Down By The Water

by Cruise, Anna

  He didn't respond.

  “What did you say?” I asked, taking a step forward.

  He stared at me. “I might have called you a name.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “A name?”

  He nodded.

  I shrugged. “Wouldn't be the first time someone's called me a bitch.”

  “I didn't call you a bitch.”

  “No?”

  Ty shook his head.

  “Then what?”

  He smiled, a deep smile this time that showed off the dimple in his cheek. “Not all names are bad ones, Lily.”

  He made no sense. I told him this as I hobbled after him, back toward the resort. I could smell a campfire, someone burning green wood, the smoke thick and heavy. Someone else was cooking bacon and the smell made my stomach growl, despite the anxiety that had taken root in my gut.

  “Life doesn't always make sense,” he answered. I knew he was being light-hearted, teasing even, but his words resonated with me. I thought about where I was and what had just happened...and what had transpired ten years ago.

  Ty was absolutely right.

  Life didn't always make sense.

  Because it sure as hell wasn't making sense now.

  SIXTEEN

  Sheriff Jorgenson remembered me.

  We approached the house and I saw him standing with two other men in the driveway. They wore shorts and t-shirts and I was pretty sure they were campers. Jorgenson was in full uniform, his khaki-colored pants and shirt wrinkle free, his hat positioned squarely on his head. His cheeks were pink, probably freshly shaven and under the hat, I could see that his gray hair was buzzed close to his scalp.

  He turned to look our way and his eyes locked on me, a flash of something—recognition?—flickering in them before he narrowed them. There was no doubt. He knew who I was.

  Which freaked me the hell out.

  Jorgenson excused himself from the men he was speaking with and headed our way. He may have been close to eighty as Ty said, but he was still lean and moved easily. He touched the brim of his hat and nodded at us. “Ty. Good morning.”

  “Morning, Sheriff,” Ty said.

  Jorgenson's gaze shifted to me. “Good morning, Miss.” His voice was gruff.

  “Good morning.”

  He pushed up the brim of his hat and I got a closer look at his face. Deep lines at the corners of his eyes, eyebrows that had gone gray like his hair. The color of his eyes matched his uniform. Not a whisker anywhere on his skin. I remembered him, too.

  “I understand you two found the girl,” he said, looking back to Ty.

  “Yes, sir,” he said. “Well, actually, she did. I was above her on the banks.”

  Jorgenson stared hard at me. “That right?”

  His gaze made me squirm but my sliced-up feet had me firmly, gingerly planted in place. “Yes, sir,” Ty answered. “She was lying in the mud, right next to the river. Lily got to her first. Cut up her feet pretty badly, making her way down there.”

  He studied me for a long moment. “Tell me exactly how you found her.”

  I recounted the path that Ty and I took, spotting her body, rolling her over, watching her cough out the water, then passing out.

  “You fainted?” Jorgenson said.

  “Yes.” My voice sounded small. Hollow.

  He looked at Ty for confirmation and Ty nodded his head. “Yes, sir. Took her about five minutes to come to.”

  Jorgenson looked back at me and I knew what he was thinking.

  I didn't say anything.

  He looked back to Ty. “Tell me what happened while she was out.”

  Ty told him about the other volunteers coming down the banks to where they were, then Dave whisking his daughter away to the waiting paramedics. Jorgenson didn't take notes or write anything down. He just listened to Ty, occasionally glancing at me.

  “No one seems to know how the little girl got down there,” Jorgenson said. “Either of you have any idea?”

  We both shook our heads and I couldn't help but notice that he was looking at me, not Ty.

  “Had either of you seen the girl here at camp before this morning?” he asked.

  Ty nodded. “Sure. I helped check the family in, get them set up. They've been here before.” He glanced at me. “Then we saw them walking on the trail last night when we were with your sister.”

  Jorgenson again adjusted the hat on his head. “Your sister is here?”

  I swallowed hard, then nodded.

