by Brenda Hill
Eric laughed. “It’s an acquired taste, but one you should try while we’re here.”
“I can’t wait.”
His cell phone rang and it was Mark, his field manager in California, upset over the latest crisis.
While Eric tried to calm him down, Lindsay stared out the window and tried to force down the irritation that bubbled inside. Wouldn’t they even allow him some time while on a bereavement leave?
They passed the small grocery store, and Lindsay spotted an older man sweeping the parking lot with a push broom, his cap shading his ruddy complexion from the sun. Two elderly women strolling by stopped to chat.
Everything looked so picturesque, and people took time to enjoy their lives. Before her experience in the house, she would have loved to live here.
She frowned. No mater how she tried to rationalize, what had happened in the attic nagged at her. It just wasn’t normal.
And what about that tree?
Inside the diner, they sat at one of the chrome tables. A small circular fan on the counter pushed the stale air through the screened door. A couple of grey-haired women sat in one of the four booths, but most of the lunch crowd had left.
Lindsay ordered the lunch special, a tuna-salad sandwich with a cup of hamburger soup. Eric decided on a cheeseburger with fries.
“You know,” he said, pouring catsup on his fries, “driving through town, I’m reminded of a time long ago, a way of life that’s fifty years in the past. Here, people actually know their neighbors and care about them. Can you imagine such a thing?”
Lindsay sweetened her tea and thought about the spicy scent in the house. It had a vague familiarity like a beloved old picture, but just as she was close to naming it, it eluded her.
But her body had reacted, softening with desire and welcoming the scent.
Evil, the old lady had said.
“—and I can’t wait,” he was saying.
“What?” Lindsay blinked.
“The house. I didn’t think I’d ever be back here, except for a visit, but now I can’t wait. We should have a contractor look at it, get an idea what the remodeling will cost.”
Contractor?
“First, though,” Eric went on between bites of burger, “we’ll have to make sure we get the place.” He wiped mustard from his mouth. “I can’t imagine what possessed Aunt Frida. True, she was always a little eccentric, but this is just plain weird. Maybe I can challenge the will based on incompetence or something.”
“Slow down.” Lindsay put down her spoon. “We’re moving much too fast. We haven't decided we want it.”
“Of course we want it. I didn’t know there was any question.”
She took one of Eric’s curly fries, examined it then put it into her mouth and chewed.
“Why the hesitation?” he asked. “I thought you liked it.”
“I do,” she said slowly. “But there are … things to consider.”
“What things? And why the change in attitude? If it’s a question of the will, well, I bet Mathews can find a way around it.”
“It’s not just that …”
“What is it, then?” he prodded.
“What that old woman said bothers me.”
“Lindsay,” he said, sighing. “I thought we’d settled that.”
“I know, but something about her eyes …”
Eric studied her a moment. “Okay, what’s the problem? I don’t understand your reluctance.”
Lindsay didn’t know what to say. She saw the excitement in his eyes at the thought of owning his childhood home and realized the tiny lines around his nose and mouth had relaxed. Being here was good for him—which made her doubts even more of a dilemma.
“You know the kids would love a place like that,” Eric pressed on. His son and daughter-in-law lived in Denver with their three-year-old daughter, and Lindsay’s son was single, on active duty in Norfolk, Virginia. “With a private beach and a place to fish, why it’s a perfect place for grandchildren. What’s not to like?”
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it.” Avoiding his eyes, Lindsay stirred her tea, jabbing the ice chunks with her straw.
“Obviously there’s something you don’t like,” Eric said, his voice sounding strained. “And I don’t understand what it is. I’m not asking you to move here permanently, just vacation here.”
In the two years they’d known each other, they’d never had a serious disagreement, always managing to talk over everything and working it out—except for the past month or so that Eric had been distant. He’d refused to discuss it, always dismissing her concerns as imagination.
Imagination.
A wife always knew when her husband’s attitude toward her changed, but she’d decided it was due to his work pressures, then the news about his aunt’s death.
If he thought her concerns were imaginary before, he’d think her concerns about the attic were unreasonable. He’d be right. Hesitating to return to that house because she’d become physically aroused in the attic sounded preposterous even to her.
Not knowing what to say, she took his hand across the table.
“Please, honey, let’s not argue. Let’s just wait and see what happens. Mr. Mathews might not be able to overturn the will and then all of this would be pointless.”
Eric pulled his hand away and sat back, leaving half his burger on his plate. “It sounds as if you hope that’s what happens. I can’t believe you’d want to deny me my grandparents’ home.”
Lindsay fought tears. How had this discussion become so ugly so quickly? “I’m not trying to deny you anything,” she said quietly.
“Then what’s the problem?”
“What about other places we’d talked about visiting on vacations? The east coast, or Niagara Falls and Mount Rushmore.”
“We can do that too. I just want my grandparents’ home, the house I lived in for several years. Why should that be so difficult to understand?”
She said nothing. How could she explain something so elusive as a feeling?
Eric threw down his napkin and stood. “I’m ready to leave. Are you?”
