Lake Dreams

by Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy

  “I’m beat,” he admitted, conveniently leaving out it wasn’t the drive but the nagging insomnia that was really to blame.

  The room serving as the office had little changed since he last stood here. The same worn counter divided the room and the 1950’s vintage pop machine still hummed, filled with short glass bottles. He wondered where she found them these days as he stepped up to sign the guest register and Maggie recorded his arrival on a laptop. That was a change, he thought, and although the postcards were different, the rack holding them wasn’t. Cole looked over the pictures on the wall, recognizing some, others not, as he handed over his Visa card. Maggie handed him a pen so he could sign the ticket and he admired her hands. Her slender, shapely fingers moved with grace but he liked the freckles dotting the backs of them most of all.

  “Here’s the key,” Maggie offered, handing him a single key on a battered key chain. “There should be plenty of towels and toilet tissue. I cleaned the cabin myself but if you need anything, just holler. You’ll have to really holler or come down because we still don’t have phones in any of the cabins.”

  “That’s good,” Cole said. He’d brought along his cell but he planned to keep it turned off most of the time. “Thanks, Maggie.”

  “Sure,” she replied, flashing him another awesome smile. “When you get rested and settled in, you’ll have to come down for supper or something one evening so we can catch up.”

  “I’d like that,” Cole said, although he hated the idea of talking under the eye of anyone named ‘Dwight’. He really didn’t want to meet her husband or see the kids much. Spending time with Maggie would be great but exposure to a complete family was more than he thought he could manage right now. “I’ll let you know.”

  “All right,” Maggie answered.

  He almost made it to the door before she spoke again. “Cole?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m glad you decided to come back.”

  He hesitated for a long moment and without looking at her or turning around said “Me, too.”

  Nothing else seemed worth saying, not now, so he headed out to the car and up the hill to the cabin he’d rented for the summer.

  Chapter Two

  From the moment he set foot onto the porch, his mind bridged back over twenty years and all the little details long forgotten came back to life. Cole noted the porch steps creaked in the same spot they did long ago and he loved the sweet, heady aroma of the honeysuckle climbing the trellis. The whine of the speed boats out on the narrow lake echoed familiar and even the quiet lap of water against the rocky shore refreshed old memories. He turned around to face the lake before he unlocked the door and the sense of recognition faded. On the opposite shore, buildings bloomed where before trees stretched their branches to the sky. Cole guessed some were hotels and he wondered if some of the clutter could be the Branson Landing he’d heard about, even up in St. Louis. If he remembered, it was another of those recreated faux downtown type outdoor malls, styled and themed to meet the needs of today's shoppers. He’d hated the ones he’d seen in the past and he figured he wouldn’t appreciate this one any better.

  Cole opened the door and stepped inside. In two decades, the cabin walls must have moved inward or the place shrank but he soon realized his perception had changed as he'd grown. The furniture wasn’t the worn stuff he recalled but basic, inexpensive stuff. Back in the day, the décor consisted of rustic things like mounted fish on a board and some truly bad paintings but whoever redecorated presented an eye for simple beauty. Someone traded in the worn wicker furniture, calico cushions, and the hodge podge for restful, pastel hues. A mirror set into a gilded picture frame claimed one wall and dried Ozark wildflowers tied into a bouquet with a simple ribbon graced another. The futon boasted big pillows in quiet greens, soft peach, and light gray. A twenty-inch television fit onto the middle shelf of a hutch and the other shelves held small items, some pieces of quartz arranged in a pottery bowl, a framed photo of the lake, a sand castle, and some candles.

  He tossed down his bag onto the single easy chair, a recliner complete with a comfortable throw folded across the top. The tiny kitchen featured new appliances, a small apartment size electric stove, a full-size fridge and glass-front cabinets filled with cheap dishes. He opened a drawer to find a full set of silverware, kitchen towels, cooking utensils, and an apron. Inside the refrigerator some bottled Ozarka water stood alone on the bare shelves. In another cabinet above the stove he discovered a variety of seasonings.