  “Lily's car broke down a couple days ago,” Ty told him. “She was passing through and I found her and she was stuck. She's been staying with us until her car's ready. Her sister drove to town to check on her and she's up at our place, too.”

  The sheriff turned his attention back to me, his expression unreadable. “I imagine Jenna would be, what? Maybe eighteen now?”

  Heat rose in my cheeks. “Yes, sir.”

  Ty squinted at me, then at Jorgenson, a look of confusion spreading across his face. “Wait. How do you know Jenna?”

  Jorgenson ignored Ty. “That puts you at twenty then.”

  “You know Lily?” Ty said, looking from him to me and back to him. “And her sister?”

  Jorgenson removed his hat from his head and ran a hand through his gray, bristled hair. He gave Ty a weird smile, then turned it on me.

  “I've known the McMahon girls ever since we found their sister in the river,” he said.

  SEVENTEEN

  Sheriff Jorgenson made sure to get my cell number from me and asked us to send Jenna his way when we saw her. He said he'd be there for most of the afternoon. I had a feeling I'd be seeing him again very soon.

  As we walked away, back toward the house, me limping on my injured feet, Ty kept his distance. He stared straight ahead, not saying a word to me. When we reached the steps to his front porch, I couldn't take it anymore.

  “I'm sorry,” I said. “I should have told you.”

  He stopped, one foot on the bottom step, but didn't say anything.

  “Look, it's not the kind of thing you want to tell people,” I said. “Especially not here. I didn't know what to say. Or how to say it.”

  He stared straight ahead, his back and shoulders rigid.

  “Say something,” I pleaded. “Please. You want me to tell you about it? I will. I'll tell you everything.”

  He finally spoke. “I already know everything, Lily.” He shook his head, still refusing to look at me. “I was here, too. When it happened. Why do you think we freaked out this morning?”

  Now it was my turn to stay silent.

  “But I had no fucking clue that it was your family,” he said, his voice shaking just a little. “That is was your sister.”

  “I'm sorry,” I said. It was all I had to offer but I wished I could say more.

  “Why didn't you tell me?” he asked, finally turning to look at me. His eyes were angry, his mouth drawn in a firm, tight line.

  “I...I didn't know how.” I hesitated. “It's not the kind of thing I go around announcing to people, you know?”

  A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Yeah, but I was there. I was fucking there. You didn't think I'd understand? Or that I wouldn't remember?”

  I felt stupid. “I don't know what I was thinking.”

  “Me either,” he said.

  We stood there in awkward silence for what felt like forever. I couldn't come up with a good reason for why I hadn't told him. He'd helped me since the moment he'd found me and I'd chosen not to be honest with him. I'd told him just enough when he asked questions. And all of the times he'd asked if I was okay—genuinely wanted to know—I could have said something. Told him. And I hadn't. All of the things I'd lined up in my head as good reasons to not tell him about Rosie now sounded feeble.

  I sank down on the steps, shifting my torso so I could still see him.“The last place I ever thought I'd find myself again was here,” I finally said. “When my car broke down, it freaked me out. Any other place, I would've been pissed, but it wou
ld've been okay. But it was here.” I paused for a second, rubbing again at the dirt that caked my calves. “And then you come along and of all the places you could take me in Pelican Lake, you come here. You live here. Back where it happened. I mean...you can't imagine what that was like. It was like the universe forcing me to relive it all again. Punishment or something.”

  He looked away from me, his mouth twisting into a frown.

  “Then that call comes this morning and another girl is missing,” I said. My voice hitched a little and I cleared my throat, trying to stem the flood of tears I could feel rising inside of me. “Can you imagine what that felt like for me? What the hell are the odds that something like that happens again? Walking the river...it was like I was looking for my sister again.”

  He stepped down, his face turned back toward me, and I could see that his expression had softened. He didn't look pissed anymore. He looked like he was listening.

