It’s time for me to investigate clue number four. I’ll stop by home to grab some food, then head out. I was supposed to text Tai a plan, and I don’t want to hurt his feelings, but I need to do this one alone. I think later he’ll understand.
Chapter 25
It’s not even close to sunset when I get to my front door. But Mama and Dad are on the front stoop, their foreheads all wrinkled up.
“Was just about to come looking for you,” Dad says gruffly.
Darn. I forgot to send that text.
“I don’t know where to start,” Mama says. “The fact that you missed the 4-H show and left your cousin in the lurch—that’s one thing. But the rest?” She shakes her head, her lips pressed tight together. I wonder what she’s heard.
“Your aunt Mary called and said she dropped you off at Maple Lake,” Dad says. “Guess she wanted to make sure we really did tell you it was okay to go.”
My cheeks burn. They don’t need to remind me it wasn’t.
Mama’s eyes flash. “She told us a few other things,” she says, her voice sharp. “About how those researchers are planning to tell farmers that they need to fix things for Maple Lake.”
There it is. The burning in my cheeks slips down and I feel something hot and wild begin to churn inside.
“Aunt Mary understands,” I say. “And the researchers aren’t trying to bother anyone. They’re just trying to help the lake.”
“Your aunt Mary probably just didn’t want to worry you.” Dad rubs his hands together, trying to bring some softness back. But he doesn’t look at me. I can tell he’s nervous. “Neither do I. But that farm—it’s not just a place. It’s where I grew up. That land has been in our family for generations. And it’s how Uncle Mark and Aunt Mary put food on the table.”
“I already know that, Dad!” A lump rises in my throat, but I force it back down. “I was the one who told the researchers that. I told them they need to talk to farmers too, and think about their side of things.”
“Their side of things?” Mama says. “Isn’t that the side that really matters? How long has Dr. Li been here anyway? How can any of them know what’s best for our lake?”
“Now you sound like Darren too!” I say.
“Darren?” Mama asks, puzzled.
“He didn’t think people from somewhere else could help Maple Lake. Well, maybe you don’t know what’s best for the lake.” I feel my voice rising. “You can’t just ignore what’s there. Telling yourself the lake isn’t polluted won’t change the fact that it is.”
I’m just shy of yelling, but I manage to keep my voice steady. “Aren’t you supposed to already know that anyway?” I point my eyes right at Mama and I feel a sneer twist through my lips. “Didn’t you want to be a scientist too? Before you gave up?”
“Don’t speak to your mother that way.” Dad’s voice has taken on the super-deep, quiet tone it gets during those rare times when he’s actually, truly mad.
But I keep going. “It’s true. You guys just want to give up! You think you can hide from Maple Lake? Pretend it doesn’t exist? Never go out on it again, even if you drive past it every day?”
Mama’s voice comes in cold. “Maybe I won’t. I don’t see a need to go out on that lake ever again. And neither should you.”
“You don’t trust me.” I can feel my voice billowing up now, like stormy waves. “You don’t trust me to know what I’m doing, even when I’ve proven myself.” I clench my hands at my sides. My heart thumps in my chest. “I had to lie to Mr. Dale just so he’d let Tai and me take the boat out ourselves and look for Amos’s clues, because even though I know how to drive a boat, I knew you wouldn’t trust me to keep doing it.”
“What?” Dad stares at me, openmouthed.
“You’ve been going out on that lake without any adult supervision?” Mama’s voice shakes. “The Maple Derby was one thing, when I knew your father and Mr. Cooper and all those other fishermen would be watching. But this?”
“See, you don’t know what I’ve been doing! You don’t even know me. Whenever you look at me, you just see—him. Or you wish you could.” My throat thickens. I grab my iPhone out of my back pocket and toss it in the grass. “I don’t need this phone! I don’t need to tell you where I am every second.” When it lands, I see Dad flinch. I start to shake, but it’s too late to stop.
“You’re all we have left.” Mama’s voice trembles. “Think about your brother, and what he would do. Don’t you know how much he loved working with your aunt and uncle? How much he loved that farm?”