  Cole opened the bathroom door and nodded his approval. Every porcelain surface sparkled with cleanliness. A fresh bar of soap waited in a dish just above the sink and on a shelf he saw bath salts, body wash, and shampoo, all new and unopened. He pulled back the patterned shower curtain to reveal the same old claw foot bathtub he remembered well but a shower had been added. In the master bedroom he saw the same Jenny Lind double bed his grandparents shared and the old battle scarred dresser. On the matching nightstand a vintage hurricane style electric lamp sat next to a stack of paperback books. A vase of fresh flowers sat on one end and he inhaled their fragrance. He peeked into the smaller room where he once slept and found a twin bed and nightstand, nothing more. Cole toted his luggage inside, left it in the smaller room and pulled out clean clothes.

  Most of the way down he’d dreamed of pouring his first drink and sipping it while he took a long, satisfying bath but Cole didn’t want the liquor yet. Instead, he stripped off his clothing and soaked in the tub. Some of his tension eased as he relaxed and when the water grew tepid, he climbed out. Cole pulled on an old pair of shorts and a faded T-shirt. He didn’t bother with underwear and rejected his shoes in favor of flip flops. He dug in his carry all for the booze he brought along and poured a tall tumbler half full of John Jameson’s fine Irish whiskey, adding ice and then ginger ale. He carried the drink out to the porch and settled his bottom into one of the plastic Adirondack type chairs. He noticed someone replaced the old metal 1950’s lawn chairs and decided the newer ones offered more comfort.

  Cole sipped his drink and sighed as the booze began to take effect. As the smooth barley whiskey eased over his tongue and slid to his stomach, he swore he felt it move through his body like a tranquilizer. Drinking alone back in The Lou seemed wrong and decadent but here, out on the porch on a late May afternoon, it fit. Sights, sounds, and smells filtered through his mind and he noted each one, the way the sunlight touched the lake water like a golden kiss, the faraway hum of traffic on a distant road and the much closer aroma of fresh cut grass. Compared to the bustling neighborhood around his town house back home adjacent to at least four major highways, the resort was remote. Cole liked the comparative quiet offered here.

  After his second glass he mellowed enough to envision being here with Victoria and the kids. His trio would be everywhere, performing and displaying their talents like a three ring circus while Victoria trailed after them in a failing effort to contain them. He’d always thought her efforts were akin to an attempt to harness the wind. She’d have worried about them tumbling into the lake or stumbling over a snake or getting sunburned, he thought, until none of them enjoyed a moment’s contentment. If Brock skinned his knee enough to bleed, his wife would shriek and consider an emergency room visit for a cut needing just a stick on bandage. Every tiny tummy ache might be appendicitis in Victoria’s uptight world and for the first time since she died, Cole allowed himself to be honest, to admit she wasn’t a restful person to be around. Even at leisure, she never kept still, fingers twisting against each other, feet tapping, one hand twirling a strand of hair or something. Her habit of tapping anything she held, a pencil or nail file or cell phone against the nearest surface, always drove him insane. If she’d been here now, Cole wouldn’t be able to unwind or relax, not even with the Jameson’s.

  He pondered the idea and realized he’d made progress. Back in January, one of the friends he’d shared with Victoria, Donald, suggested he should stop canonizing his family and deal with hi
s loss.

  “You’re turning them all into saints,” Donald told him one night. “You’re putting a halo on Victoria when she was just a woman, not an angel. If you’ll be honest, you’ll remember the trouble between you and how much you griped to me about it. You know she wanted a divorce so admit it. Maybe that’ll help you deal with your tragedy.”

  He refused to listen then but now Cole had a different perspective. Donald had been right and now Cole understood accepting the truth was an important part of healing. Victoria talked divorce, he recalled, and he asked her to wait until after the holidays to have a serious discussion about the possibility, she agreed with reluctance.