  “Imagine the worst thing that's ever happened to you,” I continued softly. “Do you want to relive that? Or do you want to just make it go away, pretend it never happened?” I shook my head and the tears spilled down my cheeks. “I've been pretending ever since that day. And all of these years of pretending apparently brought me right back here. At least this girl was alive.”

  I looked down at my legs. There must have been flecks of mud on my thighs, too, because the tears splashed down and brown splotches sprouted and spread like tiny brown puddles.

  Ty crouched down, bringing his face level with mine. “I'm sorry,” he said.

  “I am, too, Ty,” I said, my voice breaking. “I wasn't trying to lie to you. But I didn't know how to tell you that my sister died here. At your home.”

  He reached out and touched my hand, held my fingertips in his palm. “I think I remember you.”

  I wasn't sure why, but it made me smile. “Really?”

  “I just remember my parents keeping me in the house,” he said. His hand didn't grip my fingers but the steady pressure he applied comforted me. “They wouldn't let me come out. I was pissed. I knew someone was missing and I wanted to help. And they wouldn't let me. I didn't have all the details but I knew it was a girl. They finally told me what happened, but not until after. I think they were scared, you know?”

  I nodded. Everyone was scared then. No one wanted their kids outside after Rosie.

  “I remember Jorgenson came around after you guys left,” he said. “He asked me a couple of questions. My parents sat with me. I think I told him I'd seen you guys, but that I hadn't talked to you.” He offered me a smile. “I was too shy.”

  I wiped at my eyes. “I can't believe you were ever shy.”

  He squeezed my fingers. “I was, I promise. I remember seeing you swimming. A blue swim suit.” His eyes locked with mine. “The same color as the one you borrowed from Mary. And I remember wanting to talk to you. But I was too afraid. Big ole chicken.”

  I remembered the suit. A blue one piece, new for our trip, the sides cut higher than I'd been used to. I'd tugged on it constantly, trying to cover my ass. “Why would you be afraid to talk to me?”

  “I was twelve.” His smile turned more into a smirk. “I didn't know how to talk to any girls. Especially pretty ones.”

  I blushed a little. I didn't know whether or not I believed that he'd been afraid to talk to me, but he'd nailed the swimsuit.

  “Anyway, Jorgenson spent a couple of afternoons here. Pretty sure he asked me specifically about you.”

  I sighed. I'd been waiting for him to say it, to confirm what I'd thought. “Oh, I'm sure he did.”

  Ty looked at me, puzzled. “Why do you say it like that?”

  “Because I'm sure he did,” I said. “And I'm sure he's going to be asking you more questions about me when I'm not around.”

  He squinted at me. “Why?”

  I wiped the last of the tears away and looked at Ty. “Because he was sure I killed my sister.”

  EIGHTEEN

  Ty sat down next to me on the steps. “What are you talking about?”

  I'd never said the words out loud before but, for some reason, they didn't feel strange coming out of my mouth. I knew it was the truth and I felt like it was a sign I'd worn around my neck ever since Rosie died, like my own scarlet letter.

  “The day she died,” I said.

  He interrupted me. “Stop.”

  “What? You don't want to hear?”

  “No, no.” He motioned to my feet. “But I want to get you cleaned up.”

  “I'm not going to the hospital.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Jesus. No one is taking you to the goddamn hospital. I'll clean them.”

  I started to protest but he lifted me to my feet and, before I could stop him, picked me back up again. “If you say one more word, I'm dropping your ass on this porch. Head first. And then I'll drive you to the hospital.”

  Ty pushed his way into the house and deposited me on the beige corduroy couch in the living room. It hit me that it was the first time I'd ever sat in that room.

  “Hang on a sec.” He disappeared into the bathroom and returned a minute later, holding a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, a wet washcloth and a roll of gauze.

  “You sure you don't have an emergency room in the bathroom?” I asked, eyeing his supplies.

  “Be quiet.” He sat down next to me on the couch. “We have to be prepared for everything.”

  His response sobered me. I knew this.

