Peter blinked and shook his head. He needed to put those kinds of things out of his mind. They were infectious thoughts that led far too easily to something like resentment, and deep down he knew it wasn’t right to blame her. It had been her choice to do what she had, but it hadn’t necessarily been her fault.
He turned into the driveway and drove down the winding grade. In the distance, beyond the trees, slate-colored water reflected the sun. It twinkled in the morning light. After another twenty seconds or so, they came around a sharp curve, and the house appeared. It looked exactly like the pictures in Leo Saltzman’s binder. Actually, better.
Peter parked in the small crushed-stone shoulder at the front of the house and cut the engine. He opened the door, got out, and stretched. Sylvia did the same, hands pressing against her lower back as she pushed out her breasts. Immediately they were surrounded by the stock sounds of lakeside living in the summer: insects, birds, little scurrying mammals, a small motorboat purring across the water, and wind soughing through the trees.
“It’s private,” she said, her tone suggesting that could be a good thing.
“It’s great, isn’t it?” Peter said. “Look at that view.”
Shady Cove sat on top of a hill. It was a simple one-story, rectangular design, with dead pine needles dusting the roof, gray weathered-shingle siding, and a large porch that wrapped around from the lake side of the house all the way down the long east side. Because of the hill, the shorter portion of deck that overlooked the lush greens and gray-blues of Big Bath was on tall four-by-four stilts. There was a love swing suspended on chains and covered by a section of partially screened-in porch—a place to watch thunderstorms pass across the lake. A set of railroad-tie steps met the deck stairs and wandered away to a small yard that sloped down a gentle hill and leveled out to meet a crust of shoreline. It was their own little lake beach, about sixty feet wide. The water was gently lapping. Right before the yard dropped off to silt, exposed roots, and sand, three Adirondack chairs sat in a scattered semi-circle around a little teak table. The trees had been cleared away on this part of the property, and the sun splashed bright on the grass and the little beach. On the far right side of Shady Cove’s piece of shoreline was a narrow pier, which jutted out about twenty-five feet into the water, where a rowboat was overturned on a large square dock.
He fished around in his pocket and found the key with the little cardboard key fob attached to it that had 44 Lakeman’s Lane written on it in blue pen. He held up the key and shook it.
“Shall we go have a look?” he said.
Sylvia shut the car door. “Grab a few bags of groceries. We should put them away. It was a long drive.”
Peter glanced at his wife. She wasn’t looking at him. Her head was on a swivel, her eyes appraising everything. He could see the ideas firing in her mind as she tried to situate herself in this new environment, trying to position the template of the life she knew over the three weeks she would spend here.
Dr. Zaeder’s words echoed in his head: Just promise me you’ll keep a close eye on her. You have to, Peter. She could be a real danger to herself.
He knew that was true. He didn’t believe for a minute that what she had done to herself had been any kind of accident. But he also couldn’t deny that there seemed to be a new glow about her. Though a stranger might not recognize it, something about her had changed. There had been a small but perceivable shift out of the black. He had heard stories of people using suicide as cry for help or to get attention, people who pulled the punch at the last moment with no real intention of ending anything. Maybe that was what she had done: taken just enough of her pills to elicit a scare and push their relationship in the direction it needed to go in order to mend. Maybe that was her way of trying to get them unstuck. His idea had been to rent a lake house and take a few weeks off from their daily routine, which had worn to a rut; hers had been to ask for help in the only way she thought she could.
You don’t really believe that, do you?
He went to the backseat and loaded up his arms with grocery bags. Then they were walking down a short stone-dust path that led from the little parking space to a red door off Shady Cove’s porch. The path was lined with tiger lilies that had started to bloom like tiny orange trumpets.
Sylvia plucked one, smelled it, and put the flower on the porch railing.
