She plopped into the lawn chair a few feet from the edge of the lake took a couple of deep breaths, and stared head on at Moon Lake—without that long familiar feeling of choking. She enjoyed the sight of sailboats with their colorful masts and the glassy water silver tinged from the half sun. She looked, even knowing it was there Ethan had ended his life.
Moon Lake had also been a place of happiness. On those ancient banks they two had sunbathed, radiating heat within and without, while an occasional breeze from the lake cooled their skin. They had spoken of a future together after graduation, there beside the water from whence life evolved. Moon Lake had been a place where she and her parents spent afternoons boating and fishing: long days of laughter, and peace. Moon Lake had been more about life—the good life—before, it had come to be known as “the place where the Abernathy boy was found. ”
She could somehow see Ethan, with his tanned and toned legs, running along the banks with Mutt who was barking and wagging his tail. She could see Ethan's shaggy hair sun-bleached blond by summers in the lifeguard's chair at the city pool. She could see his boyish face now turned toward her, his mouth smiling and then grimacing with remorse. She could make out the blue sparkle of his eyes and the cleft in his chin.
“A golden, all American boy ...that's what you are”, she said aloud.
I'm talking to someone who has been gone for seventeen years...and myself as well. Time to get a grip.
Then she thought she heard another voice, one outside of herself: Get out of here, Emma...get away from the water.
She sprang up, brushed the bread crumbs away and trekked back up the incline. The moment she entered the house, she ran a bath for a long comforting soak. There in the solitude, the warmth of the water wrapped itself around her, cradling her body in a mind numbing cocoon. A sense of serenity came over her; without thought, she eased under, allowing the water to flow over her face. She held her breath for a few minutes. When she could hold it no longer, the panic set in, and she bolted up, taking in great gulps of air.
So this is how it felt.
Could Ethan have gone that step farther and had not held his breath? Had he allowed the water of Moon Lake to fill his lungs? That was a type of insane courage no one should have, no matter how badly the heart was broken. Emma realized she was a survivor, though she had not always know it. She had to wonder how Ethan could have brought his life to an end. It wasn't possible.
She rinsed, dried off and hurried from the bathroom, wanting desperately to be anywhere else. She threw on a pullover sweater and honest-to goodness jeans. She was, after all, a Texas native returned to her homeland. This alone gave her comfort.
On the ride into town, she switched on XM and then immediately turned it off, as she remembered the eerie song dedication from the night before. She told herself it was just a coincidence. The name Ethan was uncommon but not rare, and so she turned the radio back on and laughed out loud at herself.
Take it easy, Emma.
She drove down Main Street and parked on the town square in front of Ruby's Diner: a place with a soda fountain and checkered tablecloths and a mix of taxidermy on the walls: deer, antelope and one stuffed bobcat lounging at the register. Adding to the down-home feel were shelves lined with local honey and may-haw jelly. Rustic was the word.
The homespun, artificially red haired Ruby recognized her after all the years: “Well...Emma St. Claire. Amy's waiting for you.”
Ruby jerked her head in the direction of the counter, where Emma spotted someone she thought might be Amy.
Her one time friend from school days was now the mother of four and wife of a class mate who was the owner of Thomas Walker's Real Estate out on Lakeside Road. Amy looked different. Her dark hair was pulled loosely into a messy pony tail, and she wore glasses. The fresh faced ingenue that had been Amy was gone, and in her place was the slightly harried looking wife and mother now waving Emma over. They embraced awkwardly like strangers, as Emma slid onto the stool.
“Ruby's cheeseburgers have improved over the years,” Amy said.“Try one...unless Boston has changed your tastes.”
“I haven't changed on that subject. I never met a burger I didn't like.”
“Well now, how good you look. No children obviously.”
Emma smiled, in spite of what felt like a left-handed compliment. “No..no children, but I would have loved to have had two or three.”
“You know, Emma, I've often thought you and Ethan would've had some great kids.” Amy's eyes went big and improbably sorrowful. “ Sorry Emma. Don't know why I brought him up," she said.
“No harm done. Let's order, shall we?”
After the idle chatter subsided, Emma was relieved when their food arrived, so they had something to do other that try to make conversation. She could feel the gap between them—the one that the years apart and different lives had made. There seemed to be no graceful way to bridge that divide. She sensed that Amy, on the other hand, could never feel ill at ease about anything, even though she had always been able to mimic any emotion for its effect, when needed.
Amy had been the one to stay in Cobbler's Cove, marry into the prestigious Walker family and produce off-spring. Everyone knew Amy remained the ultimate hometown girl: soccer mom, junior league and all the small town trappings that Emma had never known.
Why shouldn't she be comfortable on her own turf? If things had been different...
Emma cut the thought short, catching Amy peering sideways at her in obvious curiosity. Amy had heard the talk. There was no doubt about it.
Emma set down her burger and plunged in:
“Okay, Amy... go ahead.”
“Go ahead and what?”
“Say how sorry you are about what happened. Tell me Ethan's death had nothing to do with the break-up. Ask me about my years of therapy and about what happened that day in September. Ask me anything...but just so you know...I can't recall much due to the trauma. Sounds a bit melodramatic, don't you think?”
