Vacation

by Matthew John Costello

He walked over to Kate.

  “Hey, kiddo, how you—”

  She spun around quickly as if being caught doing something she shouldn’t.

  “Dad, what are you doing here?” The lasts two words made it seem like a major crime.

  Jack became suddenly aware that there was no one over sixteen in the room. Kate seemed to have taken note of that as well.

  He tried to smile, even as he felt his ineptness in all this. “Just wanted to see how you were doing.”

  “What? I’m fine.” Then louder. “Fine!”

  Their conversation had caught the eyes of other kids. Now it was a show. Kate’s voice loud. Jack trying to keep a smile on his face.

  “Good. Everything’s—” he started.

  But Kate turned away from “Viva Vegas,” and marched to the door. “Now that you’re here, I’m leaving.”

  In a flash, she was gone. The screen door slapped shut, punctuating the whole scene.

  The kids in the room, grinning at it all, had gone back to their games, their conversations.

  Handled that well, Jack thought.

  He left the game room, only steps to the outside, but feeling as if it took forever.

  And out.

  Standing there. A breeze blowing, taking some of the heat away. The game room a good-sized building. Looked like kayaks and canoes and other beach stuff were stored in the back.

  The game fields, deserted on this hot day, were on the left.

  But the game building was big enough that it shielded an area behind it. More fields, more storage buildings?

  Perhaps not wanting to face his daughter down by the shore, at least not until she cooled off, he walked behind the building.

  He saw a path leading to another building, only a little bit smaller, a short walk away. Someone standing outside.

  Holding an ax.

  Slamming it down on a block of wood.

  He recognized the person. Shana. Chopping wood like a pro.

  I should just turn around, Jack thought.

  Right now.

  But he didn’t.

  Thwack!

  A chunk of pine a foot in diameter split into two nearly perfectly equal halves.

  Shana hadn’t looked up until Jack stood only a few feet away.

  Then she stopped. Heavy beads of perspiration on her brow. Before she looked up, Jack took in her bare midriff, which showed a smooth sheen of sweat.

  “Looks like they keep you working hard.”

  She smiled, her eyes directly on Jack.

  “I like the exercise,” she said. “And besides, I live in back here. It’s one of the woodworking cottages. We make a lot of our own stuff… use the wood that’s all around us. The dead trees.”

  “Looks like you’re good at it.”

  “I’m good at a lot of things.”

  Again, her eyes didn’t waver. Where was that breeze now?

  She had placed the ax head on the ground, the handle held close to her side. Then she made the handle end jut out. “Care to take a whack?”

  “I don’t think I could—”

  She took a step, lifting the ax, handing it to Jack.

  “Go on. It’s very therapeutic.”

  She stood closer now, the beads of sweat so close.

  Instinctively, he looked over his shoulder. The game building effectively blocked anyone from seeing the two of them. Secluded back here.

  “Okay. Here goes.”

  Shana effortlessly put a fresh block of wood on the tree stump used as a platform for the wood splitting.

  He brought the ax back.

  “Nice smooth swing, city boy. Keep your eye on where you want the blade to hit. And once it’s in motion… just let it go.”

  Jack took a breath. He felt her watching him. But he kept his eyes on the wood chunk in front of him.

  Then another breath—and he swung.

  Eyes locked on his target spot.

  It didn’t land smoothly in the middle of the piece. It was an awkward swing, nothing like Shana’s.

  But Jack was glad to see that the force of the hit was enough to split the wood, sending two unequal pieces flying to either side.

  Shana clapped once, then again. “Well done. For a city boy. Little bit of training, and you could be useful around here.”

  Jack smiled.

  He should get back. Christie would have questions about his encounter with Kate.

  But Jack had questions. About this place. About Shana.

  A few more minutes back here wouldn’t hurt.

  23. Questions

  Jack peered in the window of the front workshop part of the cabin, the windows filmy, making most of what was inside a blur. He could make out a huge saw with planks of wood lying before it.

  He turned back to Shana. She had come close, invading space that some would describe as private, a distance being violated.

  “So, where’d they recruit you from?” he asked.

  A smile. “Recruit? That’s what the U.S. Army did. They recruited me.”

  “You served?”

  “Oh yeah. Until they started taking the army apart piece by piece. Who has time to save the world when there’s so much to do at home, hm?”

  Jack nodded, and as he did, he moved back.

  “So, you got a job here? At a camp?”

  Shana shook her head as if the idea was silly, black strands flying. “I’m from near here. A little town—a village called Two Rivers. A few miles away, on the other side of Mt. Hope. Nothing there now.”

  “A local?”

  “Everyone who works here is local, Jack.”

  She said his name as if they were old friends. “Well, nearly everyone. When Ed decided to set this place up, he offered jobs and sanctuary to the locals. Some came in to clean, to cook”—a gesture at the filmy windows of the workshop—“to build. A way to be safe.”

  “They all live here?”

  “There are cottages up on the hill, near the camp shops and storehouses. A little community, you might say.”

  “Some didn’t come?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And how did that work out?”