  He opened the hydrogen peroxide and covered the opening with the washcloth before tilting it upside down. “This is gonna sting like hell,” he warned.

  It did. I sucked in my breath as he wiped the washcloth over the bottoms of my feet. Tears stung my eyes again but these were tears of pain.

  “They're not as deep as I thought,” he said. He held my foot in his hands and it was strangely intimate. No one had ever cradled my feet before. Washed them. Doctored them.

  “No stitches?”

  He shook his head. “I don't even think you'll need this,” he said, motioning to the roll of gauze. “The bleeding has pretty much stopped.”

  “Told you,” I said, trying to sound as smug as possible.

  He flicked my big toe with his pointer finger but even that was gentle, a gesture of affection, and I was suddenly uncomfortable. I shifted my feet away from him, pulling them closer to me.

  He glanced up, puzzled, and I said, “We're done, right?”

  “Sure.” He set the washcloth on the coffee table next to the hydrogen peroxide and then settled next to me, close but not touching. “OK. Tell me now. I mean, if you're ready to. If you want to.”

  “It's fine,” I said. And it was. I wasn't lying. He was asking and I wanted to tell him. I'd never had the conversation before. Even over the years, talking with Dr. Shepherd, I'd avoided the sequence of events discussion, avoided talking about the suspicions cast upon me by Sheriff Jorgenson. I couldn't bring myself to do it and she'd respected this. But now? Now I wanted to tell someone. No. Not someone. I wanted to tell Ty.

  “I was supposed to be watching her,” I said. I fingered the couch fabric, rubbing the nubby corduroy with my thumb. “I was always in charge. The big sister. My parents always expected me to be responsible for her.”

  “Okay.” He acknowledged this. “But that's a bit different than assuming you—”

  “I'm not done,” I said.

  He nodded, but didn't say anything.

  I lifted my hands and looked at my fingernails. Mud was caked beneath every single one. I picked at the index finger on my right hand. “I was watching her. I was. We were at the campsite. My parents had gone into town, left all of us there. She and I were going to play a game.”

  I stopped and it was like I could hear Rosie's voice again.

  “Candyland,” she said.

  “Again?” I asked. I had a stack of books—Arthur books and Dora books, books she loved to read over and over again—surrounding us on the nest of sleeping bags in our parents' tent.


  “Candyland,” she said, her voice louder.

  I frowned. “Can't we play something else?”

  “Candyland!”She was insistent.

  “Fine. Go get it.”

  She'd scrambled to her feet, headed for the other tent.

  Or so I'd thought.

  “She went to get the game,” I said, clearing my throat. “She slept in the tent with my parents but she wanted to keep her stuff with me and Jenna. And she'd brought a ton of crap. A backpack filled with games. Candyland didn't fit because the box was so long but Mom let her bring it, anyway. I stayed in the other tent. I had a book I was reading. Harry Potter.” I closed my eyes. I remembered exactly where I'd been in the story. “So I waited for her to come back. And I waited. It wasn't like I was anxious for her to come back because I was reading, you know? But then I realized it had been a while. Too long. So I went looking for her.”

  Ty shifted on the couch but didn't say anything.

  I stared at the living room wall. It was painted a soft green, the color of moss, and it made me think of the woods we'd just searched. “I started calling her name. She didn't answer back. I didn't freak out at first. But then I realized she really wasn't there.”

  I swallowed hard. I could feel it coming. The panic. The guilt. The pain. It was rolling at me, a tsunami of emotions that I couldn't control.

  “I ran down to the river,” I said. “Rosie loved water. She was a good swimmer. Really good. Like, better than kids who were five years older than her. And she loved water. She loved that the river was so close. That we'd be able to swim in the pool and the river here, you know? And I just had this weird feeling that she'd gone down there.”

  My parents had warned her multiple times that she wasn't allowed down by the water without one of us with her. But she was the third kid, the one who had to fight for her spot in the family, the one who'd been beaten down by two older siblings, the one who could get away with things because she was the youngest.