The Secrets of Lake Road: A Novel

by Karen Katchur

  She grabbed an apple and sat across from her father. She eyed him up. He seemed faraway, but if she was going to talk with him, it was now or never while she had him alone.

  “Hey, Dad.” She bit into the crisp apple and said while she chewed, “I didn’t know you were friends with Billy.” She meant to shock him, or at least surprise him with the little knowledge she had about the mysterious boy from his past.

  But his face remained neutral. He didn’t answer for a long time. Instead he continued turning over the pick in his fingers. Then he took a drag from his cigarette before snuffing it out in the ashtray.

  For a second Caroline didn’t think he had heard her. She was about to repeat the question when he looked up. His face took on an expression she had never seen before.

  “Who said we were friends?” he asked in a voice she didn’t recognize.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Jo pulled a pack of cigarettes from her pocket. “Do you want one?” she asked Patricia, and fished around for a lighter.

  “No, thank you. I don’t smoke.” Patricia’s blond hair fell loose around her face in waves. She clutched a cloth doll in her hands.

  Jo imagined the doll had belonged to Sara, the same doll that had been on the rocking chair in front of the tea set. For a moment her thoughts drifted to Caroline and how it would feel if her own daughter was missing. Would Jo be clutching Caroline’s softball mitt, struggling to hold it together like Sara’s mother? But Jo didn’t think she could. She’d fall apart if it was her daughter, if it was either one of her kids.

  She lit the cigarette, letting the nicotine soothe her. A melodic rhythm poured from the jukebox into the night air, although Jo couldn’t name the tune. Kevin would know. All he had to do was hear the first few notes and he could name the song and the band that played it. He had a gift.

  She took a long drag and exhaled. “I remember you,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper. She was embarrassed she hadn’t known who Patricia was this entire time. In some ways she felt as self-absorbed as she had been as a teenager. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize who you were earlier.”

  “Oh, that’s okay.” Patricia wiped her eye with the doll. “I was what, ten years old the last time you saw me?”

  “I guess. Heil remembers you.”

  “Heil’s an asshole,” Patricia said.

  Jo looked at her, somewhat surprised, and then smiled. “He is an asshole. But seriously, I should’ve known who you were. I mean it.” She hesitated. What did she mean? She was sorry she didn’t recognize Patricia as one of them? Why did it make a difference whether she was or wasn’t a lake regular? A little girl had drowned. That should be enough for all them to care and do everything possible to find her. But somehow it wasn’t. Somehow, Patricia knowing Billy, being here at the lake all those summers, it made a difference to Jo. She felt connected to Patricia in ways she couldn’t explain, not logically, but she felt she owed her something.

  “You’re not the only one, you know,” Patricia said. “Other than Heil, I’m not sure anyone else remembers I used to come here with my parents.”

  It was true. Gram hadn’t known who Patricia was, and she had been friends with both Bob and Jean. She was certain Kevin didn’t know. If anyone else had been privy to Patricia’s connection to the lake, the news would’ve spread through the colony and the search may have gone differently. Or maybe not, based on her previous conversation with Heil.

  “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”Jo asked.

  Patricia shrugged. “I was going to tell everyone, but I never got the chance. And then, it no longer seemed important,” she said.

  Jo touched Patricia’s arm in a comforting way. “I’m sorry.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters now.” She wiped her eye with the doll again. “I got as far as the beach on our first day here and that was it. I never even got to introduce Sara to anyone, not even the Hawkes.”

  Jo waited for Patricia to continue, but she didn’t. She disappeared somewhere deep inside herself, staring off at some point in the distance. Jo flicked the cigarette butt to the ground. She watched the ember fade and burn out. Whatever Patricia hoped to gain by returning to the lake, it had ended in a nightmare. But it still didn’t explain her comment about Billy.

  “Do you remember when I stopped by your cabin?” Jo spoke in a soft, soothing way, hoping to lure Patricia back into the conversation. “You mentioned Billy.”

