I look away and shrug. “Maybe,” I say, even though Mama’s never told me anything like that. About what she was good at once upon a time. It’s strange that Liza knows something about Mama that I didn’t.

  “Makes sense when you think about it,” Liza says. “How’d you think she knew about glaciers and freshwater ecosystems and al
l that other stuff she kept telling us about even when we were, like, way too young to understand?”

  I see her point, but thinking about Mama young, in school, and happy, just feels too strange.

  “Anyway,” Liza says. “She might let you do it after all. If you’re really sure you want to.”

  Down the hall I hear the door opening, boots stomping the mat. Uncle Mark’s and Aunt Mary’s voices rise and fall but I can’t make out the words. I hear Grandpa’s laugh too—rough and kind, ending in coughs. Grandpa technically retired, but he still likes to come over and help out in the barn. He says farmers have a hard enough time making ends meet, the least he can do is help. And Uncle Mark says the only place you’ll ever find a dairy farmer who’s really retired is a cemetery.

  “C’mon,” I tell Liza. “Let’s go out there.”

  Bits of straw hide in the creases of Grandpa’s neck and scratch my cheek when I hug him. “My Addie Paddie,” he says in a voice that’s not even a little sad. “Twelve doesn’t make you too old for a nickname now, does it?” He lays his big hand, all knuckles and gnarls, on my head.

  “Nope,” I say. Uncle Mark leans over to kiss my forehead. “Happy birthday, Favorite Niece,” he says. He always calls me that, even though I’m his only niece. “You got a second? Want to come out to the barn and choose a calf to help Liza train? I know she’s been waiting.” He looks over at Aunt Mary, and a little smile blooms on her face. She squeezes my shoulder.

  The calf pens smell like sweet milk and sawdust. I take a deep breath and close my eyes, just for a second. When I open them, I see the calves, staring quietly back at us with wet brown eyes.

  By this time in June Liza’s usually already been working with her calf for a month, getting it accustomed to her hands and voice, teaching it how to wear a halter so it will behave well and obey her in the show ring. This year, while the calves stood on their shaky legs and grew and grew, she’s been waiting for me instead. I picture her standing in the barn with her hands curled into fists at her sides, forcing herself not to just walk right up to one of them and reach out her hand.

  I know she’ll wait as long as I need her to, which makes me want to choose faster.

  “How will I know which one to pick?” My voice feels thick and strange, but Liza closes her fingers around mine.

  “They’re all really cute,” she says. Her eyes settle on me, steady and strong, but moving too, like they’re still searching for something. “And Dad, of course, is convinced they all have perfect conformation. You can’t really go wrong.”

  “She’s right,” Uncle Mark says. “I’d say you could pick just about any of them.”

  But I’m already walking toward one of the calves. I can’t stop looking at the pattern on her coat. Like most Holsteins, she’s a mix of black and white. But I’ve never seen quite as many splotches, especially on the legs, as she has. It looks like someone dipped a brush in a can of black paint and flicked it on snow-white legs, over and over. When I get to her pen, she doesn’t skitter away but walks right up to me, her nostrils flaring as she sniffs my fingers, her tongue curling out of her mouth.

  “This one,” I say. But then I remember this is really supposed to be Liza’s calf, that I’m just helping, and I look back at her. She flashes a thumbs-up.

  Uncle Mark laughs. “That was quick,” he says. “You sure?”

  He scans the little calf, runs his hand along her back. “Nice topline,” he says. “Straight legs, long neck.”

  “I’m sure,” I say.

  “Okay, then.” Uncle Mark puts his arm around my shoulders and I lean into him a little. He reminds me a lot of my dad, actually. They have the same straw-colored hair that sticks out under their caps, and the same big shoulders. They’re always right where I need them to be, standing still and strong.

  “Plan to come back in a couple days,” he says. “I’ll give you girls some pointers. Liza could use a refresher.”

  Liza rolls her eyes. “I’ve been doing this forever, Dad,” she says.

  “Forever, or for two years?” Uncle Mark asks. Then he winks at me. “It’s never too late to learn something.” Liza grimaces, but she lets him pull her into a side hug.

  I reach out and scratch the hard spot on the calf’s forehead, between her eyes. She nods her head up and down, pushing against my hand.

  “Hey,” I say, laughing. Amos would have laughed too. This calf has a good sense of humor.

  Uncle Mark smiles. “Typical rascal!” he says.

  I turn my palms up and feel the calf’s warm breath. Then she sticks her tongue out again and tries to lick my sweatshirt sleeve.

  “She’s got a personality, that’s for sure,” Uncle Mark says. “You’ll want to handle her plenty, get her used to being touched. And you’ll want to think of a name.”

  “You called her a rascal,” I say, pulling my sleeve away and wiping it on my jeans even though I don’t really mind the slime from her tongue. “That works for me.”