“See, that just shows how little you know either of us. I love the farm too! And Amos would have wanted to save the lake!” I’m screaming now. “If he’d known what was wrong, he would have wanted to make it better. He would have done anything for it!”
Mama’s eyes dampen, unbelieving. In them, memories shine. I see us there, splashing each other in the lake. I feel her brushing my hair, rubbing my back after she gets home from work, when she thinks I’m still asleep.
Then I see her looking closely at me, her forehead wrinkled, her eyes full of questions. Doubts.
“I’m going to do what I can too,” I say. “Dr. Li and Mr. Dale want us to write an article for the paper, about what people—including farmers—can do to stop the pollution.”
Dad’s eyes widen, and Mama’s mouth falls open. “What?” Dad asks, his voice just a little on the loud side.
“You’re going to put your name on something saying that farmers need to change?” Mama asks. “That your own family needs to change?”
“My own family has already changed,” I say. I feel the chill in my voice. I push past Mama and Dad into the house, where I grab Amos’s notebook, then stuff my swimsuit and an empty water bottle into a plastic bag. Back outside, I hop on my bike and start pedaling as fast as I can, my hair blowing back like wings.
I don’t look back. And if Mama and Dad say anything else, I don’t hear them. There wasn’t much of a breeze to start with, but the faster I go, the more I make my own.
Chapter 26
My legs should be tired by now. But they aren’t. They just keep going, pedaling so hard they burn. And the burning just makes them want to go more.
I have to look for Amos’s piece of evidence—the gold flecks in the water—and the water bottle will give me a way to preserve it, as long as I can find it.
This would definitely be easier with a boat. And I should’ve brought a life jacket. But there’s no way I can sneak into the biological station right now, and I might not have much time before one, or both, of my parents decides to follow and try to stop me. It won’t take them long to find me; I’m going to Amos’s favorite fishing spot—not Dad’s, near the Pine River, but one much closer to shore.
I tuck my bike into the bushes next to the trailhead. This is one of my favorite paths; it winds all along the bottom of Bevel Mountain, hugging the water. I jog along the rutted dirt, ducking tree branches, until I get a good way past the sandy beach that’s always crowded on hot days.
Once when I was out on the ice, I saw something.…
I don’t want to wait until winter to investigate clue number four. Besides, I don’t think it’s about the ice. Maybe Amos didn’t notice this clue until winter, but if the creature’s in Maple Lake, the evidence will be there; the season doesn’t matter.
And even though I know it, I still want to see it. To see if the last clue is true. To finish Amos’s work and my own too.
Amos always started out fishing at this spot. He said the fish there waited just for him, and once they heard him cut his motor, they started biting. But his good spot was about twenty yards out. I know it’s deep there. Really deep. I bet that’s why the creature likes it too. And I’m a good swimmer.
The sun’s slipping lower, bleeding reds and oranges into the sky. But it’s still shining; it hasn’t given up its warmth yet. So I have light, and I have just enough time. Carefully, I step past the path onto the big rocks that jut into Maple Lake. I leav
e my T-shirt and shorts on the rock and lower myself down; then I’m halfway in, balancing on a slimy underwater rock. Once I push off from here, it’s all swimming. I take a deep breath and dive through, letting the dark water hold me.
Even when I come up for air, I’m still not tired. I push through the water, my arms churning, my hand grasping the bottle. I count strokes—one, two, three, four, breathe!—and move slowly, saving my energy, just like Mama always said to. Before long, I’m there. I’m right where he was. But instead of slipping, my legs tread water, keeping me in place.
I remember Dad, running. Mama, falling onto the ice, closer to shore. Me, screaming. I close my eyes, tell my mind to stop. Find the flecks of gold, I say.
I look down. My head’s so close to the water, I’m not even sure I’ll be able to see anything.
Come on, Amos, I think, even though it’s the creature I’m looking for. I swam all the way out here. I’m here for you, and I know we don’t have forever. Now show me something.
