Chapter 4 Ilsa #2
This had to stop. Before I wasted my entire life on a man who was meeting Lori’s parents tomorrow.
“Bye.” It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t firm. But it was the first goodbye I’d said to Troy.
I hung up the phone before I could take it back.
It was time to start saying goodbye to Troy, no matter which day of the week he called.
My heart was too heavy, and I was afraid that if he called back, I wouldn’t have the courage to ignore the ring. So I hurried to the entryway and grabbed a coat off the hook, then went outside, letting the fresh air fill my lungs.
I tipped my face to the blue sky, to pure white sunbeams and evergreen treetops. With every inhale and exhale, the pressure in my chest eased.
What did that say about my feelings for Troy? A year ago, that phone call would have left me in tears. Today, all I’d needed were ten deep breaths and it was done. Over.
It wasn’t going to take long to let him go, was it?
I tucked my hands in my pockets and started across the yard.
Since I’d been back in Dalton, I hadn’t spent much time outside.
Other than a few trips to the shed, I’d mostly stayed indoors.
Partly because it was so damn cold. Partly because the winter days were so short.
But also because I hadn’t been ready to face the past.
Summers with Dad had been spent outdoors, and the memories inside paled in comparison.
My boots crunched on the snow as I walked toward the dock.
It was like walking back in time, to the summers when I’d start and end my day with a swim.
The dock itself was built on the gravelly shore, about fifty feet from the house, and stretched far enough into the water that I could do a leaping cannonball as a kid and not touch the bottom of the lake.
I walked in no hurry across the yard, my breath puffing around me in tiny clouds. Then I stepped onto the dock, taking it slow until I stood at its end, overlooking nothing but a sheet of white that stretched from shore to shore.
And a small island, covered in thick trees, in between.
I tore my gaze away from the island, not ready to face it yet, and surveyed the opposite side of the lake.
The road didn’t wrap all the way around Cotters, so there was nothing but untamed forest. Someday, someone would probably build a cabin over there, but for now, it was rugged and raw, the trees growing all the way to the water’s edge.
Cotters was a true mountain lake, surrounded by tall peaks in all directions. The lake wasn’t big, with only about three miles of shoreline in total, but as a kid, it had seemed like the most magical place in the world.
When I closed my eyes, I could picture myself racing off this dock, feet bare and hair wild as I went splashing into the lake. Shrieking at the chill, because even in the peak of summer, Cotters was cold.
I could hear Dad laughing from this very spot. He’d sit here, jeans rolled up his calves, toes dangling in the water. I could smell moss and dirt and cigar smoke.
The air was still and quiet. Not a breath of wind touched my face, almost like the lake and mountains knew I needed a moment of peace to lose myself in those memories.
I wished, more than anything, that I had spent one last summer with him on Cotters Lake.
The regret was something I’d have to learn to live with. For the rest of my days.
It was tempting to stand here, to lose myself in happy memories, but I was only dressed in jeans, and these boots weren’t made for hours in the snow. The cold was already seeping through the leather.
So I opened my eyes, about to retreat inside, except the moment my lashes lifted, I gasped.
I wasn’t alone.
A man stood on the frozen lake, about twenty feet away. A trail of footsteps led to the island at his back.
He stared at me with clear blue eyes and a blank expression.
A shiver rolled down my spine. How had he come up on me so fast? How had I not seen him earlier? How long had he been standing there?
I took a backward step, about to hurry inside, when he held up a gloved hand. My heart climbed into my throat as he walked forward, extending that trail of footprints across the ice.
He was about my height, five six, but since the dock was lifted off the water, when he stopped in front of me, I had to tip my face down to hold his gaze.
Tufts of stark white hair poked out from beneath the band of his green stocking hat. His face was carved with deep, weathered wrinkles, and his nose was round, the skin red at the tip. His bottom lip was chapped and cracked in the center.
“You’re Ike’s daughter.” His voice was quiet and hoarse, like he didn’t use it often.
“Yes,” I murmured.
He reached a leather-gloved hand into the pocket of his faded black winter coat, pulling out a creased envelope. “He said you’d be comin’ back.”
“W-what?” Why would Dad think that? I’d told him I couldn’t visit. That it would have to be another time. Yet he’d told this man I was coming to Montana?
“Said that when you came home, if he was gone, to give this to you.” He held out the letter.
I slipped my hand from my pocket, taking the envelope. “What is it?”
