Chapter 30 Cosi
Cosi
Ilsa, Spencer and I stood side by side on the island at Cotters Lake. We’d hiked to a small outcropping of rocks where we could overlook the lake and the mountains beyond.
Ilsa was about to cry. She was fighting it. Doing her best to blink away those tears and keep her chin from quivering. But six sniffles in a row and I knew it was coming.
“Spencer.” I jerked my chin toward the aluminum boat we’d tied up on the shore before scattering Ike’s ashes.
He nodded, giving Ilsa a hug before following the same path we’d taken to this spot, through the towering trees and green grasses and blooming bushes to the rocky shore.
I pulled Ilsa into my arms. “You can cry.”
“I don’t want to cry today.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. I guess I feel like I’ve cried enough at this lake.”
She swallowed hard before leaning her head on my shoulder as the sun streamed down on us from a cloudless sky.
It had been three months since the day Trick had died on this lake, and in that time, we usually spent our Saturday mornings at the Grizzly Café. But this morning, Ilsa had poured a cup of coffee and asked if we could scatter Ike’s ashes today.
Not once since she’d moved in had she mentioned Ike’s ashes. She’d put that box in the closet of the guest bedroom and closed the door. So when she’d asked, I’d picked up the phone and called Chuck to see about borrowing his rowboat.
She’d chosen this spot, though I wasn’t sure when. Maybe during one of the afternoons we’d visited the cabin and she’d sat quietly on the dock to stare out over the lake. It was exactly the place Ike would have chosen for himself.
The water was a sheet of crystal-clear glass reflecting the trees and the mountains beyond. We had a perfect view of the cabin and the dock so he could see home.
“Goodbye, Dad.” Ilsa lost her fight against the tears. Her shoulders began to shake, so I turned her in my arms and held her while she cried.
But my girl wasn’t one to stay sad for long. After a few minutes, she stood straight and dried her eyes. “Thanks for coming with me.”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” I brushed a kiss to her temple.
She turned to the lake, taking in the view as she pressed a hand over her heart. She let her eyes wander over the shoreline, giving herself one last moment—I doubted she’d ever set foot on this island again.
“Okay, I think I’m ready to—” She gasped, her entire body tensing as she reached for my hand. “Cosi.”
“What?”
“Jerry.” She nodded toward the shore, to the area where we’d found that tiny cabin of Trick’s.
A man stood on the shore, hands tucked in his coat pockets. His head was entirely bald on top with a ring of white tufts that circled from ear to ear. That white was a sharp contrast to the green and brown forest around him.
Even from across the water, I recognized him. His name wasn’t Jerry. It was George.
“I’ll be damned,” I muttered. “That’s the guy who gave you your dad’s letter?”
“Yes. Do you know him?”
“Yeah.” I’d seen him three months ago at Trick’s funeral. No one I knew called him Jerry. “His name is George Dougan. He’s Trick’s great-uncle.”
“So he lied about his name,” Ilsa said, her spine stiffening. “Do you think he knew about Trick? That he—”
Killed Ike? “I don’t know.”
I wanted to give George the benefit of the doubt. People in this town respected George Dougan, but people had respected Trick too.
Maybe George had seen Trick fishing with Ike. He’d warned Ilsa that Ike wouldn’t have drowned. He had to know something. Maybe Trick had confessed to pushing Ike.
But rather than give Ilsa the whole truth, a truth that would have condemned his great-nephew, George had offered only vague hints. And then she’d gotten hurt.
That was on him. The bastard. As far as I was concerned, he was just as guilty as Trick.
Though I suspected that when I showed up at George’s place on Monday morning to ask some questions, he wouldn’t be there.
Like he could sense my darkening mood from across the water, George turned and walked into the trees, disappearing from sight.
“Was he friends with my dad?” Ilsa asked.
“Yeah. He was.”
“We’ll never see him again, will we? We’ll never have all the answers.”
As much as I wanted to tell her otherwise, I couldn’t lie. “Probably not.”
That was probably the last I’d ever see of George.