A little wind starts to pick up, which is strange at sunset. It sends waves flitting across the surface of the water like little dancers. But I’m calm. My legs feel strong. I look down again.
From the deepest parts of the dark water, I start seeing little points of light. They’re so tiny at first, I think I’m imagining them. Are they fish eyes? Tricks from the setting sun?
They spin up and up, coming closer, coming up larger. The wind picks up a little more. Waves rock me back and forth; I stop treading water and spin onto my back, catching my breath, resting. But I don’t want to lose the light.
When I pop back over and start treading water again, the gold flecks are everywhere, and they’re big—like scales. They seem almost alive, tiny little muscles pushing back and forth. I reach for them, scoop the bottle down into the water. But when I lift it up, the scales melt away before my eyes.
“No,” I say aloud. “Don’t melt. Please don’t melt.”
I’m breathing hard now. The wind races, ripping the bottle away before I can tighten my grip. I know I need to start back to shore, but I think I have energy for just one more try. If I can dive down, scoop with both hands, maybe they’ll stick—
I hold my breath and go in, reaching everywhere. Underwater, it’s like all the light seeped away from the sky and came into Maple Lake. I feel the gold all around me.
I pop back up, gasping, my fists clenched. I’m not going to open them until I get back to shore, until I can show someone—
Swimming with fists instead of hands is hard. I take a few strokes, then stop to tread water. A few more strokes—maybe I’m starting to get a little tired now. And cold. I shiver. The sun slips farther down, its last tiny sliver shimmering. Then it’s gone.
I know I can make it. The shore’s not far. But oh—I am tired. So tired. I kick my legs, but it gets harder to stay high above the water.
All of a sudden, there’s a whoosh! that rises up from the very bottom of the lake and catches me. It can’t just be wind. It’s bigger than that, and it’s coming from everywhere, pushing me toward shore. I feel the biggest, smoothest weight reaching from down deep to hold me up. I sputter, fists still clenched, water droplets blinding me—
“Addie! Addie!”
I can’t tell where the voices are coming from—above or below. If it’s Amos or the creature. My chin drops below the surface and I panic, clawing my way back to anything, letting one fist open but keeping the other closed tight for as long as I can.
But then that big smooth weight from below pushes me even higher and I breathe air, real air, and then it drops away so fast I can feel the pressure rush away below, speeding down like a roller coaster, and now there are hands instead, from above, reaching under my shoulders, pulling me up. My knees knock against the hard side of a boat on the way up.
It’s Dad.
I’m in the boat then, and Mama’s reaching for me. They’re both still saying my name, over and over, and I realize it was their voices I heard, high above the water when I was in it.
Mama hugs me to her and wraps me in, holding my bones together. I lean against her shoulder. My fists are still clenched so hard they’re white. Slowly, I let my fingernails release pressure from my palm. Holding my breath, I curl them back. There’s just skin. Nothing else.
“They’re gone,” I sob. “They melted.”
“What?” Mama asks. “Addie, what are you talking about?”
But I can’t answer. “They all melted,” I repeat. But it was there, I think. It was there, and it saved me. It held me up long enough for you and Dad to find me.
Tears slip down my cheeks. Why didn’t it save Amos too? I ask. It’s the question I haven’t been able to answer. But just because the creature is strong, doesn’t mean it can do everything. I do know Maple Lake needs help, and maybe the creature does too. Maybe it can’t do all the saving.
“You need to get warm,” Mama says. She reaches under Dad’s seat on the boat and pulls out the thick blanket that’s always there, then wraps me up in it without taking her arms away.
“Tai called you,” Dad says. “On your phone.”
“I’m sorry, Dad.” I choke on the words.
“He thought you might be heading here. Something about a fourth clue?”
I’m so tired. There’s nothing left in me to hide.
“Yes,” I say. “Amos’s clues.”
“The creature,” Mama says, shaking her head. But there’s no anger in her voice. It’s the old Mama now. She’s still holding me.
“I needed to help him.” I choke on the next part. “Because I didn’t help him before,” I say. “Not enough. When he died, he was—”
I bury my face in the blanket.