  “It fits,” Uncle Mark says, laughing.

  Rascal bobbles on her skinny legs, then stands still. She looks right at me and blinks. “Bye for now, little Rascal,” I say. “See you soon.”

  One day she’ll join Uncle Mark and Aunt Mary’s herd and graze in their pastures and give milk every morning and evening. But for the next two months, she’ll be ours. Liza’s and mine.

  Back in the house, Liza and I drag a few folding chairs up into the dining room and squeeze them between the spots where she and her sisters usually sit. Aunt Mary brings out her slow cooker full of my favorite: barbecued beef. That bowl she pulled out of the fridge earlier turns out to be a salad full of spinach and lettuces she seeds in trays under fluorescent lights when it’s still too dark and cold to think about gardens.

  Mama and Dad arrive just as Aunt Mary’s wondering whether or not she should plug the slow cooker back in. “Sorry we’re late,” Dad says. Mama smiles stiffly.

  “Oh, stop,” Aunt Mary says, kissing Dad on the cheek and wrapping Mama in a hug. It looks like she’s hugging a tall, hard tree. “Come on over here, Laura. I’m putting you right next to Baby Katy. She could use a little auntie time.” Mama’s older than Aunt Mary by five years at least. It took her and Dad a long time to have Amos and me, and when she looks at Baby Katy, her eyes get soft and glittery.

  I squeeze between Grandpa and Dad and watch Mama tenderly wipe Katy’s little fingers as she bangs her spoon over and over again on the high chair.

  “Happy birthday to our Addie,” Grandpa says, and Mama clears her throat. I shrink against my chair because I know she can’t help but add “and Amos” in her head. I don’t blame her; I do it too.

  Silence only hangs for a moment before DeeDee and Sammie start fighting over a fork and Aunt Mary tells them to hush, and Uncle Mark starts spooning beef onto buns and handing them around the table. There’s chewing, and talking, and passing salt and salad and lemonade.

  And I don’t know what makes me say it right then. Maybe it’s the noise DeeDee and Sammie make yelling over each other and over Baby Katy’s spoon banging; my words feel easy to slip in underneath.

  Or maybe it’s that warmth I feel wrapping around my shoulders again, that feeling that whatever I’m about to do or say will work out after all.

  “My science teacher asked me to apply for a Young Scientist position at Maple Lake this summer,” I say. “And I’m going to.”

  Suddenly, everyone’s looking at me. Liza’s mouth drops open. I keep talking.

  “It’s going to be great,” I say. “Mr. Dale says the lake’s polluted, but they don’t know why. Not yet, anyway. That’s what we’re going to figure out.”

  Mama’s eyes flash but she doesn’t speak.

  “Well,” Aunt Mary says. “Doesn’t that sound interesting.”

  “Polluted?” Uncle Mark laughs. “Wrong lake for that. Everyone knows Maple Lake’s cleaner than soap.”

  “I guess it isn’t,” I say. “But I’ll keep you posted.” Uncle Mark sha
kes his head, but he seems more shocked than mad.

  Dad’s eyes find mine. His lips turn just up at one corner. “Well—” he starts, but doesn’t seem to know where to go from there. If he’s surprised about the pollution, which I didn’t tell him about before, he doesn’t let on.

  “You’ve always done good in school, honey,” Grandpa says, nodding.

  Mama’s eyes fill. A lump swells in my throat. I’m probably not the only one waiting for her to say something.

  Instead it’s Aunt Mary who speaks. “Time for cake?” she yelps, and scoots her chair back, racing into the kitchen.

  Mama puts both her hands flat on the table. “I don’t want you on that lake,” she says.

  Dad shifts in his seat. He clears his throat but doesn’t speak.

  “She could learn a lot,” Grandpa says. Then he turns to me. “And you’ll still be able to give Liza a hand with her calf, right, Addie? I know she’s happy for the help.”

  “I won’t be here all the time like before,” I say. “But I am definitely still helping with the calf.”

  “She’s going to be the one to show it too,” Liza says. “I want to take a break from that this year. I need to focus more on my entry for the Shoreland Art Show.”

  Grandpa smiles, and I can see Liza’s trying to, but she’s chewing her lip again. And the air around Mama is so hard words just bounce off it. I hear Aunt Mary stacking plates in the kitchen. Hurry up with that cake, I think. Please.

  “Maybe so,” Mama says slowly. “But Addie…” She looks at me then, and I can tell she’s only half angry. The rest of her is just sad. “I can’t let you.”

  Baby Katy bangs her spoon on the high chair tray and says ba ba ba, like she agrees. Everyone else is frozen, even DeeDee and Sammie, their eyes darting back and forth from Mama to me.

  “Mama—” I say, but when I look at her eyes, gray-blue like the lake in a storm and just as wet, I can’t keep going. Mama knows I love the water, but I’ve never told her I want to work on it someday.