  Patricia turned to look at her. In the dark, Jo could scarcely make out her eyes.

  “Yes,” Patricia said. “Billy.” Her voice lifted. “How is he? And Dee Dee?”

  Jo’s mind raced to catch up with what Patricia was asking. My God, she was right. After all these years, she didn’t know what had happened to Billy. How could she tell her he had drowned? How could she tell her they may have found his missing bones while searching for her daughter? She wouldn’t tell her, not about the bones. It didn’t change anything where Patricia was concerned. In fact, it seemed cruel.

  Her throat felt dry. “Dee Dee is okay. The same.” Bitter. She swallowed hard. “But Patricia,” she said as gently as she could for both their sakes. It had been so long since she said the words out loud. “Billy is dead.”

  “What do you mean, dead?” She held the doll to her chest and searched Jo’s face in the dark. “I don’t understand.” She grabbed Jo’s forearm. “He’s really dead?”

  “Yes.”

  Patricia continued trying to see something in Jo’s face. Jo could only imagine what she was searching for—grief, guilt, truth. Eventually she released the grip on Jo’s arm. She turned away. She was quiet for some time. “It’s just so shocking.” She curled in on herself, hugging the doll. “How?”

  “He drowned,” she said, surprised how much it still hurt, how raw the pain still felt.

  Patricia shook her head. “No, that can’t be. Not Billy. He knew the lake better than anyone. He couldn’t just drown.”

  “You’re right,” Jo said, and turned her head away. “He couldn’t.”

  Not unless he’d had help.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Caroline rubbed her eyes and sat up in bed. Her mother was talking to someone in the kitchen. She picked up the old alarm clock from her nightstand. A sliver of moonlight gave off enough light to see that it was three a.m., the dead hour. She had heard the term watching one of Gram’s television detective shows. She thought it was a cool phrase. However, having been awakened in the middle of the night during the dead hour wasn’t as cool as it sounded in daylight.

  Someone in the kitchen burped, which meant it had to have come from Johnny. When wasn’t he disgusting?

  Her mother continued talking in a hushed voice, and something about her tone pulled Caroline from the bed. It was obvious whatever they were saying they didn’t want anyone else to hear. She dismissed the idea they were whispering because it was the middle of the night and they didn’t want to wake anyone. Johnny wouldn’t have cared. He only thought of himself.

  She could say the same for her mother, but that kind of thinking always made her feel bad. She couldn’t discount the times her mother had tried to be the kind of mom Caroline had wanted—one who baked treats for special occasions, cheered from the stands at sporting events, applied Band-Aids to booboos, prepared home-cooked meals.

  Her mother wasn’t good at being a regular mom.

  But maybe Caroline should give her a break. After all, Caroline was fed—mostly fast food—but still, she never went hungry. Her mother had sent store-bought cookies into school for Caroline’s birthdays, and twice her mother drove past the ballpark looking for one of Caroline’s softball games, only to discover she went to the wrong field.

  She peeked through the crack of her bedroom door. The overhead light in the kitchen allowed for a narrow view of the table, the pantry, a basket hanging on the wall. Gram had several baskets, all hung in the kitchen for decoration, but also for use. Gram thought nothing of grabbing one of them off the wall and f
illing it with chips or pretzels or popcorn.

  Her mother and Johnny were sitting at the far end and out of sight, their voices muffled. She slipped into the hall to listen, stopping to hide in the shadows.

  “I’m glad Gram’s okay,” Johnny said. “I would’ve been here had I known.”

  Her mother said something Caroline couldn’t make out.

  “We took the girls to the drive-in. What else were we supposed to do? It’s too damn depressing hanging around here.”

  Caroline heard the strike of a match. Her mother or Johnny or both were smoking.

  “Whose car did you use?” her mother asked.

  “Chris’s mom’s.”

  “Damn it, Johnny. I wish you wouldn’t have. Why didn’t you ask to use one of our cars?”

  “What difference does it make whose car we used?”

  “It just does. I don’t want you taking anything from them.”