Maneuvering with his arms full, Peter managed to open the screen door and prop it ajar with his leg while getting the key into the lock. He had to work it from side to side a few times, but eventually the pins aligned and the key turned. A gentle shove with his knee opened the door with a chirp and a squeal. He went in and was immediately hit by a wall of stuffy air. He was standing in a small mudroom, the walls pegged with wooden dowels to hang coats, hats, beach towels, anything else that needed hanging. Two rowing oars stood in the corner. There was a milk crate on the ground, with a dusty bag of rock salt and an old rusty coffee can in it. Beside the crate was a stack of yellowed newspapers tied neatly with twine. On top sat a box of wooden matches alongside two bottles of lighter fluid and a bag of charcoal briquettes.
“Must be a grill somewhere,” Peter said, looking over his shoulder at Sylvia.
She followed him in, the screen door shutting behind her with a rattle. Her eyes continued to take stock of everything. “When was the last time they rented this out?”
“The guy told me it’s booked most of the summer usually. We were actually pretty lucky to get it on such short notice,” Peter said. “I’ll open some windows. We’ll get some fresh air in here. It’s stuffy. That’s priority one. Sound good?”
Sylvia folded her arms, cupping her elbows. “I’ll take care of the windows. You just unload the car. I like to get everything put away. I hate when a place feels unsettled.”
“Agreed,” Peter said. “You do that. I’ll handle this.”
He walked up a short hallway until he found a big double-wide doorway on the right that opened into a kitchen and living room. It was one giant room separated by a narrow countertop that doubled as a breakfast bar and a couple of stools. A sliding glass door, framed by navy-blue curtains, looked out over the lake and offered egress to the back portion of the deck. A bay window above the kitchen sink looked down over the yard.
Sylvia fiddled with the latch on the sliding door, then pulled it open. The curtains breathed in as a lake breeze ran through the screen. She stood there a moment, hands on her hips, looking content. Peter watched her. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d dressed down to blue jeans and a plain cotton blouse, but he could recall exactly how attractive he’d always thought it was when she did. He’d never been one for makeup and fancy clothes, although those kinds of things had made their way into their life slowly over the last decade. With her red hair and her blue eyes, she’d always been naturally beautiful.
She turned away from the door and set about opening the windows as Peter started putting away the groceries. He had grabbed the perishables first. The hamburger, steaks, chicken, milk, eggs, and cheese all went in the refrigerator, which was spotless and smelled of lemon-scented cleaner. Taped to the door of the refrigerator was a list of emergency phone numbers, just as Leo had promised.
“Where’s the bedroom?” Sylvia asked.
Peter wheeled around. “Your guess is as good as mine. Check across the hall. I saw a few doors over there.” He pointed to the doorway that had led him to the kitchen.
“What’s that?” she asked, nodding to the piece of paper on the fridge.
“A few phone numbers, in case we need them.”
“Oh. Okay,” she said simply, and disappeared out of the room.
Peter heard a door open, then came the squeal and shudder of more window sashes being thumped and pushed open. Probably she was using the heel of her palm. He thought about it for a moment and realized his wife’s new energy and focus might be a result of her freshly minted sobriety, same as his. The deal was he would give her the Equanil when she needed it, but it
occurred to him that she hadn’t asked for any in the two days her medication had been under his control.
This was a good start, Peter thought. Things felt… they felt right.
The place was cozy. Wood-panel walls covered in paintings of landscapes. A bamboo couch with flowery upholstery. Two deep leather reading chairs. A small dinner table in the middle of the kitchen. A novelty duck-shaped clock above the refrigerator. A bookcase stuffed with worn paperbacks. The bottom shelf was dedicated to rainy-day time-killers: a few jigsaw puzzles, a Monopoly board game, Scrabble, and a few decks of playing cards in a small wicker basket.
He went to the sink, ran the water for a few seconds, grabbed a glass from the cupboard, filled it, then smelled it. The water had a metallic, mineral scent to it. He took a sip. Not too bad.
He dumped out the rest and put the glass on the counter. He was leaving the kitchen and heading back to the car to get the rest of their stuff when he turned the corner and saw a person peering in through the front door of Shady Cove.