  “Oh, a few retreated to the bigger towns. You probably saw them on your way here. With their checkpoints and guns. Some didn’t make it. Like those people who stay when a volcano is going to blow. Some vanished. Some, I imagine”—she smiled at the full-circle joke of it—“were recruited. Some of the Can Heads in the hills around here used to be our neighbors, friends… lovers. Now they just look for a way to get in.”

  “Not easy with all the guards I saw.”

  She arched one eyebrow. “Guards? You mean at the gates?”

  Jack registered the word she just said. Gates. More than one way in and out of this place. For trucks, workers.

  Maybe over by the worker’s part of the camp, at the end of the service road?

  “Yeah, at night you guys have this place locked down. Guards everywhere.”

  Shana hesitated. “We like to be safe. And you, Jack? What does a Jack Murphy do? Besides split wood badly.”

  Another step closer by her; he had the feeling that he was being cornered.

  He thought of lying.

  “I’m a cop.”

  She paused now. A small smile played on her face. Had she known that? Did Lowe tell her? Was that exciting to her?

  Every cop knew that some women found the whole police thing a turn-on.

  Jack tuned that stuff out.

  Finally: “NYPD?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you’ve seen things, haven’t you. I’d love to hear all about what you’ve seen, Jack. That is, if it’s not too upsetting for you.”

  Jack grinned. Exit time, and an exit line. “Not upsetting at all. But ’fraid I have to dash back to the beach. Can’t be missing in action for too long.”

  “Sure. We can catch up later, city boy.”

  “Right.”

  Jack turned and started walking away. Feeling the heat of Shana’s eyes on
him as he strolled away.

  * * *

  As he reached the beach, he saw Kate on a floating dock out in the water, jumping in.

  Christie stood up when he came.

  “Pretty good,” he said, pointing to their daughter.

  “You should have heard her before. Not too pleased with your game room drop-in.”

  “I know.” Then: “Better she’s down here. The sun, water. That’s what we came for. And is Simon still…?”

  “Still playing sand crab. Maybe you can.”

  “Sure. I’ll see if he’ll go in with me. Enough sand digging.”

  “Where were you, by the way?”

  Jack kept his gaze on the water. He watched Kate smoothly pull herself out of the water and back into diving position on the platform.

  “Oh, I saw another building behind the game room. Didn’t know what it was.”

  “And of course you have to know what everything is.”

  “It was a woodworking shop. Looks like they build a lot of their own stuff. The lamps, those tree-limb chairs.”

  He wondered if being a cop made him a good liar, made him good at not telling things…

  Or just the opposite.

  He let the moment pass and turned to her. “Time to hit the water.”

  He walked over to Simon.

  * * *

  At first, he held his son’s hand in the water. Incredible that they had water here to swim in. Fresh water, like so many things, so scarce. But Simon soon let go as the tiniest of waves rippled against their ankles.

  “It’s cold!” Simon said.

  “Sure is. But feel that sun. Gonna feel mighty good to get wet.”

  To show the way, Jack took a few steps farther in. He looked again at the dive platform, Kate going in and out. As if putting on a show.

  A show for…?

  He looked behind to see the lifeguard chair. The blond kid staring out at the lake glistening under a midday sun.

  Simon squealed. But he also grinned.

  “There you go, Simon. Not too bad, eh?”

  “It’s freezing!”

  “But notice that your feet feel fine. You get used to it. Look at your sister.”

  More steps, and more squeals. The process torturous, but fun. Jack for the first time feeling a bit of what they came here for. To get away, to escape things, to simply enjoy his family.

  Simon hit the upper-chest mark well ahead of him.

  And then, amazingly, Simon dove into the water and emerged like a human otter, black hair plastered against his head, his eyes flashing.

  Jack realized what his son was about to do.

  “Simon, don’t even think—”

  But Simon let go with a volley of splashes, the tables turned, wonderfully, and soon they were both fully wet, swimming, diving, and playing in the cold, clear water.

  * * *

  Jack followed Simon out of the lake, but didn’t copy him when Simon threw himself onto the sand, laughing, and basted his body in the fine beach sand.

  Christie threw him a towel.

  “Thanks.”

  As he dried himself, he looked around.

  Off to the side, away from the main pools of families sitting in the chairs and blankets, he saw Tom Blair, smiling, talking to Ed Lowe.

  Ed in jolly mode, Tom probably pleased that his family could stay for a few more days.

  Jack worked on his hair, neck, but kept watching the two of them.

  Tom walked away and in the moment Lowe turned, he saw Jack looking at the two of them.

  A smile from Jack. Nice day at the lake, isn’t it?

  For a second it looked as though Lowe’s grin just evaporated. Then back on again. Like a switch.

  Jack nodded at Lowe. He came and sat down by Christie.

  “That was great, getting Simon in the water.” She laughed. “Of course, now he’ll have sand everywhere. Maybe a shower down here before we get back.”

  Jack nodded. “You see our happy leader?”

  “What? You mean talking to Tom Blair?”

  “Weird the way he can turn the smile on and off.”

  “Jack, come on. He’s in the—what do they call it?—the hospitality business. What do you think it is?”