The man didn’t answer my question. He turned and followed his footprints away.
“Wait,” I called, not sure what to say, but here was a man who’d known my father. A man Dad had trusted to deliver this letter.
He stopped and glanced over his shoulder.
“Is that safe? Walking on the ice?” I raised my voice so he could hear. It seemed to carry across the entire lake, disturbing the peace and quiet of the day.
“Safe to walk on. Wouldn’t drive on it though. There’s enough of a current it’s got weak spots.”
I’d skip walking and driving on the ice. “What’s your name?”
His feet shuffled in the snow as he faced me again. Then he cocked his head slightly to the side, like he wasn’t sure if I could be trusted with his name.
“I’m Ilsa,” I said.
“Jerry.” His voice cracked. He coughed and said it again. “Jerry.”
“Thank you, Jerry.” I offered a small smile, lifting the letter. “When did he give this to you?”
“Last summer.”
“Months before he’d died? Why?”
“Don’t know. I’m just doin’ as he asked.” Jerry looked around in every direction, making sure we were alone. Then he came back, leaning in close and waving me to bend down as he whispered, “Ain’t no accident.”
“What do you mean?” I asked even though the tremor that swept through my bones was answer enough.
“Ike wouldn’t drown.” His eyes flooded with tears and he sniffled, wiping at his nose.
“W-what are you saying?”
Jerry looked side to side, his eyes narrowing at something over my shoulder. Something in the trees.
I twisted, following his gaze, but didn’t see anything but snow and branches. “What is it?”
When I turned to face Jerry, he was already gone, jogging away and moving more quickly than I’d expected from an older man.
“Wait,” I called but he kept going.
My head was spinning so fast I was dizzy as I stood on the dock, watching as he reached the island, leapt onto its shore, then disappeared into the trees.
The only sign of him was the footprints across the lake.
A crow took flight from a tree at my side, its caw making me jump.
“Shit.” I spun away from the lake and hurried toward the cabin, checking over my shoulder as the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.
I hesitated at the door, searching for anything in the forest, but the quiet had returned, eerie and unsettling. The moment I was inside, I slid the deadbolt into place. Then I pressed my forehead against the rough wooden surface, breathing through my mouth as my stomach knotted.
What the hell was that? What had Jerry meant, it wasn’t an accident? There weren’t many ways that people died. Old age. Accidents. Murder.
Suicide.
No. Not possible. The police had investigated. Dad had died from a head injury and subsequent drowning. They were certain he’d tripped on something in the boat, hit his head and fallen into the water. They would have done an autopsy to prove it. Should I have asked to see the report?
My heart was beating so hard it hurt. Sweat beaded at my temples as I pushed off the door and carried the letter to my room, not bothering to take off my coat as I plopped onto the edge of my bed.
With trembling fingers, I tore open the envelope’s flap. The paper inside sliced into my skin as I slipped it out, but I didn’t feel the sting of the paper cut, too focused on Dad’s messy scrawl.
Normally, his handwriting was neat and clean. In the letter he’d mailed with the Garrack gold story, it had been nearly pristine. Even his script on those napkin lists had been tidy.
But this he’d scribbled in all caps, like he’d done it in a rush.
Find the atlas and the key
The Truth is Beneath a tap dance
I read it ten times before I set the letter on my lap. My hands came to my heart, pressing against my sternum like I could push the pain away. Tears flooded my eyes.
This was nonsense. This didn’t even have my name.
What was he talking about? Why would he ask Jerry to give me this?
I wanted to ask Dad. I wanted the whole story, not some garbled note.
I wanted to smell Dad’s cigars and go fishing with him on the lake.
I wanted to sit on the kitchen counter and listen to his stories as he fried Spam on the stove.
I wanted to hear him call me honey bear.
To thumb wrestle with him on the drive into town.
To feel his chin rest on the top of my head whenever I gave him a hug.
I wanted my dad.
But he was gone. Forever. And all I had left were questions and regrets.
This was why Mom never came back. This was why she’d told me to stay away from Montana. It hurt. It hurt so much I wanted to scream.
Instead, I curled up on my bed, clutching this strange letter to my chest. And for the first time in months, I didn’t stifle the sobs. I didn’t blink away the tears.
I stopped caring that we’d drifted apart. I stopped feeling guilty for not being here when he died. I stopped trying to put a lid on the jar of grief and let it spill free.