  “What does that mean? I wasn’t taking anything from them. What do you have against Chris? What has he ever done to you?”

  “I don’t have anything against Chris. It’s not him.”

  “Then who is it?”

  Her mother didn’t respond.

  “Tell me, Mom, because I know it’s something, and whatever it is, I can handle it.”

  There was a long stretch of silence.

  “It’s Chris’s mom, isn’t it? What happened between you two?” Johnny asked. “Why don’t you like each other?”

  Caroline craned her neck, eager to hear her mother’s reply. There was another long silence. Caroline’s mind raced. It must have something to do with Billy. Wasn’t Chris’s mom, Dee Dee, Billy’s sister?

  Movement across the hall caught her attention. There was a dark shadow behind her parents’ bedroom door. Her mother said something, but she missed what it was, too distracted by the dark figure.

  “Dad,” she whispered.

  He darted away without saying a word, taking his shadow with him. Then Caroline heard Johnny say, “Whatever, I’m going to bed.”

  Caroline scurried back to her bedroom and climbed underneath the covers. She wondered what her mother had said to Johnny. It couldn’t have been much, or he wouldn’t have retreated so quickly. But what was strange and what bothered her more than missing a big part of their conversation, was why her father would be spying on her mother and Johnny too?

  She burrowed under the sheets. Maybe her father felt as she had—closed off from her mother, pushed away. Johnny was the only one who had a solid relationship with her. When was the last time her mother had sat in the kitchen and talked with her? Had she ever? Not that Caroline remembered.

  A batch of tears threatened to spill, and she swiped her eyes repeatedly until the skin underneath was dry and raw. She wouldn’t cry over the things her mother did or didn’t do. She was too old for that. She just wished she didn’t feel so alone and mixed up inside. What she wanted more than anything was for her mother to hold her, comfort her, and tell her everything was going to be okay, that what she was feeling was normal. It would pass. The summer would continue, and there wouldn’t be any secrets to hide. And whatever happened with Billy was not a big deal, nothing for her to worry about, she should leave it lie, forget about it, and enjoy herself while she was here.

  But Caroline knew she couldn’t do that. Her parents were both involved in something and she had to know what it was and why. Besides, how could she pretend this summer was like all the others when a little girl had drowned? Wasn’t Sara the reason her parents stayed at the lake? Wasn’t another drowning the reason her parents’ past felt so close to the surface, to the here and now? Otherwise, her mother would’ve split after a day or two, and her father would’ve hit the road hauling whatever it was that kept him away from home sometimes for weeks. Caroline would’ve been dropped off to stay with Gram like every other summer, forgotten about by her parents, tormented by her brother.

  * * *

  She was restless most of the night. Her mind wouldn’t settle down. Thoughts of both Billy and Sara washed over her, pulling her under, sinking her into the deep, dark abyss to the bottom of the lake.

  The next thing she knew she was standing outside her bedroom window in her nightgown. The summer air was unseasonably cool. She shivered underneath the swaying branches of Willow. She didn’t remember crawling out the window, but she must have. Otherwise, how could she have gotten outside?

  One of the branches brushed against her arm as though vying for her attention. What is it? She asked the tree, saying the words inside her head. Do you want me to climb up? She took a step closer, when a little girl poked her head out from behind the trunk.

  Caroline rubbed her eyes. She was dreaming. Of course she was. She felt the warmth of the bed and the sheets wrapped around her legs. But somehow when she opened her eyes, she was still outside under the tree. Sara, she called.

  Sara appeared wearing the same yellow-and-pink polka dot bathing suit. Her braids dripped water onto her shoulders and down the front of her chest. Her skin was pale, almost translucent.

  What are you doing here? Everyone’s looking for you, she said in a dreamlike voice, although she could feel herself talking inside her chest. Could she be talking in her sleep?

  I want my mommy, Sara said.

  I know you do, she said in an understanding voice, because wasn’t that what Caroline wanted too? I’ll take you to her. She reached for her, but Sara recoiled.