  The little maple on the front lawn of the town house flamed scarlet as he stood toe to toe with Victoria. She’d chosen to come outside so the kids wouldn’t hear, she said, and she told Cole she’d like to get divorced. He asked why, not exactly surprised by her request and not sad either. Cole recalled the way she flipped her blonde hair back from her face with a toss of her head. “We both know getting married was a mistake,” she told him. “I like different things than you do and we never do anything together anymore. I’ve outgrown you.” He knew the truth of it but anger she’d waited until now, after three little kids were involved, roared within him like a flash fire.

  “Maybe you should have thought about it before we became parents,” he’d said. She crossed her arms and stared at him. “Well, we both know Becca was an accident.” His heart shattered, not for Victoria but for his children. They deserved better. A whole family. Two parents who cared about each other. He kept silent for too long and then said, “It’s almost Halloween. The holidays are coming soon. Can we hold off talking about this until January?”

  Victoria iced him with her gaze but nodded. “Fine, fair enough. But I won’t change my mind, Cole.”

  “I know,” he replied, “but do you think we could at least give it one last shot before we call it quits?” Her lips twisted in response. “All right. I guess we owe each other that. I’ll try, Cole. But if I fail, I’m sorry.”

  They had made the effort, he recalled as he downed the rest of his drink. He’d spent more time with the kids, trying to imagine life as a part-time dad. At Thanksgiving they invited both families over for a huge meal with all the traditional trimmings but Victoria didn’t cook. She ordered everything from a local caterer. While the food tasted perfect, Cole ate little, remembering the old days when his mom or Babka cooked a turkey, made dressing, baked the pies. Despite trying, they didn’t talk much, not even when they put up the Christmas tree on Saturday although the kids giggled and played. He’d built a fire, the first one of the season, in the living room hearth and they’d sat watching the flames without speaking, long after the kids were in bed. He put his arm around his wife and she scooted away, rejecting the overture.

  Remembering made Cole long for another drink but he resisted. He’d drank more than he ought for months now and maybe here, he could break the cycle. As he tried to focus on the beautiful lake below, he admitted if he hadn’t been drinking beer and watching football on Sunday afternoon, he probably wouldn’t have asked Victoria to bring him a double cheeseburger when she returned from grocery shopping. He’d have been more likely to realize sleet was coming down hard and he would've known the streets would be dangerous. Cole lacked any reason not to notice – he’d predicted the winter storm, issued the weather service warning Saturday night on the late news. If he’d just asked her not to go to the supermarket, if he’d never mentioned the damn burger, maybe they'd all still be alive.

  Anger and self-loathing curled in his belly like a rattlesnake and bit hard. With sudden rage, he stood and heaved the tumbler as far as he could. About four feet from the porch it hit a rock and cracked. If it’d been glass, it would’ve shattered and he'd have liked that because it suited his mood. Regret seized him and Cole considered doing something reckless, like dashing down to the lake and diving into the water. He pondered jumping into the car and driving too fast over the winding roads. Sheer speed might defuse his inner anger and if he crashed, he wouldn’t really care. He walked out to pick up the broken cup and decided he would go for a drive although he’d had enough to drink he knew he should stay put. With any luck at all, maybe he’d wreck and his torment would end.

  Cole dashed into the cabin, grabbing his wallet and keys before jumping into his Nissan and driving down the narrow lane toward the exit. Maggie stepped onto the porch at the same time his car reached it and he slowed to watch as she waved.

  “Where’re you headed?” she called.

  Her calm, husky voice tempered his fury enough he stopped and rolled down the window. “I thought I’d run into town and go to the store. I’m hungry and there’s nothing to eat at the cabin.”

  Maggie smiled as she came down from the porch. “I thought maybe you were but I wanted to invite you to supper. It’s nothing fancy – just chili dogs, pork and beans, and tater tots. I made a pan of brownies, too. Why don’t you come eat?”

  Cole opened his mouth to refuse but changed his mind. He might not be drunk but he shouldn’t be driving. “Sure, okay. I didn’t really want to go back over to Branson anyway.”