Dad rests one of his big hands on my shoulder. “It’s okay, Addie,” he says. “It’s okay.”
I don’t know why he says that. It’s never okay. But in that moment, I just decide to believe Dad. And I tell them that Amos died trying to prove the fourth clue because he wanted to get evidence that I demanded. That it was my job to prove it for him now, not just to finish his work but to add to it—to use science to help Maple Lake and the creature. Finding the fourth clue became my way of showing Amos I believed, and cared. And I did—I did!—but the clue melted away, right out of my hands.
Mama’s stroking my hair.
“That boy really did love this lake,” Dad says, his voice thick and strange. Tears slip quietly from his eyes as the boat spins through darkness, its lights pointing to shore.
Mama sighs and lets her arm fall around my shoulders. “Do you know,” she says, “when you were toddlers, how much I hated this lake? I thought it would steal one of you for sure. You were both so curious, wading out too deep. Whenever I had one of you in my sight, the other would slip right out of it. I never thought I’d be able to relax again. I remember once—” She starts to laugh, then wipes her eyes. “You were two. Amos was toddling too fast, and he went right past you. You just looked at him, and I thought I could see the wheels turning; you were thinking, Watch out. And then, of course, he fell right in the water.”
“Really?” I ask. “How deep was it?”
“Not very,” she says. “But it doesn’t take much for a toddler to get in trouble with water. Of course I started to rush over. But you know what you did, Addie?”
“What?” I ask. I obviously don’t remember; I was only two.
“You got to him first.” Mama rubs my shoulder. “Bumped right over, slow and steady. And you started grabbing at him with your hands. By the time I got there, you had him half out of the water. Not sure how you did that, since he was heavier.”
I laugh, then sniffle.
“You were always more careful,” Mama says. “Always watching. I never worried as much about you. But that doesn’t mean it would hurt me less to lose you.”
She readjusts the blanket around my shoulders and holds me tighter.
Then Dad clears his throat, cuts the motor, and moves close to Mama and me. “It’s true, h
oney girl,” he says, his fingers light on my shoulder.
“And it’s scary,” Mama says. “It hasn’t been easy this summer, you know. You’ve felt… far away.”
“I’ve just been at the biological station,” I mumble. “That’s not far.” But I think I know what Mama means. I’ve felt far from them. I’ve wanted to be far from them. And they can tell. Then again, Mama has felt far away too. She hasn’t been the Mama Before in a long time. None of us will ever make it back to before.
Dad opens his mouth to speak, then closes it. He squeezes my shoulder and when I look up at him, I can see his eyes shining.
“Before,” Dad says, “before, you told us we couldn’t look at you without seeing him.”
I blink and look up at Dad, trying not to cry.
He kneels in front of me. “It’s not true,” he whispers. “Look at me, Addie.”
Slowly, I raise my eyes.
“I do look for him everywhere, Ad,” Dad continues. “I look for him in the truck. In the boat. At the empty seat at the table. It’s still hard to believe he’s gone.”
I nod. I know how it feels to want him back. I feel so close to Amos when I’m in the water, and if I let the creature slip through my fingers, I’ll let the last of him go too.
“But when I see you, Ad, I just see you,” Dad says. “You are strong, and bullheaded as anything sometimes, and smart, and you’re—you’re just you. That’s it. And that’s enough.”
Then Dad wraps his arms around me, and around Mama, and I’m stuck in the middle so tight I can’t move, but I don’t want to anymore. We stay there like that, the boat rocking a little in water that calmed back down.
“Shhhh,” Dad says, stroking my hair. But he’s not really telling me to be quiet. He’s just trying to show me he’s there.
“Our family is not the same as it was,” Dad says. “But we are still a family.” Mama nods and tightens her grip on me.
Their love feels so good, but strange too, so much of it pouring out on just me. I’m not used to that. I’m still trying to figure out who I am without Amos. And I almost don’t want to say the next thing. But I have to. I pull back just a little.
The Light in the Lake Page 19