3
She had her wide pink face pressed against the screen and her hands cupped around her eyes so she could see inside. “Howdy, howdy. Anybody home?” she said with a big-toothed smile when she spotted Peter coming up the hallway. Her voice was enthusiastic and quick.
“Can I help you?” he said.
The woman backed away from the screen, scratched her nose with the back of her hand, and sniffled. “You the Martells? You must be. I’m Sue… Sue Grady. I work for Mr. Saltzman. I take care of all the properties he manages.” She opened the door and held it ajar with her sturdy body, putting one foot up on the wooden threshold. She couldn’t have been more than five feet tall and was wearing a khaki short-sleeve work shirt, olive shorts, wool socks, and a pair of heavy work boots. She resembled a mix between a park ranger and a scoutmaster. “Just thought I’d pop in to meet you. See if you needed anything,” she said. “But by the look of things, you’re just getting settled.”
“Nice to meet you. It’s Peter.” He extended his hand, and she met it. Hers was a firm, jittery little grip.
“Likewise, Peter. You just go right ahead and call me Sue. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” She went up on her toes a little and tried to look over his shoulder. “You have a wife with you, ain’t that right? Leo said it was a married couple staying the next few weeks.”
Peter laughed politely. “Yeah, my wife and I.” He turned his head, speaking into the house. “Syl, you want to come meet Sue.”
“Who?” Sylvia’s voice carried from inside Shady Cove.
“Sue Grady. She takes care of the place. Come say hello.” Peter turned back to Sue and smiled. She smiled back, her generous face bunching in the cheeks. Her front teeth were huge, each the size of a piece of Chiclets gum.
There was a beat of silence. Then Sylvia came out of one of the bedrooms and up the hall. She was holding her hands out, fingers spread as if they were covered in something. “Who?” she repeated, wiping her hands together.
Sue took another step forward and was standing in the mudroom now. The screen door shut behind her. “Howdy, howdy. Sue Grady, ma’am. I take care of the place.” She extended her hand.
Sylvia brushed hers off on the thigh of her blue jeans and offered it to the caretaker. “Sylvia,” she said, then added: “Martell. Sorry, I got a little dusty.”
“A pleasure, ma’am. Just wanted to make sure you folks were getting along all right. I was saying to your husband only a moment ago that it looks like I caught you as you were showing up. Leo said he wasn’t exactly sure when you’d arrive, so I’ve been driving by every so often, wondering when I’d see you. Looks like I hit the jackpot today.”
Peter looked at his wife. “Leo’s the realtor who rented me the place,” he said to her. “Sue works for him as the caretaker. He was a real nice guy.”
“Yup. Nice fella,” Sue said. “We go way back, Leo and I.”
“Thank him for me, will you?” Sylvia said. “The place looks great.”
Peter regarded Sylvia. There was something different about her. He couldn’t so much see it, not on the surface, but he felt it like a warm energy buzzing out of her. He had spent the last forty-eight hours since her “accident” practically glued to her hip, and he hadn’t noticed it at all then. It hadn’t started until they had driven into Gilchrist.
“Happy to. He’ll be delighted,” Sue said. “Anyway, I won’t keep you, ma’am. It looks like you were in the middle of something when I darkened the doorway. I’ll let you get back to it.”
“Just opening windows,” Sylvia said. “It was a bit stuffy when we first arrived.”
“Oh, sure, that’d be the case. I keep all the windows shut between houseguests in case it rains. We get some pretty fantastic storms here in the summer months. I’m sure you’ll catch at least one before the season departs. Still got a few ripe weeks left.” Sue tilted her head as if a thought had struck her. Then she said, “Which reminds me—do you have any kids with you? Because if the sky starts to go bruisey, best to get em inside. Lotsa branches come crashing down in the yard when the wind picks up good.”
Sylvia smiled uncomfortably, her gaze shifting down to the floor. Peter could sense that she had just recoiled back into herself.
“No,” she said, “it’s just us.”
“Oh. No need to worry, then,” Sue said, her chubby face brightening. “But do yourselves a favor and heed the same warning. I’d hate to have to call Chief Delancey and tell him he needs to send somebody out here to scoop your brains up off the ground because a tree shook something loose on one of you.” Sue wrapped the side of her head with her knuckles, making a hollow knocking sound.