  “Right. Yeah, he’s just being… hospitable.”

  “I don’t get why you can’t just relax. Let the cop thing go. Christ…”

  Jack started to defend himself. “I’m just saying…”

  Kate came over, still annoyed with him, Jack imagined.

  “I’m going back to the cottage.”

  “Okay, honey,” Christie said quickly.

  Before I can say anything, Jack guessed.

  He watched Kate walk away.

  “Look, Jack. Relax. Okay? I love it here.” She took in a deep breath. The clear air. “It’s perfect.”

  “Right.”

  “Unless you just want to spoil this for everyone.”

  “No. Don’t want to do that. I hear you. Relax mode… on.”

  But he had turned back to Tom, now standing with his wife.

  Jack tried to stay seated. Instead, he started to get up.

  “Gonna go chat with Tom.”

  Christie shook her head as he walked over to Tom.

  “Hey, Tom.”

  “Jack. Hi.”

  “I saw you with Lowe. All set?”

  “Oh yeah. I mean, he may have to shift us to another cabin. People request the ones with a view. I said no problem.” Tom laughed. “As long as my cash holds out.”

  There was a flicker of something. A distant look in Tom’s eyes. Everything about Tom in that moment—his eyes, the way he stood, the sudden hollowness in his voice—said that there was something unsaid here.

  For now, Jack decided not to push him. There’d be time to talk tonight, at the fireworks.

  “See you guys at dinner?” Jack said.

  “Sure. See you there.”

  Jack walked back to Christie.

  “They all set? To stay?”

  “Appears so,” he said.

  Christie kept her eyes on him. “And something else?”

  “What? No. Just they may have to move cabins.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Other reservations. Something about the view.”

  “Guess it doesn’t matter.”

  She shaded her eyes, still looking at him.

  “Nothing else?”

  He smiled. An Ed Lowe smile, he thought. “Nothing else.”

  She nodded. “Good. Just try to remember that you’re here. With me, and the kids. And this is not the precinct.”

  “I hear you.”

  Then quiet.

  After a few silent minutes, he stood up. “I’m going back to shower.”

  “Or to check on Kate?”

  He didn’t rise to the bait. “See you there.”

  He walked away.

  * * *

  Christie felt her annoyance with Jack subside.

  With her mix of Italian and Latin blood, she could get steamed pretty fast. Early in their relationship, she had worked hard to watch it, control it.

  Was I too hard on him? she wondered.

  What she said seemed reasonable. This was a vacation. They were safe. And he needed to leave his old world behind. At least while they were here.

  She pushed the thoughts away, focusing on the sun, the water, the warm sand between her toes.

  “Can I go back in?” Simon said, writhing toward her like a sand snake.

  “Sure. Another dip will get all that sand off you. Just stay close. Where you can stand—or squirm!”

  Simon turned around like an eel and started slithering toward the water.

  She let her thoughts fade as she kept her eyes on Simon.

  Locked on him, catching every shimmering slash in the water.

  * * *

  Most families had already left the beach for the communal lunch. The beach took on a deserted feel with everyone packing up.

  Time to g
o soon, she knew.

  Though Simon still twisted and leaped in the water, oblivious to everything but the fun he was having.

  Other kids were swimming, too.

  One girl near Simon’s age. A little older.

  And definitely farther out. A swimmer—she could move her arms in a simulation of the Australian crawl—but awkward, expending too much energy. Stopping to plant her feet.

  The water at her chin. Inches away from covering her mouth.

  Where are her parents? Christie wondered.

  She looked up and down the beach, trying to match the remaining people with the girl who, Christie thought, was now too far out in the lake.

  She didn’t catch any worried eyes locked on the little girl. No parent standing up to issue a command to come back in.

  She looked to the lifeguard. Amazingly, his eyes were also averted as he laughed and talked to two girls in bikinis posing to his right.

  No one was watching the girl.

  Except for Christie.

  Should I tell her to come in a bit?

  No. That would seem crazy.

  Still…

  The girl flailed at the water with her ineffective crawl, then landed. To Christie it seemed that she must have been on her tiptoes to stay above the water. There were no real waves here, just a light, gentle ripple. The tiniest of wakes made by the wind off the mountains.

  Tiny water movements.

  But perhaps strong enough to push someone a few inches one way or the other.

  She gave Simon a quick glance, perfectly fine in his foot or so of water, still in sea-snake mode.

  To the girl.

  The water closer to her lips.

  The girl pushed up a bit, toes probably stretched to their limit, Christie’s eyes completely locked on her. The girl attempted to swim. But whether from fatigue or fear, those arm movements seemed to do nothing.

  Or worse, they seemed to take the girl those precious few inches into deeper water. The feet, the toes going down again.

  Only now they didn’t touch sand. The head went under water. The lips covered.

  Christie stood up.

  She yelled.

  One word.

  “Help!” She spared a second yell toward the lifeguard, expecting to see him racing into the lake, reaching with those strong, muscled adolescent legs into the water before the sound of Christie’s scream faded.

  A blurry look, actually, since she could see the guard was still locked in his chat.