  “Good,” Maggie said. “You can come back in about an hour or you can come in and have coffee with me while I cook. It’s your choice.”

  Coffee would moderate the effects of the booze. Whether she realized it or not, she offered the antidote he needed. “Coffee sounds good.”

  “I’ll go make some,” she told him. “Go park your car and come back. It should be ready by then.”

  Cole came around to the back when he returned and knocked on the screen door. Maggie called for him to come inside so he stepped into the room as nostalgia rushed over him like a rising wind. Although the small room had changed little since he lasted visited, he noticed the same simplicity and decorating style as at his cabin. He pulled out one of the worn wooden chairs he recalled and sat down at the equally battered old table.

  “Black with two sugars?” Maggie guessed.

  “You got it,” he told her. “I can’t believe you remembered.”

  She smiled. “Oh, I remember a lot. So, Cole, how are you doing?”

  “Fine,” he said, making the polite social chatter he thought she’d expect although talking to her like a stranger he’d just met wasn’t right. Cole didn’t know if she sensed it, too, but he had the strangest sense of connection with her. This grown-up Maggie wasn’t the girl he’d known, but he still sensed a bond between them. He’d noticed the same kind of thing before when he met cousins at family reunions but this feeling carried more strength, more power.

  Maggie frowned and reached across the table to grasp his hands in hers. Her grip tightened on his hands, stronger than he’d guessed it would be. “Save it for cocktail parties, Cole,” she said. “I really want to know or I wouldn’t ask. I’m very sorry about your wife and family.”

  She knew. Anguish, dark and cold, filled his heart and for a moment he fought an urge to bolt out of the kitchen. Inner barriers threatened to build but he realized he'd like to tell someone, just once, how he really felt. For whatever reason, Cole knew he could open up to Maggie.

  “Thanks,” he said, humbled by her simple concern. “I don’t know how I am, Maggie. I’ve been in a fog since it happened and I’ve all but lost my job. I’m on a leave of absence for three months but I doubt they want me to come back. So I came here.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. I think because this was always a good place for me. And because it’s someplace I never brought my family so maybe they won’t haunt me here.”

  “Like ghosts or just in memory?” Maggie asked, releasing his hands to wrap her fingers around her coffee cup.

  Cole shuddered. He’d never considered the possibility of his family rising as ghosts but the very idea filled him with dread. “Memories,” he said. “It’s a lot more complicated than you’d think.”

  “I’m sure,
” Maggie said. “I felt so bad when I heard about it.”

  Curiosity prompted him to ask. “Where did you find out?”

  “When you inquired about reservations, I searched for you online,” Maggie said. “I saw the news story about the accident and the obituaries. I thought about sending you a card but it’s been so long and besides, it was months after the accident. You must miss them so much.”

  “I miss my kids,” he blurted out. “I had three a boy and two girls.”

  Maggie nodded. “Do you have any pictures of them?”

  His lungs halted and he couldn’t breathe. He did, in his wallet, but no one ever asked to see them, not now. Everyone respected his loss and acted like his children never existed most of the time but Maggie asked with such ordinary inquiry he responded. Cole drew a deep breath and dug out the pictures. He took them out of the photo sleeve and slid them across the table toward her. Maggie picked them up and looked down at his dead kids.

  “They’re adorable,” she said, as if they were out swimming or biking or playing somewhere. “They look like you, don’t they?”

  “Everyone always said so,” Cole responded. Talking about Brock, Brianna, and Becca tore holes in his heart but in a weird way, he liked it. All these months he never spoke of them and it just made them seem all the more dead. He could forget them and still hurt or he could remember, keeping them alive in his heart, even though it brought pain. “They were awesome, Maggie.”

  “I’m sure they were,” she answered. “I wish you could’ve brought them here. They’d have had a blast.”

  He laughed just a little. “They’d have loved it here but I doubt their mom would have let them have much fun. She was…well, let’s call it nervous and fussy.”

  Maggie’s hazel eyes narrowed. “That’s too bad. I suppose you miss her, too.”