Amy chose not to look at her but studiously twirled her straw in her iced tea. “But why would you want to remember that day, Emma?”
“So I can put it to rest, resolve it in my mind and move on.”
“But after all these years? Why now? Why did you run away to begin with? Everyone wondered what happened to you...why you didn't show up at the funeral and why you moved to Boston without a single word. This entire town wondered...especially Ethan's mother and Tommy and me...and of course Brad Caldwell. You were closer to him than anybody. You never even told him goodbye. I overheard him asking your dad about you when he ran into him here not too long ago. Have you even called Brad yet?”
“No I haven't. What became of him over the years?”
“Not much. He took over the Caldwell Ranch when his Daddy passed away and lives there with his mother. He married that girl from out of town, but they divorced years ago...like half the alumni of Cobblers Cove High.” Amy rolled her eyes, as if to emphasize her more fortunate matrimonial status.
“Seems as if you're the one with the perfect life, Amy. As for Brad Caldwell...I'd rather not talk about him right now. You know what close friends we were, but that changed a long time ago. Some things are best left alone.”
“You always were such a secretive person, but honestly Emma, maybe you need to talk to me... especially about Ethan. You'll need someone to talk to if you begin to recall everything.”
Emma thought the request odd considering Amy's usual nonchalance and allowed herself a moment of reflection. Then the words trickled slowly, evenly, like sands in an hour glass: “I did recall a few things last night. I saw his boat with his tackle box and the bait bucket and Mutt standing at the pier. You know what occurred to me? Ethan would never have taken his dog to witness his suicide. He would have put him in the back yard, so he wouldn't follow. And why did he bother taking his gear if all he intended to do was end his life? Was it a spur of the moment thing? For that matter, he could have ended it all in his bathtub, as little water as h
e was in.”
“I heard it was classified as 'undetermined', officially, but most people say it had to be suicide. Who knows. Maybe it was a swimming accident.”
Emma 's voice rose in frustration: “You know better than that. He was an expert swimmer, Amy...a certified lifeguard, and he was in three feet of water, right at the bank, at the pier and close to his boat.”
“What does it matter now? You can't bring him back by dredging it all up.”
As Emma was about to respond, Ruby came behind the counter and leaned in close enough for Emma to detect the fragrance of Lady Stetson and Aqua Net : “Sugar, don't look now, but she's coming in. Get ready. Somebody must've told her you were here.”
Emma turned to see Georgia Abernathy winding her way between the tables. Ethan's mother was a petite and silvery haired, steely–eyed woman. After seventeen years, Emma barely recognized her. Grief had carved cruel paths in the woman's face and had stolen the bounce from her steps. Although she was still well groomed and coiffed, she was a shadow of her former self and looked ten years older than Lucas. It was hard to imagine that her father and Ethan's mother were the same age and had even dated in their teens.
Georgia Abernathy headed straight for the counter where she and Amy were seated. Her steps were halting, and when she spoke, her words were slurred, as if she had been the victim of a stroke. Something was off-kilter.
“I was told you would be here,” she said to Emma “...and I didn't know whether to come speak my mind or let a by-gone remain a by-gone.”
“Sit with us, Mrs. Abernathy. ”
“Oh no, I don't intend to stay...but I do have something to say. The whole town knows you have some kind of mental block about what occurred that day that my boy left this world...even though it was you they found kneeling over his precious body. I think you do remember. I think you can't face the awful truth, and that's why you left town. One thing you certainly know. You know my boy took his life because of your cruel accusations and telling him you never wanted to see him again. You broke his heart and his will to live. Mr. Abernathy was fond of you, and he didn't see it that way...nor could he believe his boy could take his life.”
“How did you know about our break-up? Did Ethan tell you?”
“Of course not. He was protective of you. Those were the days before kids had their own private cell phones. So, you see, I heard him talking to you on the phone at the house. I heard every word.”
Emma stared into Georgia's cold, empty eyes, and felt herself trapped within them; yet part of her felt sadness for the bitter and disturbed woman before her .Grief had changed the sweetness she remembered.
“No...please...Mrs. Abernathy...don't put yourself through this. I already know what you must think of me.”
"You have no idea, Emma. I came here to give this back to you. I want you to take it ...without an argument , so I can go home.”
With unsteady hands, Georgia placed an object covered in wrapping paper on top of the counter in front of Emma. “This was hanging in Ethan’s room. He set great store by it. It took me all these years to clear out his things, and this was the first thing I removed. I have no use for it in my house. I want you to take it back. It's a lie. This pretty picture you painted is an ugly lie. You couldn't have loved my son the way you portrayed it here on canvass. That boy was despondent. Everyone knows he didn’t want to live. He as much as said so.”
Emma caught her breath when she unwrapped her old painting. How well she remembered the whimsical water-coloring done in browns and golds and blues and white: she and Ethan on the bench under a tree by Moon Lake beneath white puffy clouds. She had painted the St. Claire house into the background. Emma had managed to capture their affection in the facial expressions. It was the one thing that had made the picture special.