Silently and not touching, they paid the bill and left the diner.
They spent the afternoon exploring some of the antique shops along Main Street, each so polite to the other that Lindsay wanted to scream. After a quick dinner, they returned to the motel to watch TV. Lindsay tried to read but was too upset over the growing tension between them. All evening she debated about being honest with Eric, but felt too ashamed. The more she thought about it and the longer she was away from the house, the more she decided she was being foolish.
She needed to talk to her husband, to reconnect, but she wasn’t sure how to reach out to him. Should she say she was sorry? That after getting him so upset she’d simply changed her mind? That seemed even worse.
The silence stretched between them.
Chapter Seven
Eric moved to the chair, then snapped on the TV. She glanced down at her book but had no idea what she’d read. Some time later, mumbling something about taking a walk, Eric left the room without asking if she’d like to come along.
What was happening to her perfect marriage?
She had waited all her life for someone like Eric, a sensitive, caring man who always seemed to have her best interests at heart. Now that she had found him, she couldn’t drive him away. She had to talk to him, to make up for the hurt feelings she had caused.
Hoping the right words would come to her, she turned off the TV and opened the door, surprised to discover it had grown dark.
Lindsay crossed the narrow driveway. The floodlight cast a yellowed light on the motel’s dock, and she stepped onto the wooden planks. Chained to a piling, a ten-foot aluminum boat bobbed gently in the water, and a red Sea-Doo sat next to a two-seat paddle wheeler.
Eric sat at the end of the dock smoking a cigar, a habit he’d acquired after giving up cigarettes almost ten years ago. She knew he was upset; he only lit up when he felt angry
or frustrated.
He said nothing, just continued to smoke and stare out over the water, but he made room for her. Silently, she sat down beside him.
In the distance, a couple of slow-moving white lights floated low in the middle of the lake.
“What are those?” she asked quietly.
Eric didn't immediately answer and the silence stretched between them. Lindsay waited, holding her breath. Wasn’t he going to talk to her?
He finally sighed. “Running lights on fishing boats.”
Lindsay felt like throwing her arms around him in relief, but she kept her tone calm to match his. “People fish at night?”
“Some of the best fishing is done after dark.”
“What kind?” She didn't really care, but at least he was talking. They could work through anything as long as they talked.
“Oh, sunfish, walleye, and crappies.”
“Croppies?”
“Best pan fish around. Maybe one of the restaurants will have some you can try.”
“That would be great.”
Headlights by the park caught their attention and they watched as a pickup truck swung around to guide a boat-trailer into the lake. After the slap of the boat hitting the water, two men got out and cranked something on the trailer and did a few other things she couldn't quite make out, then got back into the truck and pulled it over to the side of the road to park. Under the floodlights by the dock, they carried some fishing gear to the boat. The starting engine sounded like a giant swarm of monster mosquitoes and soon the boat glided to the middle of the lake. It headed east. Gentle waves from the wake slapped the dock pilings. They watched until the lights disappeared around the curve of the lake and the water was still again.
“Where’s the Peterson house from here?” she asked.
He indicated the northern shore. “Down that way, just before that bend. Right now it just looks like a black space with no lights.”
Lindsay peered into the darkness but could see nothing but a patch of black.
“Tell me about your aunts,” she said, mainly to keep him talking.
“What do you want to know?”
“Oh, just anything you remember. Going there, what it was like living with them.”
Eric threw his cigar and a glowing amber arc fell into the water.
“After Dad’s accident,” he began, “Mom had to go to work and she worried about me being alone all summer. I think I was six. My grandparents died the year before, so I stayed with my aunts. Frida was the oldest, and since neither ever married, she took care of Berina. Berina was frail, a bit other-worldly, I found out later. I just knew that sometimes her eyes looked vacant, as if she weren’t really there. She died the next year. I later heard whispers about both of them but I never saw anything wrong.”
“What kind of whispers?”
“Something about them having delusions or not being quite right. Oh, occasionally one of them would come out with something strange, but I didn’t pay attention.”
“Strange in what way?” Lindsay held her breath.
“I don’t remember. I was too busy with swimming and fishing. I got a chance to be Huckleberry Finn and I loved it.” His voice trailed off.
“Go on,” Lindsay encouraged, recognizing the nostalgia in his tone. She knew what it felt like to long for something, to always want something out of reach.
“I was ten or eleven when Mom found her job and we moved to California,” Eric continued. “I tried to visit Aunt Frida when I could, but I got involved in Scouts and a paper route. Then girls. I really felt bad that I didn’t visit as often as I should have.”
Lindsay took his arm and leaned her head on his shoulder, drawing on his warmth and taking comfort in having him next to her. She stared out over the water. How she loved this man who had given her back her life, who’d believed in her and encouraged her to follow her heart with the gallery. How could she possibly prevent him from his dream of taking possession of his childhood home?
She couldn’t. For her husband, she had to overcome any hesitation she might feel and give back to him.
“Honey, I’m so sorry for today. Let’s call Mr. Mathews tomorrow and tell him we want the house.”