  Don’t let them find me, Sara said.

  I won’t. I promise. But you need to come with me now. I’ll take you home, she said. I’ll take you to your mother. It was then Caroline noticed holes, hundreds of them, up and down Sara’s arms and legs. It was as though bits and pieces of her body had been rubbed out, chunks of her skin removed. Caroline covered her mouth to keep from screaming.

  Find me, Caroline, Sara said in a whispering voice. Find me.

  Caroline sat straight up in bed, her hands over her mouth. She was shaking so hard, her knees knocked. She breathed in and out, trying to slow her speeding heart. She was dreaming again. It was only another bad dream. The room was warm and humid. The curtains sagged in the stagnant night air. The window screen lay on the floor beneath the window. She thought she had put it back after Megan had left. She was pretty sure she had.

  The chill she had felt in the dream crept up her spine and settled in her bones. It wasn’t real, she told herself, and sprung from the bed. She stuck the screen back in the window and pulled the curtains closed. It wasn’t real. Then why did it feel that way?

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Patricia returned to the Sparrow, thinking about the recovery team. They had promised they’d be back to searching before the sun came up. She didn’t doubt them, although she was losing hope at a rapid pace. The lake was big, several miles long, and who knew how deep? There was no telling where the storms, or whatever else, the voice in the back of her mind screamed, could’ve dragged her little girl. She didn’t want to think about her daughter lying on the murky bottom. The image of the half-eaten eel the men had dumped onto the beach cut across her mind, and she quickly forced it away. Far, far away. She was barely holding it together. If she went there, to the dark place of reality, she’d never be able to pull herself out. And now wasn’t the time to fall apart, not while her daughter was still out there, waiting to be found.

  She wrapped her arms around Dolly and paced the living room. She stopped moving when the rotary phone rang. She grabbed the receiver.

  “Hello?” Her breathing quickened, thinking it might be news about Sara. But all she heard was static and Kyle’s faint voice calling her name. The connection was poor, and after a few seconds of white noise, she hung up and continued walking.

  Most of Sara’s toys were strewn about the place much like Patricia’s toys used to be when she had stayed in this very cabin with her parents. Now that she had been in the place a few days, she noticed other things, things she remembered from her childhood. Like how the wicker rockin
g chairs creaked underneath a person’s weight, how the pipes groaned when the water was running, how the old claw-foot bathtub still looked a little creepy.

  Evidence of mold stained the corners of the ceiling in most of the rooms despite the fact that the brochure had stated the cabin was recently painted. She supposed it couldn’t be helped. The colony had a way of holding onto moisture whether it was dampness or humidity. Nothing ever felt totally dry—not the air, the towels, the clothes, your skin.

  And the smell, the ones she remembered from childhood that had hit her at full force when she had first stepped through the door. They were a mixture of the same damp earthy lake air and smoke from the fireplace. The sight and scent had filled her with such a state of happiness; she didn’t think anything bad could happen while she was here.

  She looped around the couch and chairs. When she grew tired of the pattern, she circled the kitchen table, walking, pacing—the movement soothing. Sometimes her mind raced with thoughts of Sara, her heart too heavy for her chest to hold and she’d stop, bend over, and release the most terrifying sound she had ever heard, one laden with grief.

  She continued on, stepping in and out of one of the three bedrooms. She couldn’t bring herself to walk into Sara’s bedroom, where her daughter should be sleeping. And the master bedroom, if you could call it that since the space could just about fit the queen-size bed and chest of drawers, where Kyle had slept on their second night when she had telephoned about Sara, reeked of failure and loneliness. The thought of both empty beds was too much to bear.

  She took to biting her nails, moving haphazardly through the rest of the cabin. She lost track of time. At one point she poured a glass of water and swallowed it down in large gulps. Within minutes, the water sloshing around her belly, she bent over the kitchen sink and threw up. She couldn’t remember the last time she had had something to eat or drink. Her body ached with exhaustion. She walked on.