“ Mrs. Abernathy, I loved your son, and I love him still; but romantic love can be much too painful. I was young and foolish. I'm asking you to forgive me.”
Georgia Abernathy, the woman Emma once thought would become her mother-in-law, gripped the counter until her knuckles were white. Her eyes bored holes through the person her son had loved more than life. The woman's silence was mute testimony to her lack of forgiveness.
Emma 's blood throbbed against her temples. She paid for hers and Amy's meals, grabbed her purse and the painting and bolted from the diner. She could feel Mrs. Abernathy throwing daggers of contempt at her back. Amy followed her outside and stood on the sidewalk with eyes narrowed, hands on hips: “Sorry Emma! How was I to know she would make such a scene? I suppose I shouldn't have told her you would be here.”
With tears in her eyes, Emma turned before getting in her car : “Forget it Amy. It's one of the small town hazards I had almost forgotten about. Everybody in town knows everything. I just want to go home, spend some time up in my room and sort through a box of memories. Maybe its time to light a fire and turn those memories to ashes.”
Amy nodded and watched her drive away.
Usually a careful driver, Emma ran the only red light in town without noticing. XM radio was blaring, and she fumbled for the volume control. She could have sworn she had turned it off on the way into town. The volume had somehow increased without her intervention. It was deafening:
See you in September. See you when the summer's through...
“Oh no...not again.”
She pushed the radio button off and gripped the wheel as she made the quick turn onto Lakeside Road toward home. She longed to be secure in that gray fortress on the secluded hill. From the distance came the sound of thunder, as lightning spider webbed from dark clouds ahead. The wind suddenly gathered and slanted sheets of rain across the road. She set the wipers to full speed, but the road ahead was barely visible.
She could see a pick-up following her, turn for turn, lights flashing. She took one last glance in the rear-view mirror, missed the last turn and skidded across the wet road into the ditch. She pressed her head against the steering wheel and took a deep breath. Right behind her, the truck stopped on the shoulder, and a man in jeans and work boots came loping toward her station wagon.
Through the blinding rain she could make out the over all image: tall, athletic build, dark hair going curly with rain. The man began tapping urgently on her passenger side window.
Brad Caldwell.
He motioned for her to unlock the door, and she hesitated and then relented. He had, after all, been her best friend most of her life, up until their world had turned upside down. Dripping wet, Brad slid in next to her. “Are you trying to kill yourself? What's the matter with you?”
“Why were you following me?” she shouted back.
“I saw the way you spun out from the diner. You were driving erratically. Did you not realize that?”
“Were you spying on me, Brad?”
Brad shook his head in despair and ran his fingers through his wet hair. “ I was coming out of the feed store, and I couldn't help but see something was going on! Where's the happy-go-lucky girl I used to know? Want to tell me what upset you?”
She turned toward him, and without thinking, buried her face against his chest just as she had done when they were kids. It had been he she had turned to when something had troubled or scared her: a movie, the loss of a pet, an argument with her mother. Clinging to him now it was as if the years melted away. She breathed in the fragrance of a starched fresh cotton shirt and listened to his heart beating strong and steady. She looked up into perplexed eyes.
“I think Ethan's trying to draw me into the lake with him.”
“What? Ethan's been dead seventeen years!”
“Keep telling me that.”
In spite of old wounds, without thinking, Emma wrapped her arms around Brad's neck and held on as if he were a life buoy in a stormy sea. Just like old times.
"You turned out pretty like your mama,” he mumbled, and then quickly changed the subject: “Now, do you want to tell me who upset you? Mrs Abernathy or Amy Caldwell?”
“It's not ab
out them. It's about me and what I did to Ethan. It's about you and what you told me when I called you from Colorado. Remember? Summer vacation, 1996? That was the beginning of the end. I believed you over him. Did you lie, or did you listen to a vicious rumor?”
Brad gently released himself from her .“ How can you ask that? We grew up together. I would never intentionally tell you a lie or repeat gossip. When you're better, you'll hear the entire story. Right now, I need to get you out of this ditch. I think you're stuck in the mud, but I can pull you out with my truck. Then I need to get back and unload the feed.”
“I suppose I'm in no position to argue, am I? Thanks.”
“My thanks will come when you stop jumping to conclusions about my character...that is if we're still going to be friends after all these years. It's up to you. Now let's get you out of this ditch and on your way...and Emma...don't drive when you're that upset.”
Emma nodded meekly. When Brad went to his truck, she reached over the front seat to retrieve the painting that had fallen face down onto the floor board. That's when she saw it. On the backside was handwriting she recognized as hers, conveying words of obsessive teenage devotion:
“To my Ethan. Wherever you go I will be with you for eternity. Not even death can keep us apart.”
3: Invisible and Deadly
Emma changed her room the next day, in the way she wished she could change her life. She took down the frilly curtains and tucked the girlish mementos away in a box: the love letters sealed with a kiss, the silly photos of the two of them mugging for the camera, and finally, the portrait of love frozen in time, the picture she had painted at seventeen. She gazed at it one last time and then placed it to the bottom of the box that had been marked “Ethan and Emma”.
September Song Page 2