“I think I’ll go wash my hands. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Grady,” Sylvia said in a low voice. “I’ll make sure we aren’t too much trouble.” She turned and walked away.
“Sue’s fine. No need for formalities around here,” she said after her, standing on her tiptoes and peering over Peter’s shoulder. “Just enjoy yourselves.”
“You know, I’m curious, is there a grill somewhere?” Peter asked, trying to change the subject. “I noticed charcoal and lighter fluid in the mudroom. I was going to poke around and look for one, but I figure if you’re here, you might be able to save me a little time.”
Leo had said Sue was an interesting woman, and Peter now understood what he had meant.
“There sure is,” she said. “Follow me and I’ll show you. It’s around back. There’s a few other things I’d like to run by you, too, if you don’t mind me bending your ear a bit.” She wheeled around, opened the door, and was already outside before Peter could respond. He followed her until she stopped at a pair of rusty trash cans around the side of the house. She was standing with her arms folded, legs in a wide stance. “We got raccoons around here. They’re nosey little buggers, and they’ll sure as Sam make a mess if you don’t take a few extra precautions. That’s what these are for. Use em.” She reached down and plucked a black length of bungee cord that was strapped over the top of one of the trash cans.
“No sweat,” Peter said. “We have the same problem at home, except we use a rock on the lid. Does the job just fine.”
Sue narrowed her eyes, seemed to hesitate a moment, then said, “Well, these ain’t your city coon. These are smarter. You bet. You put a rock on the lid here, they’ll just push the whole darned thing over. Then whadya got? A mess, that’s what. And guess who Leo sends to clean it up? So use em.” She plucked the bungee again. This time harder. It slapped like a heavy snare.
“You have my word,” Peter said, holding up a hand as if to pledge an oath. His tone was playful, bordering on sardonic. “When does the garbage truck come?”
Sue laughed and snorted. “Are you crazy? No garbage truck can make it down this road. Wouldn’t that be a sight. No, I come Mondays to haul your trash to the dump. Leo shoulda told you that.”
“You’re right. He did. I forgot.”
“Uh-huh. I also come by every Tue
sday morning to mow the lawn and do any other yard work that needs doing.”
“That’s good to know. Thanks.”
“Uh-huh. Grill’s this way.” Sue started down a worn path of beaten grass that sloped along the back of the house toward the lake. She continued speaking as they went: “I offer laundry service, too, if you’re interested. If not, there’s a small Laundromat downtown. Sunshine Cleaners. Some people don’t like the idea of a stranger folding their unmentionables. I won’t be offended should you happen to feel that way. Most folks do.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. It might be helpful,” Peter said. “I’m not the modest type.” He watched her as he trailed behind, studying how she moved. He’d been doing it his whole life—studying people, their behavior, their mannerisms, and the details of their existence. The habit wasn’t a conscious decision; it was simply the way he was wired. It was the reason some stranger he’d sat next to in a restaurant or on a bus might end up becoming a character in one of his books. That had happened before.
Sue’s calves were wide and muscular, webbed with fine threads of purple spider veins, especially on the backs of her knees. He couldn’t tell if she was forty-five or sixty-five. Her hair was well into the transition from brunette to gray, her skin rough and loose, but she moved with the sprightly gait of a younger woman. She looked like she might have large breasts, but in her work shirt, they appeared flattened.
“Okay,” Sue said, turning the corner as she reached the end of the house. “Here it is. A little rusty, but it works just fine.”
She had stopped and was standing underneath the section of deck that overlooked Big Bath. It was mostly steep-angled terrain that slanted down away from the house and eventually met up with the backyard and the shoreline. There was, however, a narrow two-foot berm of flat grade abutting the foundation of Shady Cove that served as a sort of natural shelf for storage. There were only three things there: a stack of firewood, an overturned wheelbarrow with a flat tire, and a Weber kettle grill.
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