There’d be no catching him today. I’d never be able to row across the lake quickly enough, and he’d grown up in this area. He was an avid hunter and fisherman. Hell, he’d probably helped Trick build that illegal cabin.
George had spent his lifetime prowling around these mountains, learning them like the back of his hand, with Trick as his companion. No doubt the reason Trick had been able to sneak up to Ilsa’s cabin windows without leaving tracks was because George was good at covering his own.
“Fuck you, Jerry.” Ilsa stared into the forest for a moment, then she turned her back on George. She faced the water, closing her eyes as she drew the earthy, clean air into her lungs. And then on an exhale, she slipped past me and headed to join Spencer at the boat.
I took a moment to stare over the water, to the depths where Trick had met his end three months ago.
He’d drowned in his truck. He could have swum to the surface, but he’d made his choice while we’d stood on the shoreline and watched.
We’d had to send a diver into the lake to retrieve Trick’s body, but with the ice, getting the truck out had proved to be more of a challenge, so we’d opted to wait until it melted. By the time we’d finally fished that Chevy from the lake, it had been down there for nearly two months.
And tucked behind the bench seat was Ilsa’s purple briefcase. Everything inside, the journal and atlas and letters, was ruined.
His house had been full of maps and pictures—too many of Ilsa for my comfort. I’d found his stash of poison and enough cocaine to question our every interaction over the past year.
The man Trick had become was not my old friend.
It was only by chance that we’d met Trick on the road to Cotters Lake that day. He must have come up to search the cabin for more information because the front door had been kicked in, the lock shattered.
At this point, Ilsa and I were both convinced there was no gold. That Ike’s obsession with the legend had been a way for him to survive the grief of losing Donnie.
But he’d been convincing. Trick had certainly believed. Enough to nearly kill Ilsa over a journal and atlas, things she would have given him had he only asked.
I’d replayed it all a million times and likely would for the rest of my life, wondering if there was more I could have done. Maybe someday I’d be able to come to Cotters Lake and not think about Trick’s death. I hoped so, considering Ilsa had decided to keep the cabin.
She’d lost enough of Ike already.
Eventually, this would be a happy place for her. For our family. We just needed time. And thankfully, we had it. So I turned away from the lake and hurried to catch up to Ilsa.
After helping her into the boat, I pushed us off the shore and climbed inside, taking the center seat. With the oars in hand, I rowed us for the cabin, facing Ilsa and Spencer as they sat side by side on the back bench.
“Can we get our own boat?” Spencer asked.
“No.”
“Yes.”
Ilsa and I spoke in unison.
Spencer looked between the two of us, then pointed to her. “I like her answer better.”
Ilsa laughed, looping her arm through his. “I think we should definitely get a boat. But maybe not until we have more than a couch in the cabin.”
That couch was the one and only piece of furniture in the cabin. Mom had wanted to get something nicer for her living room, so we’d volunteered to take her orange plaid couch for the cabin.
It was hideous. I’d always hated that couch. But it looked oddly right inside Ike’s cabin.
“I’ll pitch in for the boat,” Spencer said. “With lawn-mowing money.”
That kid had finished the school year with decent grades and a plan to make a pile of money this summer mowing lawns. He’d lined up twelve houses around town already, and every week, he seemed to add another to his schedule.
“How about you save your money for gas?” I stroked the oars through the water, glancing over my shoulder to gauge the distance to the dock.
“Or college,” he murmured.
Ilsa and I shared a look. College? That was new. The light that sparkled in her eyes made my heart swell.
“I think we should get you a checking account,” she told Spencer. “Then you can deposit your earnings and save them to use when you’re ready. I’ll teach you how to balance your checkbook. And budget your money for gas.”
“We’re doing that in Mrs. McNally’s home ec class next year.”
“Oh.” Ilsa turned to the side, hiding a lip curl from Spencer.
Most of the teachers at Dalton High had finally fallen victim to Ilsa’s charm. Most, but not all. Mrs. McNally was one of the few holdouts who still barely acknowledged Ilsa when they passed each other in the halls.
As far as I was concerned, McNally could piss off. She was just bitter that Ilsa was now the official math teacher at Dalton High, a job McNally had apparently wanted but hadn’t gotten.