He was silent for a long moment. Then, his voice soft, he asked, “Why the sudden change?”
“Because I like the house, but most of all, I love you.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want you to do this if you have reservations.”
“I was just being silly. Actually, it’ll be fun fixing it up. And I can’t wait to learn to fish. Can we shop for a pontoon?”
“Sure we will. We’ll even get one with a potty, just for you.” His voice became animated, gaining back some of the excitement he’d had earlier that day. “I have a great idea. Why don’t we take another couple of weeks and move here for the summer? I’ll take my vacation early and you could call Julia at the gallery.” He paused a moment, then continued his thoughts, even more animated that before. “We can make a quick trip home, lease the condo, and pick up what you and I need to work this summer. What do you think?”
“Only one problem.”
“What’s that?” he asked, his tone wary again.
“We have to get a new bed. The one in the master bedroom looked old enough that your grandparents probably used it.”
Laughing, Eric stood and helped her up. “We’ll call Mathews in the morning to make the arrangements. It’ll be great being back in the house.”
Heading back to the motel room with Eric, Lindsay glanced back at the lake and at the black spot where Eric had said the house stood.
A cool breeze touched her face, lighter than a feather, but she shivered. While sitting next to Eric on the dock, moving in had seemed like a great idea.
Now she wasn’t so sure.
Chapter Eight
Early the next morning, they checked with Mathews.
“It’s looking good, so I don’t foresee any problems,” he told them. “I’ll be meeting with the judge in a few days, but after speaking with him on the phone, I think you can safely assume the house will be yours. I’ll send a fax after the decision, just let me know when you return.”
The notice was waiting for them in their California attorney’s office.
“The court agreed it was in the public’s best interest to keep the house intact,” Mathews had written, “so you now have full ownership of your ancestral home.” As they’d discussed in his office, he’d also oversee home inspections and would hire maintenance and cleaning crews.
Three weeks later, after leasing their California condo for the summer, Eric backed the small rental truck into the lake house driveway. With their Prius attached to a tow bar on back, the caravan spread across the dirt road to the forest behind the house. Birds in the maple and oak trees took flight and squirrels chattered at the intrusion.
Before unloading Eric’s computer desk and Lindsay’s art table plus a multitude of boxes, they walked around the property to check the work they’d commissioned.
According to what Lindsay was seeing today, Mathews had done an excellent job. Overgrown shrubs had been trimmed and dead limbs removed from the trees. New black shutters on all the windows highlighted the house’s crisp white paint, and in the front, carpenters had replaced and widened the porch steps and added scrolled iron rails.
“What a difference.” Eric was right behind her. “Now it’s looking like the home I remember.”
Hearing the catch in his voice, Lindsay slipped her arm through his. When away from the house, she’d questioned her decision, but now, Eric’s happiness made it all worthwhile. With each mile they’d driven from California, he’d relaxed more and more, and when they crossed into Minnesota, he actually broke out in old bawdy songs from college. She’d laughed and tried to sing along with him. And when they pulled up to the house, she had been so glad to see the old place she almost broke down in tears.
What was it about this house that so mesmerized her? She had never felt that
way about any other place, and heaven knew she’d lived in plenty of different houses and apartments. She felt such peace here. Comfort. Almost a welcome home.
Why she should sense such feelings, especially after what she’d experienced in the attic, she couldn’t explain, but Eric’s happiness made it all worthwhile.
Strolling the property, they paused to gaze at the water. “Just look at it, honey,” Lindsay said. “I never thought I’d be living on a lake, especially such a beautiful one.”
Today the cerulean water sparkled with golden reflections of the sun. The air felt heavier and moist and was alive with the buzzing of horseflies and mosquitoes. Perspiration drops beaded Lindsay’s forehead and around her bra. She slapped a mosquito on her damp neck.
Eric smiled.
“Humidity gets pretty thick here in late summer, you know. Doesn’t usually last more than a few days, but you just might want to turn around and head back to the desert.”
“No way. Moist air will be great for my complexion, especially after living all my life in dry heat.”
Arm in arm they climbed the porch steps and entered the house through new oak and glass double-doors.
Inside, the rooms smelled like lemon oil from the cleaning products, and on her tour, Lindsay couldn’t detect the elusive spicy scent she had smelled before. The oak floors gleamed. Satin drapes in soft gold graced the squeaky-clean windows. New covers concealed the damask furniture. Even the wallpaper had been scrubbed.
“Oh my God, I don’t believe it,” Lindsay said, stepping through to the new kitchen.
Where warped cabinets and a rusty old sink with exposed pipes stood before, everything was now stainless steel and granite. New oak cabinets and a double-door refrigerator graced the kitchen. Someone had even placed a little round breakfast table with two chairs in the corner.
“It’s like a new house,” Lindsay exclaimed. “Later we can remodel the bathroom and get a new gazebo by the beach where the old one used to be.”
Eric laughed. “Whoa, tiger. I have to make sure my business doesn’t suffer before we do anything else.”
Inside the fridge, a bottle of Dom Perignon stood, a card and a red ribbon tied around the neck.