Mrs. Riley was not returning from maternity leave after all, and though I doubted Principal Harlan would ever openly praise Ilsa’s efforts, the rumors floating around town were that the standardized test scores the students had taken at the end of this school year were the best they’d been in a decade.
Strong test scores meant state funding, so when Mrs. Riley had decided to become a stay-at-home mom, Harlan had changed his tune about hiring Ilsa. She’d been a shoo-in for the job.
She had the summer off, but she was already brainstorming ideas on how to refresh the curriculum.
And I, for one, was glad that the shithead seniors like Paul Johnson were graduated and gone.
Ilsa needed easy for a while. We all did.
The only real stress we had at the moment was Gwen.
She was trying with Spencer, I’d give her that.
She’d moved to Missoula, and any chance she could get, she came to Dalton.
Sometimes they’d go out to lunch. Sometimes he’d call an hour before she was supposed to drive over and cancel their plans.
Once, she’d made it all the way to town and he’d blown her off entirely.
That was the one and only time I’d intervened. He didn’t have to see her, but he needed to be courteous. Otherwise, I was staying out of it, even when every paternal instinct screamed to take charge, to fix this.
My mother hated that Gwen was in Spencer’s life. She was terrified Gwen would disappear again and crush Spencer’s spirit—it was my biggest fear too. But Ilsa was unbending in her faith that Gwen wasn’t leaving.
For Spencer’s sake, I hoped she was right.
I doubted Spencer and Gwen would ever be close, but Gwen’s return was teaching him some important lessons for life. That people could change. That we could forgive those who gave us scars. And that no matter what, he had me. He had Ilsa.
“Want to hop out and tie us up?” I asked Spencer as we approached the end of the dock.
“Got it.” He stood, waiting until he could jump out.
Then after I stowed the oars, I helped Ilsa, keeping a hold of her hand as we made our way to the cabin.
My thumb skated over her fingers, over her knuckles and the flat spots in between. There was something missing on her left hand. Something I’d fix soon enough with the diamond ring hidden in my desk drawer at the station.
“Ready to go home?” I asked Ilsa.
She stared at the cabin as we meandered across the yard, our linked hands swinging between us. “I guess. There’s really nothing else to do out here.”
“Or we could go for a hike.” Spencer dug a folded piece of paper out of his jeans pocket. “I, um . . . I made this.”
As he unfolded the paper, Ilsa and I moved closer, peering down at the map he’d drawn.
The map that was a close replica of the atlas Ike had left for Ilsa.
My observant, clever boy had committed it to memory.
“Spencer.” Tears flooded Ilsa’s eyes as she took in the incredible detail on the map. “How long have you been working on this?”
“Since your stuff got stolen.” He shrugged. “I don’t know if it’s even right. It’s probably not.”
“Even if it’s not, who cares? We could still go on a treasure hunt.” Ilsa smiled up at me. “I’m up for it. You?”
“Let’s do it.” I nodded to Spencer. “Then lead the way, pal.”
“Okay.” Spencer waved us to the Bronco, spreading out the paper and telling us his theory that the cabin was the starting point. He’d clearly thought about this because, unbeknownst to me, he’d brought along a hiking pack complete with bear and bug spray.
“I’m going to fill up our canteens, then we can go,” he said, jogging for the cabin.
I waited until he was gone to take Ilsa’s face in my hands. “You okay with this?”
“If it makes him happy, then I’m happy.”
Fuck, I loved this woman. I dropped my mouth to hers, swallowing a moan as I licked her lips, then slid inside, nice and slow, just how she liked it.
Her hands skimmed around my waist, dropping into the back pockets of my jeans so she could squeeze my ass.
The dreamy smile on her face when I broke the kiss was more beautiful than any Montana scenery. Prettier than a watercolor sunset or a blanket of diamond stars.
“How are you holding up?”
“I’m good. I think doing this, searching for Dad’s lost gold, is the perfect way to end the day. Do you think we’ll find a lost treasure?”
No, I doubted we’d ever find gold. Not that I needed it.
Ilsa was my treasure. “Already did, baby.”